The DVR became worryingly confused when I jabbed impatiently at its power button. The device spluttered for a bit. A few lights flashed as the clock blinked on and off, followed by the announcement - delivered rather guiltily, in my opinion - that it was rebooting. A few seconds later (certainly no more than that - I don't want to be accused of exaggeration or inaccuracy by any of my thousands of loyal fans!) the awful truth became clear.
My cherished machine's recording schedule had been wiped.
This is a fairly major catastrophe, and that is no hyperbole, I assure you. We do a lot of recording a chez Fractured Amy, since we can't be bothered to organize our lives sufficiently to watch our favorite programs when they're actually on. Also, all the family's choices conflict with one another, requiring careful timing and negotiations of the most subtle complexity. I, of course, have a standing commitment with every iteration of Bravo's Top Chef franchise and Food Network's Chopped. Plus the Next Iron Chef whenever it happens to be on. The Kid Squid, true to his demographic, keeps up with current events and the state of the media circus by reviewing the Daily Show every morning before he trots off to school. And Sir - well, Sir is a devotee of those appalling crime procedurals where, every time I walk into the room anyway, a gruesome autopsy or post-mayhem briefing is generally underway, with trendy 'invesigators' exchanging culturally up-to-the-minute bon-mots while blood, entrails, and brain matter drip upon their heads from the ceiling above.
But I digress. Rendered peevish by my missed dose of frenzied foodie-fighting, I retired back upstairs with my java and latest read (William Golding's Close Quarters, for those of you keeping track), wondering in vain who had won the proverbial golden apple and who had suffered the ignoble raspberry of defeat.
As the day went on, I was able to glean from Others the gist of this cake-related episode and its gluten-filled highlights. Several of these I note below as a public service for those fans whose DVRs have also gone on the fritz:
- Rebecca (rice pudding isn't just for old people!) somehow broke her wrist and kept right on whisking. A truly impressive display of culinary chops, if not misguided masochism. The fracture happened mysteriously overnight rather than in the kitchen, more's the pity. What a boost for ratings that would have been! As an aside, I would like to reach out with a message of solidarity to the unfortunate victim. As one who regularly breaks bones for no good reason (a sad side-effect of my gluten-related condition), I urge her to stop eating wheat-flour cakes, tortes, and choux pastry without delay. She'd find it so much easier to juice lemons with all her limbs and digits in full working order!
- Orlando (I'm the villain of the piece!) revealed that he is allergic to lemons. She-Who-Isn't-Gail had never before heard of this condition. Really? I'm astonished! In fact, I'll wager a million dollars that's because it doesn't exist! Intolerance to lemons' acidity, perhaps, or a dislike of their mouth-puckering tartness, maybe, but an actual full-blown allergy? I can't believe lemons have anything in them that oranges, grapefruits, and other citrus fruits don't share. Orlando is officially now the Guy I Can't Stand, proving himself to be - unlike me - hysterically hyperbolic.
- Carlos (father of six) uses liquid nitrogen like it's going out of style. Ironically enough, it is!
- The winning cake by Matthew (leather mules) and his team caused the judges to revisit an apparently common debate in the food world: whether or not cardamom is a 'safe' flavor. Erratum. This would be a debate in the American food world. There are many other parts of the globe where cardamom is used, I believe, like ketchup.
- Vanerin (I have a crush on the Pompadour!) was aufed for his role in a very 'hideous' showpiece inspired by trombones, or Sousaphones, or something. I'm sorry he left before his inevitable on-screen implosion, which promised to be such an edifying spectacle - especially among the GE Monogram appliances. Oh well, that's the way the really ugly cake crumbles!
No comments:
Post a Comment