I’m coughing, hacking, spitting, and blowing my nose every five minutes. Sometimes all at once, which is an interesting sensation, let me tell you. So it’s soup, all the soup, all the time.
The Thanksgiving ham has been denuded, stock has been made. Today I simmer the rest of the bone for split-pea soup. There may even be biscuits involved, depending on my energy level. Either way, it will slide easily down into my stomach, and warm me from the inside out.
Last night was taco night. I sautéed the dry grains for Spanish rice, put them in the steamer with the diced tomatoes and chilis (and carrots, any tomato-based sauce is better for the addition of a few shreds of carrot) and plugged the damn thing in.
A terrific blue POP! and the fridge died.
It’s on the same breaker as the outlet for the toasters and the rice steamer. I unplugged everything and sighed. The Princess’s eyebrows went up.
Fortunately, a quick flip of the breaker fixed the outlets, but then I looked more closely at our faithful, steamy servant.
Copper wire heading into the steamer’s body, nice and exposed. A little soot and burnt plastic, too, just to make things fun. Fortunately, I could plop some enameled cast iron on the stove and cook the rice that way, but I have become spoiled and am having longing thoughts of slipping out today to fetch a lovely Zojirushi or something similar. For a bonus, I can take this dead soldier apart and see how he’s made. (Yes, yes, only one Frankensteamer joke per person, please.)
The Princess expected me to be more irritated, but I was just glad the whole wall of outlets hadn’t been fried. In the grand scheme of things, one dead rice cooker is only a minor annoyance. Now, if it would have caught on fire, like the sweet potato in the microwave–which the children are STILL teasing me about–that would be something.
I’m just happy the incident didn’t involve a squirrel.