Burning the amaretti biscuits was the last straw. I blogged earlier in the year that I DEMANDED a new oven.
But it wasn't as simple as that. A replacement oven would have to be hardwired. Not a problem in itself, what with Noel's ever-manlier manly DIY skills. Except that the wire would have to go to some new-fangled distribution board in the cellar. We thought the old one was quite adequate, thank you very much. It was kind of quirky that the fuse blew every time a bulb went, almost an adventure, fumbling in the dark to find the torch. Sometimes we made a game of it, the cat joined in too, it was called trip-up-the-human-as-they-go-down-the-cellar-steps.
Once we started looking at electrics, the task just grew – and grew, so we decided we'd do without the hassle and just buy amaretti biscuits in the future.However, the loud tutting from the engineer who came to fit our other grudge purchase this year, a new boiler, sealed it for us. He took one look at the distribution board, with its pretty sparks and ceramic switches and high-tailed it out to get his rubber-soled boots. Sometimes quaint just doesn't cut it.
So we ordered our new cooker. You can't get white ones any more. Steel or black. Not even red. After a couple of days' work from Richard, the cheery and efficient electrician, we were ready to fit the new cooker. Noel did his manly thing using his insulated screwdriver, it was like poetry in motion. You'd expect shelves. But free-gliding telescopic shelves? A pizza stone? A probe? It's all there! But something was missing. No knobs.
I was about to have a rant when Noel pointed out that it was like a touch screen. One touch and it sprang into life, I had the choice of fan, true fan, conventional and, I assume, off. Then there were settings for different meats. This all varied depending on the fan setting and how many shelves you used. Add to that the special recipe settings, such as lemon cake and you have a cocky oven that knows what it's cooking.
All it needed was to clean itself, let's see you do THAT. Ah…. it did. The special quadruple-glazed door locks and, with space-age technology reaches such a high temperature there are no numbers to express it.. It's locked for that time, so there's no fear of going nuclear or accidentally opening the door and melting the kitchen.
Today I trusted it with Christmas cakes….They looked good, they smelled good…..I think it may be time for the amarettis….
Today's lovely thing
Sucking in the cold air before the frost melts