Tragedy

My biscotti batter was resting in the fridge (1 hour, the recipe said), waiting to be baked.

The baking tray was lined and buttered.

I was having a nice cold glass of water after some washing up.

Then it started.

Dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit.

"Who's messing with the oven?!"

Dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit.

No one was. But numbers kept appearing on the screen.
Like an invisible finger was poking at the function buttons.

FREAKING HELL!

I switched the power off and on again.

Dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit-dit.

It went on merrily.
Eerily merrily.
Defiantly merrily.

I tried desperately to press the other buttons.
Nothing.

I opened the oven door.
Ok. The noise stopped.

Then it dawned on me that my oven's not possessed.
It's simply f@#ked.

This only means two things.
1. I have to bake the biscotti tomorrow morning at LY's sister's place. SY & DL bought a kick-ass gourmet coffeemaker recently and I wanted to make some homemade biscotti to go with their homemade brew.
2. I HAVE to buy a new oven after all. *sob* I need to start a Wandernut New Oven Fund (WNOF). When it went out of order the first time, it was just a broken door key. I painstakingly hunted for the spare part and got it fixed. Now it's an electronical problem. And the model's too old to be salvaged.

Sigh. I can only afford a new oven maybe next year.
Meanwhile, I'll have to look for surrogate ovens.
*waves at Snowie*

Anyway.
The batter is lonely and cold in the fridge as I type.
It's for Italian Biscotti (from a recipe online).
Almonds, orange extract (which I replaced with freshly grated orange rind - don't like 'flavourings' from a bottle) and aniseed. I've never used aniseed in baking before. The spice smells of licorice. Nice. I can't wait to find out what it'll taste like. Look out for it in my foodie blog a few days from now.

A Tribute.

My dear microwave oven,
You have served my family well for almost 20 years.

Although my mom always misunderstood you,
You were steadfast and loyal.
She would never stand in front of you for fear of radiation.
She disliked you. Yet she needed you.

You must have felt so hurt.
But you reheated our meals lovingly.
You warmed my cold coffee in 30 seconds flat on High.
You made leftovers edible again.

My dear microwave oven,
You were so versatile.
With your convection function, I could bake and grill.
My first batch of cookies came out from you in 1994
(I was trying to impress a boy then).
And the first roast turkey in 2001 for Christmas
(I was trying to show mom that you're more than a food reheater).

You've been resilient, strong and steady.
Until now.

It is time you rest, my friend.
I thank you for the good times.

R.I.P.