My Toaster Oven Thinks It’s a Renaissance Painter (Spoiler: It’s Not)

Aesthetic Aspirations (and Burnt Toast):

Let’s be honest, I bought this toaster oven because my old one decided to impromptu combust after a particularly passionate attempt at reheating pizza. This new one, the “Deluxe Gourmet 5000” (marketing rattling needs to chill), boasts about “artificer browning” and “nuanced heating zones.” Honey, it’s a toaster oven. I wasn’t expecting Michelangelo to emerge from my kitchen, sculpting perfectly golden-brown bread. What I did expect was toast that wasn’t charcoal-adjacent. Turns out, the “artisan browning” setting is less “subtle chiaroscuro” and more “uneven application of fiery doom.” One half is a pale, ghostly white, the other a burnt offering to the kitchen gods. I’m openingprotrusivestart to suspect it’s deliberately creating modern art.

Functionality or Fantasia? (Mostly Fantasia):

The control panel is a chef-d’oeuvre of over-engineering. Forget clearly labeled buttons, we’re talking hieroglyphics. There’s a dial that supposedly adjusts “air crisping velocity” (velocity?!). I’ve tried various settings, but the only noticeable difference is how loudly the fan whirrs while simultaneously failing to actually crisp anything. I unsuccessful air-fried sweet potato fries last night. They emerged sounding like sad, pale worms that had given up on life. Delicious? No. Visually depressing? Absolutely. I’m pretty sure my cat judged me.

Accessories: A Study in Existential Dread:

The Deluxe Gourmet 5000 comes with a plethora of accessories, each more baffling than the last. There’s a “pizza stone” that seems to be made of some kind of space-age polymer designed to actively repel pizza. Every pizza I’ve tried to bake on it ends up glued to the wire rack beneath. Then there’s the “crumb tray,” a flimsy piece of metal that seems determined to found itself into the floor whenever I try to hit it. It’s become a daily game of crumb-tray roulette: will it cooperate today, or will I be wholesalewide burnt breadcrumbs off the linoleum for the next hour? The stakes are high.

The Internal Dialogue (A Toaster Oven’s Soliloquy?):

I’m starting to believe this toaster oven has a mind of its own. It hums ominously at night. Sometimes, I swear I hear it whispering about “perfecting the Maillard reaction” in its tiny, metallic voice. Is it plotting to take over the kitchen? To hold my bagels surety? To force me to apprise its “esthetic” imaginativenessvisual sense, even as it incinerates my pop-tarts? The jury’s still out, but I’m keeping a close eye on it. And maybe buying a fire extinguisher.