Adventures of Baking-a-Cake
Today is my roommate's birthday and I've decided to bake my friend's mother's chocolate cake. My friend with the recipe has graciously agreed to help me and my other roommate has offered us a bottle of champagne while we bake. All good. I set off to one of the malls nearby house and buy the ingredients. When my friend arrives she informs me we need a whisk, eggs, and finer sugar. I woke-up feeling exhausted and melancholy because my body is still adjusting and my relationship with the expat I'm seeing is unraveling. So I forgot eggs, a baking pan, and good butter. Most of the butter here tastes like cheese.
My friend and I walk back to the nearest mall and purchase some of the forgotten ingredients including a whisk which we took from an appliance kit we found. Unfortunately, the cashiers would not let us buy the whisk alone. We accept defeat and march back to the house where we alternate whisking 4 eggs for an hour. It is now time to put the cake in the oven and we discover I have a gas oven. My male roommate offers to light the oven and waves a lighter all over the oven. Nothing happens until all of a sudden a fire ball comes out of the oven sending my roommate backwards and me shrieking. Aside from some burned arm hair, my roommate is fine. He and my friend leave and scour my apartment building for someone with a working oven. None of my Kenyan neighbors know how to use the gas stove as they do not bake. My last hope is the arrival of my Dutch neighbor who kindly invites me and to my delight he has an electric oven. The cake is baked and I've met a new friend. Success after all.
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