My oven is broken.
I don’t know what happened to it and I don’t know how to fix it.
The timer still works, as does the little dial that allows you to change the oven setting and also the temperature, but the oven itself? The heating element and the fan at the back?
Zilch. Nothing. Nada. Dead.
Which made my original plan for today’s post just a little bit more difficult than I imagined it would be.
I remember a time, years ago, when dairy was strictly off limits for me. It was a time of no chocolate or ice cream. No cakes (which were typically covered in cream – and which may also explain my youthful aversion to cake). And oh. Soy. So much soy.
I hated soy growing up. I hated the way it made my milo taste nutty. I hated the chalky residue it left on my teeth. I hated that it came out of cartons that lived on a shelf and not from pretty plastic bottles that lived in the refrigerator. I hated the fake strawberry and chocolate and vanilla flavours that were infused in it, and I hated the fact that I was the only one who had to drink it.
