Last Tuesday my boss took two of our three girls to Santiago
for the night so they could visit the eye doctor. I was left with our little one for the night, and we had a
great time straightening hair, eating macaroni and cheese, watching cartoons
and cuddling together at bedtime.
Thursday night came, and we thought it was a good idea for
me to have some one-on-one time with our ‘middle child.’ (She’s 9…our others are 11 and 5) We
spent the afternoon at our neighbor Rosa’s house and planned to buy empandas
from a lady down the street who is always trying to sell them. I asked Rosa to
order them for me and told her I’d be back at 5 to pick them up.
Five o’clock rolled around, and Rosa found out that she
wasn’t selling them that day. It doesn’t sound like such a big deal, unless
you’re out of American food to cook for a hungry 9 year old. I looked at Rosa and our other friend
Morena and came up with a brilliant idea to make the empenadas myself. I had learned that week how to cook the
meat, and had watched my friend Delia make them many times! I just wasn’t sure how to make the
dough, but Rosa and Morena quickly wrote down the ingredients.
My girl and I headed home and started cooking!
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| No rolling pin? No problem! |
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| Hard at work! |
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| She made them look beautiful! |
About 20 minutes into the cooking process, with music blaring and laughter filling the room, I looked over my shoulder only to find that the oil I was heating to cook them in was on fire.
When I think fire, I immediately think water. And apparently so did my little 9 year old as she started yelling, “put water on it!” in Spanish. I quickly grabbed a cup of water and threw it into the flame. Mistake. This is what happens when you put water in burning oil:
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We immediately turned to run away, but remembering a dream I had just two days earlier, I knew if we ran upstairs we’d be trapped and have to jump from the window.
When the explosion subsided, we ran past the stove and out the door, yelling for our neighbor, Tony. He ran into the house, and immediately threw more water on it. Yet again, more fire. At this point another man came running in who had seen the large flash of light from my first explosion.
They were able to move the pan from the stove, onto the floor and out the door, where the flames finally subsided.
When Tony left, I immediately called Delia (a woman who works with us) and asked her to come over, not giving her a reason other than, “my heart is running right now!”
This was definitely a bonding experience that neither of us will forget!
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| After the tears were gone, Delia got a smile out of me. |
Since then, I've been referred to as 'bombera' (firewoman), or 'concinera' (cook). The neighbors are still getting a good laugh out of the situation, but I've already gone back into the kitchen to cook!
