Rory gibson Never underestimate the effect owning a Magimix will have on a woman
Since becoming sole cook and chief washer-upperer chez moi, three things have been my trusted culinary companions: a heat source, a frypan and a saucepan. That’s all I’ve ever needed to keep the gene pool nourished.
I was, however, vaguely aware of a stash of stuff under the kitchen benches.
But as a result of a burgeoning love affair with the dump, I stuck my head in, and discovered a treasure-trove of appliances that seem absurd to someone who has never watched one second of a reality-tv cooking show.
There was a yoghurt maker, a popcorn popper, a bread maker, a fairy-floss maker, a George Foreman steaming unit, an electric carving knife, the Ferrari of juicers, a blender, an electric egg beater, a waffle press, a slow cooker and a behemoth called a Magimix.
I told a female friend what I’d found. “You’ve got a Magimix?” she said in the same incredulous tone of voice men employ when you tell them you’re dating a stripper.
It looked new, so I put a picture of it on Gumtree and a $100 asking price, without checking how much they were worth (a lot, evidently). A very excited woman from Hobart bought it about three minutes later, happy to pay the cost of shipping it interstate.
I wonder if I can get a hundred bucks for the yoghurt maker?