Bless you, Melissa Clark of the New York Times. You also love your toaster oven, and you do far more with yours than I do with mine. I’ve recently found mine can handle the cooking of chicken nuggets, but your reporting opens a new world of limited-space possibilities.
Full toaster and toaster oven coverage.
The Chicago Tribune offered a surprisingly thorough analysis yesterday of the toaster’s recent toast-like rise in popularity.
The detail that most interested me was the invention of Toastabags, a container that apparently allows you to toast a whole sandwich at once. According to the article, folks across the pond have fallen in love with the product. And why wouldn’t they? Those folks across the pond invented the sandwich. And possibly the toaster. Possibly.
Visit the Toaster Museum Foundation to learn more.
Related previous items:
-Nov. 25, 2003: Bruce eats Pop Tarts for Christmas
-Sept. 21, 2003: Is the toaster underrated?
-May 22, 2003: Toasting is cooking
-April 22, 2002: Girl walks like a toaster
A recent Springsteen newsgroup thread tallies preferences on breakfast foods. Doughnuts, bagels, muffins, toast, or beer?
I’m not sure why anyone would choose anything other than doughnuts as their first choice. Everybody likes doughnuts, even if they can’t eat them. But that said, a quality toaster can go a long way toward making muffins and toast into contenders. Toasters don’t get much respect, but I’d take one over a microwave any day.
Is the toaster the most underrated kitchen appliance? I don’t know. Would you rather have a toaster or a garbage disposal?
I’ve returned my cousin’s car and am now driving my own family’s second car. It has a CD player, and that rocks my world. Finally, my music will be playing loud in the car and not Clear Channel’s. I also now have my toaster, which I haven’t had since June. I cooked — toasting is cooking! — raisin toast as part of my dinner. It was fabulist.
As the sign changed to “walk,” the girl took off across the street like bread out of the Lucy’s toaster. She was determined to get somewhere, and to get there fast. Across the street in an instant, she tore down the opposing sidewalk.
Oddly out of pace with her stride, about a half-second off the movement, her arms swung like a pendulum in an antique clock. Arc up one way, arc back down the other. If only she had been on time, I thought as she passed. Then in my head I wouldn’t have called her Clock Girl.