Hot Potato

I just set the microwave on fire.

It's like a movie.  I just gave you the outcome, now I need to start from the beginning of the story and go through the details.

It all started several weeks ago when I made a vow to start cooking meals for my family so my kids would stop getting sick.  Don't get me wrong, they do get to eat, it's just usually something boxed or frozen.  Since the day of the vow, my grocery bills have suffered while I try to buy non-processed pieces I can build into real meals.  

Unfortunately, I'm awful at cooking.  I can't invent or produce the things normal people eat.  Last week,  I was walking through the produce section at my local big-box warehouse store when I passed the 10-pound bag of potatoes for $2.65.  That's a whole lot of meals for a very little price.  Now if only I could think of what to do with the millions of potatoes on my counter... (where do you store such a massive bag?)

Back to the microwave.  Fast forward to this evening.  I decided baked potatoes were just the elegant meal we needed.  Since I made this choice only 15 minutes before our normal eating time, I had to look up how to microwave the starch bombs.  Here is what a website told me to do:

Cook on full power in the microwave for 5 minutes. Turn over, and continue to cook for 5 more minutes. When the potato is soft, remove from the microwave, and cut in half lengthwise. Season with salt and pepper, and mash up the inside a little using a fork. Top the open sides with butter and 2 tablespoons of cheese. Return to the microwave, and cook for about 1 minute to melt the cheese.

What the instructions failed to mention is that at minute 7:42, the potato will ignite and smoke will pour out of your microwave door.  When an abnormal sound alerted me that something was amiss, I jumped off my chair and yelled, "It's on fire!  Mark, the microwave is on fire!"  (This is especially ironic since I was envisioning fire escape scenarios for my house on my way home from work today.  Yes, I'm crazy, but I'm usually prepared.)

I quickly stopped the microwave, opened the doors and windows, grabbed a cookie sheet and started fanning the billows of smoke.  Ever helpful Eli wanted to join the effort so I gave him a paper plate to fan along side me.  Meanwhile, Mark was keeping a close watch on the USA soccer game.  

I left the microwave door closed for an hour after, just in case latent fire was waiting to leap out and burn my face.

Here are the things we now know:

• Apparently I can't even operate the microwave with any level of success.
• We will not be eating baked potatoes for dinner.
• The smoke detector in the kitchen definitely does not work.
• Our house smells like Marlboro Reds.
• My hair and clothes smell like carcinogens. 

Here are some visual aids for you.

The moment I was finally able to stop the microwave.

Resting outside on the patio.  

Yum.

Once again, this kind of event reinforces why we never invite people over for dinner unless they happen to be family members who bring along their own food.

I should go get the burnt potato from out back before the skunk that lives under our concrete slab gets lung cancer from eating it.