…the new oven


So, Christmas is coming. And I have to cook a bird. And I only had my new oven safely installed three days ago thanks to the ever wonderful, unqualified, un-electrician Mr Fix-It. Of course, three days is by no means enough time to ‘get to know’ my new oven. I’ve hardly started to be honest.

In fact, so far, all I’ve managed to achieve is cook a frozen lasagna, which incidentally went very well, (though those frozen lasagne could be bigger – I’m just saying).  And bake some little (also frozen) German breads. OK twice. Well not OK twice because the first batch I burnt to a crisp. Which I relievedly discovered was down to my own incompetence and not some dysfunction on the part of my new oven. I had set it to grill. Confused the poor thing. Then placed the little breads directly under the heating element. Where they did not stand a chance, of course.

Now, that should have given me a tip really. For the next batch.

I placed the ‘too burnt to be offerings plateful’ to one side and started again. Taking the second and last box out of our still functioning freezer. I placed them on the upper most level and cooked away. This time with baking paper as requested on the box. Last time they all stuck to the once was pretty and new and shiny shelf, now moderately sprinkled with dried on breadcrumbs.

I should probably tell you at this point I don’t cook much frozen stuff. Apart from pizza. And the odd garlic bread.

I should also inform you that our new oven door is like a trolley. The door rolls out pulling all of its shelves with it.

So, just imagine this: me yanking excitedly the oven door open, meanwhile all of the little breads having risen significantly, have glued themselves to the still somewhat warm (from my previous escapade) grill element above.

They stayed stuck for a moment or two and then dropped to the floor of the oven.

Between my hand and the oven floor, were however, the glass door and two very hot oven shelves. Somehow, despite my normal clumsiness, I managed to rescue the said bigger breads and replace them onto their shelf, which I then appropriately lowered.

Despite all of my gormlessness, the little breads tasted great. Either that, or by the time we ate them we were all so hungry we didn’t care anymore.

I really, really, really want to love my new oven after so hating the last one.

Now, I’m off to feed the ducks those cremated breads. They’re not fussy. And while I’m doing that I can think exactly which bird we can have gracing our table this Christmas.

Reading this you’d never suspect I spent sixteen years of my life being a vegetarian, would you? 😉

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