I can do this! I am incredibly effective, and quite the time-manager, let me tell you. Like a well-oiled machine, that's me. Donna Reed, eat your heart out.
I was elbow-deep in dishes when the smoke alarm went off, about 4 minutes later.
What the??? Hrmf. Must have been some cheese or something on the oven floor. Oh well, it'll stop. I thought.
I continued with the dishes. It didn't stop. I took a damp towel, waved it near the alarm, and it quit. Good. Back to the dishes.
I washed a few more things, and it started going off again.
Stupid thing! Man! It's called baking. Duh! It's not the house afire! Ratsfratsafarkinstupid... I opened the front door, and waved the storm door back and forth to clear the "smoke" away from the detector. It stopped.
For a second. Then it started again.
I went to the back door, and opened it to let some more of the supposed smoke out. Lucy ran for it, and headed to the backyard, giving me looks that said, "MOM!!! Make it stop, NOW!!!" Then the upstairs one started going off.
Oh. Now this is just brilliant. Stupid smoke detectors. It's only a pie. It's on a baking sheet, and foil--it's not like it's burning up. The dumb thing was frozen, and it's only been in for 8 minutes. EIGHT MINUTES!!! I mean come on! Hello? You can't burn a pie in 8 minutes. Dumb thing. You'd think these things would work nowadays. They can send a man to the moon... Stupid smoke detectors...
I boiled some water, hoping the humidity would help. It didn't.
For the next 3 minutes, I ran back and forth with the damp towel, trying to clear the air. I waved the front door, to no avail. I waved the back door. Again, nada. Lucy came running in, tail tucked between her legs, shooting me dirty looks over her shoulder. She ran to her bed to hide. I finally opened the kitchen window, despite the 15 degree temperature outside.
The downstairs one stopped.
Just then, Dr. B walked in. I explained what was going on. Then I went to "prove" to him that it wasn't my fault.
And I saw the hanging thermometer inside our, shall we say "dated", gas oven.
It read 600 degrees.
Sigh. No wonder the oven knob is slightly melted.
The pie was nicely browned, so I topped it with foil and turned down the oven, hoping to salvage it. The corn muffins were "black-bottom", and perfumed with smoke, so those went to the compost heap.
I took the pie out of the oven later, but strangely it never bubbled. Because I was afraid it had totally dried out and would also be "blackened cranberry-apple pie", I decided to seek another alternative for dessert. (I like my friends, and I want to be invited again!) Luckily, I had seen a recipe on the food network that really tempted me. And, it involved no baking whatsoever. Perfect.
So I made this, substituting Grand Marnier for the almond liqueur, and making only 1/2 the amount called for. (1/2 the amount served 8 anyway.) I served it over angel food cake with a sauce made from frozen and thawed raspberries and strawberries in syrup, with a little lemon juice. (The fruit this time of year tends to taste like it came from the Cardboard Farm.) A little light whipped topping on the side dressed it up even more (I would have done cream, but the hostess still has a few lbs. to lose from her recent pregnancy. I was trying to be sensitive.)
It got RAVE reviews. Highly recommended.
Anyway, I guess I still have a few things to learn about our
I'm a little scared to cut into that pie. (At least it's not this one.)