The Stollen Ate My Mixer!
It is a sad night in the Black household.
By way of background, you should know how much I love my KitchenAid mixer, which I acquired two years ago after much pining. KitchenAid claims it’s “more than a mixer,” and I would have been hard pressed to disagree. I used my mom’s KitchenAid when I was a kid, feeling very grown up and Betty Crocker-ish when I used it to yummy mixer-originated treats. For years after we married and set up house, I admired their shiny bowls and interchangeable mixer blades in every housewares department, insisting that I would be so much more effective in the kitchen, a better baker, with lighter cakes and fluffier frostings. Imagine my delight when at long last, after burning out two stick blenders and a hand mixer on a particularly stiff batch of frosting, Mike agreed, yes, get the KitchenAid.
I was ecstatic. I rushed right out to a local large warehousy-type store where I knew they were on sale and selected a lovely Imperial Black (a snazzy rough matte-finish) and brought it home. No cabinet-storage for this mixer, no…I cleared away cookbooks and gave it a place of honor on the countertop where I thought of it as not just an appliance, but a valued member of the kitchen. And so ends an era.
Fast forward two years to November 27, 2006. My dear husband and I are making what we hope will be a tasty Christmas stollen to test out his cool new bread cookbook. The kitchen is smelling all floury and yeasty, and suddenly…a “thunk,” followed by quiet. And a smell. Overpowering the delightful flouriness and yeastiness and generally putting a damper on my Christmas baked goods preparation schpedoinkle. I turn, I stare in horror at the dreaded wisp of smoke emanating from the motor end of the mixer head. My KitchenAid mixer…has died.
The stollen doesn’t even look contrite. It sits there staring at me like a big blob of dough. I am crushed. In remembrance of the cakes that might have been, our blog will now observe a moment of silence.
Thank you.
