Rice: 1, Me: 0

Once again last night, I proved to myself that I have given the name of my blog an apt title. Boy howdy was there some smoke! It all began innocently enough with my attempt to make dinner that was not a sandwich or scrambled eggs. It is getting to that point with my foodstuffs that a grocery trip is of vital importance...unless I can find some recipes for the numerous condiments I collect. Seriously, three or four types of mustard, three mayo-like spreads, four or five dressings, two jars of salsa, various Asian sauces, and an assortment of other dipping and spreading sauces.

Anyway, back to my smoky night. I decided to make pork and brown rice. Marinated the pork in some teriyaki sauce I had in the fridge and put the rice on to cook. As I am reading my GANC book (one day, 100 pages - can I do it? Find out tomorrow!) I begin to notice a nutty aroma. Thinking that typical for brown rice and simply a smell previously unnoticed, I continued on. About five minutes after that, the nutty transitioned to a smell I can only equate to burnt popcorn.

Upon arriving at the stove, I quickly see the source. My pot of rice is filled with a thick fog of smoke, its burner still on the high setting I had for boiling the water. The burner next to it, however, was set on the lovely low temperature needed to cook rice. Sigh. I take the charred pot off the burner, run to dismantle the screeching smoke alarm, and survey the damage.

One pot of rice - Ruined unless you like the taste of nutty charcoal
One apartment - Smoke as thick as a biker dive bar
One pot - Unscathed save for a thin layer of black char reminiscent of dried magma from a volcano

After some soaking, scrubbing and more scrubbing, the pot was almost back to its pre-rice condition. My apartment was not smoke-filled, but only smoke scented. The pork turned out fairly well and I found a box of couscous in the depths of my pantry. It did not burn.