So I had just nicely settled into my nest on the sofa where I was finishing up some crocheted items. I had been reading TipNut on Making Bacon in the Oven and so had two trays of bacon at 350° and a timer ticking away the 23 minutes or so. I recall now that I was feeling pretty good about my levels of multi-tasking—smug and self-righteous was I. Settling into the cushions, I said, "John, if you smell anything burning, tell me."
It was not five minutes later when he began to talk about burning bacon. Truly, I heard him, but I was busy counting stitches and, besides, I thought he was teasing me. Another five minutes and he mentioned it again with a most perplexed look. I had to laugh because his look was, well, so perplexed.
Another five minutes when he said, "Are flames going to have to shoot out of the oven for you to do something?!"
The nicely done tray on the right was put in the oven just ahead of the badly burned tray on the left. That's correct. Both trays baked in the very same oven on the very same shelf. Apparently 'tis the season for sensors to give up the ghost. First the camera and now the oven. Sigh. There go all my dreams of perfectly baked cookies and cakes and breads for Christmas. Wah. I feel like Mr. Parker wailing for his turkey in The Christmas Story. If only I had listened!
Any mishaps at your place lately?