I've mentioned previously that our oven has a mind of it's own.
We had guests two nights ago, and I'd decided to cook a dozen Quails which were to be served with a mix of roasted Potatoes and Red Peppers. But things don't always go according to plan.
I put the Potatoes in to roast half an hour before I was to begin roasting the Quails. When the half hour was up, I found that I couldn't open the oven door. It was closed tight, and smoke was issuing from all quarters.
I turned the oven off, and wondered what the hell I was going to do.
Lady Magnon saved the day by suggesting that we used the big fancy oven up at the barn, and she rushed up with the Quails.
Anyway, we spent a leisurely forty minutes over our charcuterie course, before retrieving the birds, which were cooked perfectly. Miraculously it all turned out fine, and we later finished the evening with a breaded and fried Camembert.
Above are the 'well roasted' Potatoes that I later retrieved from the wretched oven. I shall be giving it a damned good thrashing later.
N.B. It seems as if the oven had gone into 'cleaning' mode. It probably thought it needed it.