This year, I single handedly failed at Valentine’s Day. My husband often talks about fried ice cream and we don’t know of any place local that serves it. So when a recipe floated around on my Facebook page days before the holiday, I knew I had to try it!
I tackled it. I did all the steps right, but the last step was heating up oil to 350°. I don’t have a thermometer, but I got some ideas and waited for the oil to boil. And waited. And waited… You can see where this is going, I do now. I finally decided to test the oil when smoke began filling up our kitchen (it’s a small kitchen so this does happen from time to time). If I had to guess, I’d say the oil was probably close to 500° by the time I finally attempted to fry the ice cream.
Then the alarms went off. My husband ran around the house, disconnecting them since we knew it wasn’t fire related. I turned off the burner and turned on the fans. My six-year-old covered his ears, and one of my cats ran through the house sending me dirty looks. I finished the fried ice cream. Husband and I ate, as picky six-year-old wouldn’t touch it. The dessert tasted good, so score one for me.
But the house was filled with smoke. My eyes stung as though I’d just chopped a hundred onions. My kid was close to tears. We opened the windows even though it was the coldest day of the year. My husband asked me where I wanted to go until the smoke cleared out.
It was the coldest day of the year. I was in sweat pants. I hadn’t showered. My eyes were red from smoke. I didn’t want to go out! He wore me down and off we went for a impromptu shopping trip while our poor cats stayed in the smoke filled house with the cold air rushing in.
My house still smells like burnt oil, but my eyes no longer burn. I’ve never set off the alarms before with my cooking, not sure this is a good milestone to finally achieve. My son doesn’t want me to ever make fried ice cream again.
I will. I learned my lesson. It won’t happen again.