Dear Kitchen Aid,
I never really thought we’d be friends. After all I eat out far too much to really be a whiz in the kitchen and I can’t remember the last time I baked anything substantial. Independent of that, having high-end appliances in my kitchen feels far too house-wifey for my liking.
But I had an inkling that you might, might just make me more enthusiastic.
You see, I grew up with a cousin of yours, who resided in my family kitchen throughout my childhood and was used literally to death (condolences and RIP). I watched that thing churn out every cake, slice, biscuit, dessert, icing and sugary treat you could possibly imagine, week after week. I benefitted from it enormously. But still, I was never the one doing the actual baking.
But now that you—my shiny white Kitchen Aid—are chillin’ in my pantry, complete with sleek stainless steel bowl and a flexi beater (which I was assured was ‘essential’), I’ve become a right ol’ Betty Crocker.
I agonised over what colour to get and did I, or did I not need the zoodle attachment? (I did not). But I pulled my
boring sensible pants on and chose you—you timeless, white wizard. And in a blink of an eye, you’ve transformed me to a point where I’m whipping up cakes for the office, muffins for an unwell friend and a pavlova for my new roomies. I’m basically a kitchen goddess. Thanks very much.
Does your presence make me feel ridiculous? Absolutely. Do I feel over-applianced? You betcha. Do I adore thee? Until sugary deaths do us part.
Over and out,