The burning biscuit song
This morning, I turned on my computer to get to work, then went into the kitchen to put a Grands breakfast biscuit in the microwave. I've made these before and know the proper cooking time. This was a different variety, but the times were still the same. I did the power level like I do to keep from having a crunchy microwave biscuit.
With a minute left, I walked into my office. The microwave buzzed and went off. It beeped once a minute to remind me it was finished. I walk down the hall into my living room, and think "Oh my goodness! It smells like the house is on fire."
Maybe the new battery I got for my smoke detector was dead when I bought it because I cannot believe it didn't go off. I mean, it goes off if a crumb falls off of the toaster strudel into the toaster across the kitchen.
The biscuit was smoking. And I mean smoking. And I mean that burnt popcorn smell is still permeating my house it was so bad.
I opened the back door to try to get air circulating before the smoke detector went off. I tried taking my biscuit outside, but it was stuck to the plate and wouldn't come off easily. I had to soak the plate in the sink to get it off.
Meanwhile, what's going through my head, and every time I go through the kitchen, is the stupid song from a Rascal Flatts CD a few years ago, "Grandma burned the biscuit. Nearly took the house down with it. Now she's in assisted living." It's a slow, depressing song.
I posted on Facebook about this, and my mom's cousin commented that my Mamaw would have thought it was just right. She loved very dark brown rolls. We used to always judge roll-doneness on the Mamaw scale (the browner the better). I forgot about this until Alice brought it up.
This was beyond Mamaw done. And even this clever and ironically timed photo from Facebook would not have saved my biscuit.
How the heck to I get this smell out of my house? Thank goodness Don Jose's smelled like smoke or Rachel would have thought I stunk.