I am sorry to report that this post will be a sad post. An angry post. A post filled with tragedy and betrayal. The subject of this post is a certain chilli that I mentioned in my last post. Before we really begin, note that I had big plans for this chilli, namely that I would take it in tupperware, with couscous and jacket potatoes, for a surprise picnic with my boyfriend after work. Noble plans indeed.
The first problem I found when I opened the cupboard was that there were no canned tomatoes. Ok, I thought, I'm equal to this. I will use out of date (un)fresh tomatoes instead. Aha! Didn't I feel smug?
So I fried onions and garlic and kidney beans and said tomatoes and cumin and paprika and sea salt and pepper up together. It smelled wonderful.
Then I let it bubble away gently for a few hours.
The sauce thickened up wonderfully and it began to smell really really great.
I crushed up some dry tortillas and added that, with a little more water, to the pan, and put the lid on.
Then I went for a bath. Big mistake.
When I came back to the kitchen, everything was a haze of smoke. It smelled like a bonfire, and didn't look much better. Somehow, my chilli had actually set itself on fire. No joke. I panicked and threw a jug of cold water over it (first I turned off the heat, so don't be alarmed) and in about a second the water had gone from cold to steam. I have no idea how the pan got so hot.
The result: no chilli. The house was visibly smoky for four hours after that. And I smell like an arsonist. I was NOT HAPPY!
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