Apparently it’s some sort of obscure American holiday tomorrow 😉 so Jenny’s having a party. I promised to bring a cake, but when I got home I wasn’t feeling in a particularly cake-making mood. I really should have listened to that feeling, but I did promise cake, so I hit the kitchen.
I need to explain something about our kitchen. It was built in 1950, and has exactly three powerpoints (ok, five if you count the two on the oven, but one of those is up against the wall so inaccessible – so call it four). One for the fridge (and the radio, thanks to a rather wobbly arrangement of double adaptor and power surge protector), one for the kettle, one for the microwave, and one left for anything else that needs electricity. The only problem with that useful spare powerpoint is that it’s by the sink. And I much prefer working at my wonderful old wooden kitchen table. But the cord of my electric beater does stretch from the powerpoint to the table… just.
Anyway, I started making the cake, things were going well, and I was actually starting to get into a baking mood. And then as I was beating the eggs into the mixture, the beater suddenly stopped working. I looked behind me, and saw that I’d pulled the cord a bit too far, and the plug had come out. So I put the beater down, and plugged it back in… yep, you saw it coming, didn’t you? Pity I didn’t. Very important life lesson: *before* you plug a beater in, you really should turn it off. There is cake mixture all over the kitchen – on the table, on the floor, on the walls, in my hair… we’re going to be wiping it out of crevices for weeks.
The cake did turn out pretty good in the end though… even if it is slightly smaller than planned…