Who would have predicted that less than an hour after uploading yesterday’s post I would be present for an actual fire?
After getting a late start to the morning, Son-In-Law (SIL) and I tag-team breakfast. He makes the bacon, I make the eggs. I have never seen anyone make bacon in the oven but that’s how they do it so I decide to watch and learn. There is some back and forth discussion between SIL and Daughter about the correct temperature to put the oven on. (I believe they decided on Broil.) He lays the bacon out on a cookie sheet and puts it in the oven. After 6 minutes, he takes it out to flip it over. This is my cue to make the eggs.
While I cook, I watch him make critical decisions about which piece to place where based on the level of doneness from round 1. I like my bacon extra-crispy which he is made aware of. He makes his final placements and it goes back in the oven. The eggs are done so we sit at the table waiting on the bacon.
Daughter says, “It smells like the bacon is burning.”
I say, “Well, we said we like it extra-crispy.”
SIL says, “It isn’t burning, it’s on fire.” Very calmly I might add.
I can see from my seat that he isn’t kidding. The inside of the oven is engulfed in flames that are getting larger by the moment.
“Do you have a fire extinguisher?” I ask.
“Oh, yes we do!” SIL says and gets it from under the sink.
“Use those firefighting skills you learned Honey!” encourages Daughter. (Daughter and SIL are in the Navy and learned firefighting during bootcamp.)
A couple of squirts from the extinguisher later and a crisis is averted. The main floor and upstairs of the house is filled with smoke so the baby is taken to the basement where the smoke isn’t bad (it’s cold outside) while SIL and I open all of the doors and windows. It takes several minutes to get the smoke detectors to stop. On the bright side, at least we know they work.
There is residue of extinguisher blowback on everything in the kitchen, including the eggs I made. I grab my shoes, take orders and book it down to McDonalds, making it there 5 minutes before breakfast ends. Waiting in the drive-thru I reflect on how proud I am of everyone for not panicking. I don’t think my daughter even moved from her chair until the fire was already out.
Back at the house, they are cleaning when I return and the smell of burned bacon permeates everything. Grandbaby never wakes up during this, not during the fire, not during the ensuing alarm, the jostling to get her out of the room, or while the vacuum is running to clear the main part of the foam from the oven (“I found the bacon!”).