In Which That Hissing Sound Truly Was Fire Or How Not to Cook Your Corned Beef

Yesterday, the local supermarket, not requiring the effort of operating a motorized vehicle was out of corned beef, almost as an affront to the eight Irish residents in this town.  So, I was forced to wait to eat corned beef until after St. Patrick's Day, which admittedly is about the only non-racist part of the holiday. 

But today, the grocery store requiring motorized transport was full of corned beefs, mostly by virtue of not being in a specialized community.  So, I purchased a corned beef and headed over to the local liquor store to purchase a Guinness, because everyone who knows how to boil cow flesh in a pot knows you need pickling spice and Guinness to make it taste great. 

I arrive home, put the corned beef in the bottom of the pot, then reach into the blood filled bag to fish out the pickling spice, which was taped on the inside of the bag.  After a nice rinse for myself and the pickling spice, I coat the piece of beef with spice and add water to cover the meat.  After doing so, I then put 22 ounces of Guinness in the pot and put it on the stove for the boiling process.  I figured after 20 or so minutes, I could reduce the heat to simmer and cook until an hour after I get bored.

Pot on stove, I return to my couch to watch Chelsea and Galatasaray.  The volume on the television was not especially loud, since I have neighbors and am surprisingly not hearing impaired.  After about 15 or so minutes, I hear this hissing sound.  I look over at the heater and see nothing, but wisely decide to mute the television.  The hissing sound was fairly loud, so I walk into the kitchen and see a pot just about to be covered in flames.  Big, red, scary flames like you would paint on a car.

So, I casually walk over to the stove and turn off the gas.  Flames miraculously subside, decreasing the likelihood my apartment was about to burst into a fireball.  I put on some oven mitts and decide to move the corned beef from the stove.  Underneath was a pool of brownish liquid where the corned beef boiled over and was clearly made of previously burning Guinness and water.  So, I take some paper towels and slowly sop up all of the liquid.  Seeing the pot was dry from not springing a leak, I put it on the burners on the other side of the stove on a lower flame in the hope of finishing my dinner without starting a fire.

So, now my apartment smells like someone was burning a Guinness, which is surprisingly more pleasant than one would expect and I learned a valuable lesson, check your corned beef after ten minutes, since Guinness burns.