Yesterday morning after breakfast, I wanted to refill the bottle of maple syrup I keep in the refrigerator in the kitchen from the half-gallon jar of syrup that's stored in our spare refridge.
When I opened the half-gallon jar, I noticed two little spots of mold on the surface of the syrup. Hmmm, I've never had that happen before.
So I scooped out the bits of mold and poured the rest of the syrup through a strainer into a big saucepan intending to bring it to a boil for a few minutes thinking that would kill any mold spores that might be left.
I put the pan over a low-medium flame to warm up the cold syrup gradually and set the timer to remind me to keep an eye on the process.
Can you see what's coming here?
I continued whatever I was doing in the house, going from room to room, and when the timer dinged, I went to the stove to find the maple syrup had boiled over. Over the burner, all over the inner workings of the top of the stove, down through the stove where it had formed a good-sized puddle of syrup on the floor.
Either purchasing a new stove . . . or moving . . . came to mind.
My dear husband jumped in to help with the massive clean-up. I told him he didn't need to as I deserved to do it myself as punishment for being so careless, but he insisted.
Did I take pictures? No, thanks. I don't need anything to remind me of the occasion.
If only I had stood right next to the stove washing the dishes and cleaning up other breakfast things as I had planned while boiling the syrup. If only.