Alissa said, “Is it me or is it getting hot in here?”
From the corner of my eye, something captured my attention and I turned to see what it was.
Our indulgence had resulted in yet another mess. The potatoes were an over-boiled pile of mush; the braised chops were charred as its pan had caught fire; and the gravy did thicken–to the consistency of a dried up hockey puck stuck to the bottom of its pot. Suffice to say, dinner was effectively ruined.
She was giggling into my back after I had managed to put a stop to the tiny blaze with the help of a box of baking soda and an expired kitchen fire extinguisher.
“How do you feel about take-out?” I asked over my shoulder.
“I think it’s a safer bet.”