Ode to my oven
You're big and foxy
And hot as you should be
You fit a grill plate that heats evenly forsteaksandchickenandcapsicums
And when I want to bake
I can fit a tray from here to Timbuctoo
And when I want to rotisserie something I can
And when I feel like I should clean you I won't have to because you have catalytic liners
7 comments:
Gosh, that poem has style.
What's for dinner tonight at your place?
Beyoootiful poem! I detect another superstar-in-waiting...for poetry.
I guess it's going now then. Otherwise it would have been quite a different poem (you look so big and foxy, but inside you're cold as cold can be...)
Oh yes, it is going like a dream. I feel like a preacher - "Everyone! Sell your children or car or shoes and buy a huge stove".
I'm not sure what is for dinner. I'm thinking a nice big beef fillet. Glen wants something light, after his recent illness, so I've offered him meringues.
Already today I've made pancakes, brownies, roasted capsicums and cooked pasta.
Off to Moore Wilson's I think.
I might need to sell my ... my ... my bar fridge?
How exciting! You could keep us enthralled for days!
It is truly a feast after a famine. I think the frozen meal days were the darkest I have known...
You know, apart from PND and all that crap.
Oy do I have kitchen envy. Stupid rented house. Stupid tiny kitchen. I want Martha's oven. Waaaah!
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