In my post Rocking Motherhood, I briefly mentioned flaming doughnuts. Details were requested, so today you get the story. It’s less thrilling than it sounds, but I’ll happily give you the details. Those of you who follow my other blog are familiar with this story, so aside from the doodles, this will be a repeat for you.
Several months ago I decided to make my family a sweet treat. After looking around online, I found what was supposed to be a super easy doughnut recipe — no need for yeast or waiting for the dough to rise. I told the family over supper than I planned to make them. There was much excitement.
After we finished eating, I pulled out the ingredients, put a pot full of oil on the stove, set the burner to high, and started mixing everything (very carefully, I’ll add, so that I wouldn’t accidentally get my finger caught in the beater and beat it again). The consistency of the dough was off and was more like a thick pancake batter than something I could roll out, cut, etc., so I changed the game plan.
“Y’all, we’re having doughnut balls instead!” I called out. I figured I could just drop spoonfuls of the dough, shake some powdered sugar over them and no one would care too much that they weren’t O-shaped.
As I was finishing getting my dough ready, my husband came back into the kitchen and asked if the oil was supposed to be smoking.
“I think it’s just steaming. That means it’s ready for the dough,” I informed him.
After I finished mixing the dough, I dropped a spoonful in the oil, and it instantly turned dark and started smoking. This is where the thing certain people have said that annoys the hell out of me came into play — “you might be smart, but you don’t have much common sense.” Instead of taking the doughnut out of the oil and taking the pot off the burner, I started fumbling around with the window to open it to get the smoke out. Baby Girl started coughing in her high chair and yelled “Mommy!” at me, giving me a nasty look. I got her out and handed her off to my husband who had just come back in, and I told him to take the kids to another room. The fire alarm had also started going off by this point.
Finally it dawned on me to turn off the stove and remove the pot, so I did and headed to the backdoor to take it outside. Just as I made it to the door, I thought I saw the doughnut light up out the corner of my eye, but the flame went out quickly.
After mulling over what to do with my pot of ridiculous hot oil and charred doughnut hole, I decided to dump the contents over the back porch onto the ground. Fortunately, the ground was wet from the rain, so no more flames happened.
When I went back inside, it was pretty smoky. Little Man came running in with a bag over his head, calling it his breathing mask.
My husband took the kids down to his mom’s house for a couple of hours to give the house time to air out. When they came back, they made a big deal about being able to breathe again and gave me a lot of shit over the whole thing.
It was hard to be too annoyed with them since they were making a reference to The Office.
So, now you know the story of the time I almost burnt the house down trying to make doughnuts. You also know why I rarely fry foods and why I will always avoid jobs where I need to make split-second decisions.