It took me four hours last Christmas to make a chocolate bundt cake from scratch. By the time I finished combining the ingredients, I needed rotator cuff surgery. I asked Z for a stand mixer for Christmas. It was, I like to remind him, the only thing on my list. He went in another direction. He did, however, give me the mixer for my birthday in April. And because I only cook one time a year and it’s usually desserts, I thought, “What am I supposed to do with this?” A fickle and capricious woman, as Virgil said. [In my defense, I have a personal rule that Christmas gifts may be practical, but birthday and anniversary gifts should be romantic and frivolous. Don’t know where the rule came from, but it stuck.] The mixer sat in the box until an hour ago. I moved over the toaster oven that’s never used and set the mixer up on the counter. I’m thinking inspiration is forthcoming.
The food processor was a recent purchase. I decided if I’m going to tackle this domestic existence, I should at least have cool toys. Plus I really don’t trust myself with a knife. The food and my digits will be safer now, I suspect.