The Pampered Chef is a small electronic device, it runs on a tiny battery, it tells the time of day, it is a timer and it is a miracle of miniaturization which attaches by a magnate to metal surfaces. The Artist having used this device for many long years is adept at pressing its almost invisible buttons and directing its attention to its timing function. My own preference for timing is or was more clock-like, it had a dial which could be turned to something like the ten minute mark, it would remind you of its presence by ticking in a peaceful and soothing way, and it would eagerly announce its calculation of a ten minute period with a not unpleasant clockwork ring.
It's probably the case that some of us are more fuddy-duddy than others, but the
Pampered Chef is possibly the most appalling contraption ever inflicted upon us
kitchen workers. It has no redeeming factor whatsoever, and its name is enough
to spore the mind with a flat sour that screams Cancun, ridiculous hats, pickled
onions on cocktail sticks, thinned sliced white bread, pedicure and whole range
of examples of why it is our species is doomed. Either way, I probably should
have chopped the Basil with more diligence, used a little less salt, spent less
time grinding pepper and paid more attention to the process by which the oils of
Garlic are released.