I love the unpredictability of our oven.
It’s one of those things where part of you thinks you should have a new oven, and part of you loves the fact that you have to second guess things like cooking time and oven temperature because it just seems to do whatever the fudge it likes.
Since Christmas, I’ve been knocking out one or two loaves of bread a week. And it’s only in the past couple of weeks that I’ve managed to actually iron out all the quirks of the oven and the timing to produce a loaf which doesn’t look like it should be sold as “well done” in Sainsbury’s. Seriously, they have well done loaves for sale. Normal people would call them burnt, but apparently it’s a thing.
Anyway, so yes, the quirks of the oven.
Today we made – or attempted to make – a Victoria sponge. The easiest of all the cakes. We mixed, we divided, we placed in oven. We licked spoons and bowls. We enjoyed it very much.
The oven, though, despite being at the prescribed temperature and enveloping the cakes for the correct amount of time just thought it wouldn’t bother with the middles. So we get to attempt it again, which is awesome from the bowl licking perspective, to try and fathom out what the oven actually wants from us in this instance.
I might have to buy an oven thermometer, so that we can find out that actually whatever we set the oven to is either way above or way below where it needs to be. And then we can mutter at it and discuss the merits of a new one. But preferably one that requires no wiring in because you know this house hates change and fights it at every turn.
I’m loathe to even think about replacing this oven because when it comes to be removed it’ll turn out that the gas pipe that feeds it is made from hopes and unicorn farts and needs to be replaced at great expense to the management.
In a lot of ways it’s easier just to experiment repeatedly – eating the results, obviously – until we get there.
And it’s sort of more fun, too, because literally everything is an adventure…