BUT. Notice how it's called "Broiled Duck Breasts with Orange Chipotle Sauce." Broiled. And. You may be aware: Duck breasts are quite fatty.
And duck fat, under the broiler? Oh yeah, it smokes.
So, I'm cooking, finishing up the green beans and roasted potatoes, and I notice that the apartment is filling with smoke. Not bad smoke, just foggy smoke. So, we open the windows, but without any sort of crossbreeze or fan, nothing was really happening. So I opened the door to the hallway.
Now, if we remember back to when we first moved into this apartment, we will recall that there were some deathly battles with the smoke alarms.
Well, it turns out that the smoke alarms in the main hallway are similarly sensitive.
And, unfortunately, wired so that they blare, loudly, in everyone's apartment. And automatically contact the fire department.
So yeah. The firemen come. And all my neighbors had to hang out outside in the 12° freezing cold night.
Even though we'd told them there was no fire or anything of concern, they came bursting through the door with their axes drawn (as I tried to pretend I wasn't completely MORTIFIED that my cooking had brought the FIRE DEPARTMENT to MY HOUSE) while the alarm squawked unceasingly.
The very nice (and kinda cute) firemen cleared all the smoke out of the apartment (with huge fans) and figured out how to reset the alarm downstairs. And then left me to finally serve dinner and wait for the hate mail to start coming in from my neighbors.
I'm so embarassed. Can I just say that this all just happened to "my friend," and have all of you believe it?