I came home last night for orchestra rehearsal and smelled something awful. Clearly someone had burned something. And this time it wasn't me!
I didn't see anything on the stove that gave an indication of what might have happened. I went in search of my husband to ascertain what had transpired during my absence. He was parked in our home theater, watching a movie.
"Hi," I said. "There's a rather fowl odor upstairs. What happened?"
He glanced at me. "Oh, that. I tried to warm up the Matzoh ball soup, and it kind of burned. There's a present for you in the sink."
I couldn't wait to see what it was. Sure enough, one of our stainless steel pots was sitting in the sink, covered with calcified black ash. Kind of burned? I had no idea soup could burn that badly! (Fortunately, the husband was attempting to soak it.)
So here I am, still trying to clean that pot. All I have to say is, Oy gewalt!