Tonight I burnt the toast. Not just like singed or tanned. No. I burnt it. As in "holy crap the toast is on fire!!" I put it in the oven just before we prayed. We sat down to eat and William said an annoyingly long prayer-- the kind my dad says on fast Sunday. So naturally, I forgot about the toast because the prayer was so long. [And immediately it's his fault. See how I did that?]
Anyway, I remembered as we were eating and jumped up screaming "oh no! I forgot our bread!" I opened the oven to find them on fire. Three flaming squares of what could have been delicious garlic bread. When I registered what was happening I turned to Will and shouted "Well, do your duty!" So, laughing he took care of the flaming bread. And off to the side, I mourned the loss of what could have been a delicious filler.
Well, the word is out. I'm no Julia Child. But, with burning bread... I am my Grandma Nancy's granddaughter.
Always needed cooking advice from my wise mother: "Always set a timer."