Finally, a use for the bathroom in which I froze my ass off all winter...

My Paris apartment is beginning to feel like one of those high altitude places that necessitate separate cooking directions on cake boxes. This afternoon I quickly whipped up some American boxed cake, poured it in my French Pyrex-like dish, and stuck it in the obscure box that is used to warm things in my kitchen. My old oven broke in January and the landlord replaced it with a new, incredibly powerful, can cook a pumpkin pie in 15 minutes, machine. Boxed cake should take 33-36 minutes to bake and this afternoon? THIRTEEN MINUTES, BABY.

Let it be known that I was skeptical of the quality of this heat; I stuck my knife in it a hundred times to find where the uncooked batter lay... "you can't have just cooked this cake in less than half the time!" I said out loud to the Whirlpool magic. And so I stuck it back in for another two minutes because I wanted to reassure myself that I wouldn't be serving anyone raw eggs cooked no longer than an extended commercial-break. After about a minute and a half, the cake OPENED FROM WITHIN and proclaimed its done-ness.

I then moved it to the icy bathroom, which is finally serving its purpose as a larger, oddly-shaped refrigerator where I do things like cool cakes and chill champagne.

Questionable? Or just real damn smart?


Anonymous said...

mmmm, cake looks good!

glad you got a new super-microwave!

ev said...

haaaaaaa about your bathroom. can we trade ovens, please? we're so sick of this shitty one. btw, i'm still trying to get over the oddity of your square-shaped toilet.

seasidesar said...

please send me a piece of that cake? looks great* xoxox