No, I really burned the pie.

Let's get that depressing post off the top, shall we? How about an amusing anecdote instead!

This year I'm hosting Thanksgiving for a mishmash of friends and family. I've never done the whole turkey-stuffing-pie fest myself, so I wanted to be prepared. Today was prep day, where I spent time assembling casseroles, peeling and soaking potatoes, and baking pies. I finished one pie this afternoon, a sour cream apple. It was a thing of beauty. I set it on the stovetop to cool.

A couple hours later, Jeff asked me if I wanted a cup of tea. He put the kettle on to boil. A minute later, I smelled something distinctly smoky. Then, from my vantage point on the couch, I spotted the reflection of something in our stainless steel canisters...something that looked a lot like fire.

"Do you smell something?" Jeff asked.

"Uh, I think there's a fire in the kitchen. Like, an actual fire," I responded.

Jeff checked it out. Later he told me that he stood in the entrance of the kitchen and lightly blew on the inferno, which at this point was sending two-foot flames shooting into the air. Then he called for me.

I grabbed the fire extinguisher, urged Jeff to take the baby outside, and assumed my macho stance as I hosed down the fire.

Somehow Jeff had turned on the front burner, directly under the pie, instead of the back burner, under the teakettle. Oops. The pie was a total loss, I'm sorry to say. I also got to give my kitchen that deep-cleaning I'd been longing to give it for some time. Man, that stuff inside the extinguisher really gets everywhere.

Let's hope tomorrow's celebrations are a lot less fiery. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.