The important part to note here is that I did not mess it up. You could even say that I succeeded. In fact, the end result was exactly what was expected of it, so you might even say all was well.
The whole thing was going according to plan, as in the first batch of chicken was a complete disaster.
On the upside and to my big surprise, we've found out that egg whites worked better for what we were trying to achieve. The spiced flour was fine, or as fine as it could be, considering. I wasn't particularly proud of tasting the flour, but desperate measures were in order. Our problems, however, began once we dipped the chicken into hot oil.
Both egg whites and yolk held the flour fine as far I could tell from outside the boiling oil. Problem was, I wasn't able to tell. It took less than a minute for the most predictable calamity to happen.
The oil boiled. And it started doing what boiling oil does best - its impression of an active volcano. It kept sizzling and spewing out blazing drops of oil, sending everyone in a ten meter radius running.
So there we were. One of the two chickens I owned in the pot, the same pot which was scattering scorching drips of misery, and half a dozen screaming maids surrounding me. I didn't particularly care for their angry shouts and insults at that moment, but before I could think of a way to get closer to the pot, it happened. That one thing you are always being warned about when cooking in oil, but never really take seriously.
"FIREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
The oil took fire.
The scary thing about it is that the oil doesn't have to get in direct contact with the flames to catch fire itself. All it takes is high enough temperature and an inexperienced chef. Next thing you know, your pot is on fire.
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"Quick, bring water!" I heard someone yell through the screams.
"No water!" I yelled back.
The scarier part was that you can't put that fire out with water. Quite the opposite, really. To my horror, we were about to find that out the hard way.
I was running. As hard and as fast as I have ever ran. Not thinking about the pot of flames, I was running straight towards it. Or towards a girl, who was carrying a bucket of water.
What I did next, is what I call 'the bodyguard move' - I tackled the hurrying girl, sweeping her off her feet and throwing her straight on the floor with my whole weight on top of her. Now to anyone who hasn't seen the 90's classic The Bodyguard - that is to say absolutely everyone in this room - this may look like an attack on the poor girl. Hopefully, my intention became clear immediately as drops of water fell on the flames.
The result was pretty much what I had expected and quite clearly the last thing the girls would expect.
You know how they say oil and water don't mix? Well, it becomes painfully clear once you splash some water on the burning oil.
It exploded. Quite literary. The oil that was pushed out of the pot by water, splashed all over the place in a hundred tiny fireballs.
"The fire! The Fool is on fire!"
The miniature fires spread everywhere, including my back and landed straight on my jacket.
I've made up my mind. I just about had enough of this. Hastily I made sure that the girl underneath me wasn't on fire and proceeded towards the blazing flames. I grabbed a large cloth, threw in top of the pot and slapped the lid on top of it, hoping it would suffocate the fire and took the pot off fire.
Thankfully, it worked. I kept the lid on for a few minutes before checking, but once I did, the fire was long gone and the oil seemed almost (not really) cool. I breathed a sigh of relief and turned around, just to see half a dozen maids staring right at me, horrified expressions on their faces.
"Crisis averted," I announced. "Might as well get back to work."
Nobody moved. Some jaws may have dropped, but maids remained more or less motionless.
The reason for that was soon offered to me in the most deadpan way you could expect from a child.
"You are awfully calm for someone whose back is on fire."
"Am I still?!"
"... Yes."
"Put it out!"
After that, it was pretty much smooth sailing.