I’m probably driving Sylvia mad. And to be honest? She’s barely following this blog. I think it’s a mother/daughter thing. In fact, there’s no doubt. Moms are embarrassing creatures and who wants to listen to them anyway?
Well, if you are reading this, it’s probably safe to say that you aren’t Sylvia and I can continue with this morning’s cautionary tale.
Sylvia got a microwave egg poacher for Christmas (you’re right, it was from me. No wonder my reputation is in the compost bin.). This morning, while I was out running errands, the microwave thing was taken for a ‘test drive’.
All I can say is, even (especially) with the simplest of gadgets, it pays to read the instructions. As if getting an egg poacher wasn’t bad enough, neglecting to read the fine print (use medium power and follow suggested times, pierce egg white and yoke, use a teaspoon of water as in ‘teaspoon measure’ and not as in ‘a spoon that’s used for tea’) resulted in microwave mayhem (i.e. an explosion). Rubbery eggs landed in the trash.
In the spirit of full disclosure you need to know this: I retraced Sylvia’s steps and due to my own impatience had overcooked eggs to share with Pip. Not as explosive an experience as Sylvia had earlier (the eggs were edible), but next time I think I will read the fine print at least twice.
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