So I’ve entered this chili cookoff at work. No big deal. I’m making a white chicken chili recipe of my mom’s, which is quite tasty.
I find out yesterday that the guy at the office who’s widely considered the chili champ is also making a white chicken chili. I suppose I can only hope his batch suffers some catastrophic damage before the tasting goes down tomorrow at noon. And that mine doesn’t.
Leah and I attended a Mardi Gras dinner last evening at a friend’s place. Leah came home early to feed Ava and get her ready for bed. I got back to the house around 8 and started the oven so I could begin baking the chicken breasts I need for my recipe.
It was only a couple minutes before smoke started pouring from the oven. Apparently there were some drippings on the bottom of the oven from the lasagna we had two weeks ago, and they were burning away. A couple seconds after I noticed the smoke, the fire alarm went off right outside the door where Leah was trying to calm Ava for bed. Stricken, I grabbed a chair from the dining room and hopped up on it to pull the battery out of the fire alarm, in the process whacking my head really, really hard on the top of the door frame. Numerous barely-muffled profanities followed as I put the chair back at the table and staggered back to the kitchen.
I shut off the oven and ended up boiling the breasts instead, which turned out fine. Leah came out after a bit and spread some ointment on my wound (which never did bleed). Apparently Ava never even stirred in all the commotion.
This chili better win the competition tomorrow.