Monday, 1 October 2012

All I want for Christmas...

... is a croquembouche mould. And an electric egg boiler. And an insulated butter dish. And a waffle stick maker. And a terracotta water carafe. And an electric piemaker. And a fold out trivet. And a meat mincer. And a potato ricer. And a pineapple wedger. And a fruit and vegetable cushion.

Oh no, wait. I don't need any of those things. Because they're mental products for mental people.

I got a Lakeland catalogue through the post. All my books are packed still. I would rather read this than unpack one more fucking thing right now.

I sort of love these kinds of catalogues but in a weird kind of way. I would never buy any of it because, frankly, the chances of me needing to construct a croquenbouche even once in my life are pretty unlikely. Before Masterchef took over the world a croqueenbouhe was just a pile of profiteroles on a plate. Now there's apparently enough middle class mummies with more money than sense who MUST have one that they're being manufactured as a thing you might actually want to buy.With money.

An electric egg boiler. Boil it in a fucking pan. That IS an egg boiler. Who buys all this shit? Who has a big enough kitchen? Do people make such industrial quantities of apple pie that they need to spend £50 on a thing that peels it and cores it? How long does it take to peel an apple the normal way for fuck's sake?

Who needs a waffle maker? The same people that buy bread makers, cupcake makers, cake pop makers, doughnut makers and pancake makers I suppose. Fat fuckers presumably. Maybe they're all too fat to waddle down to Asda to buy their doughnuts.

Or maybe they're for the army of Nigella yummy mummy types who have sprung up since cookery programmes have taken over.

Still. I do really need the terracotta water carafe. Totally.

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