Over the weekend we purchased one of those refrigerated packs of pre-made cookie dough. Because we are especially lazy, we purchased the break-and-bake variety, the variety that consists of a large slab of dough perfectly perforated into twenty squares that you simply have to pull apart and place on a cookie tray. In ten minutes time, by the magic of some little elves or something, the little squares will have become round, chewy, delicious cookies.
There seemed to be some confusion when we turned on the oven because there are two knobs that control the heat--one that reflects the temperature settings and one that allows the baker to choose between Bake, T. Bake, and Clean. We fiddled with the dials but it appeared that our oven was not working--the little indicator lights were not turning on and the dials didn't seem to turn correctly, but eventually the oven started to warm up so we stuck a whole batch of cookies in to bake and went to read on the couch. Or makeout. I can't remember which.
Although the cookies were supposed to take 10 minutes, within 5 minutes the cookies were burned black and the fire alarm was sounding.
I turned down the temperature and tried another batch. Burnt to a crisp.
I lamented the brokenness of the oven. Will, having given up on cookies, went back to reading.
I, having not given up on the cookies, put in a single cookie dough square for 3 minutes with the door ajar. Black.
I turned the oven off completely, let it cool, and put a dough square in. While that cookie baked at a rate that suggested that it would be ready sometime in October, I unsuccessfully scoured the Internet for the owner's manual. I almost gave up on the cookies entirely, deciding that I would just inform the apartment people that our oven was broken, when it occurred to me that the knobs? Perhaps they were switched. And they were. And I switched them. And the broken oven was fixed.
And we rejoiced because I had only self-cleaned two-thirds of the cookies.