I must have oven. I must evolve disaster. I must create Emergency Hong Kong Christmas Joy.
For that, there must be oven. What other thing can bake potatoes on Christmas day? I need oven.
But we have no oven. Nobody in Hong Kong knows ovens. What is the point of oven? Mr Chang's noodles need hot water, sesame oil, soy sauce and a wok.
But I need oven.
Option 1: Set the front room on fire. Balance potatoes on the burning flames of the upended sofa. Shout to landlord, No. This is not arson. This is cooking.
Option 2: Buy oven.
(Make slaves carry oven home. It is heavy.)
Ha! Satiated primeval urges!
Twenty four scones, one jam tart, one vegetable pie and civilisation is begun! Delirious with success! Find joyofbaking.com!
Dig says, Stop it now. There is no need to dance naked round the kitchen smeared in mud and goat blood and just put the ox bone down.
