The Dim-Witted Adventures of the Microwave Meal Girl

Hunched over a cookbook, salivating like a Pavlov's Dog at the full spread gastronomical porn displayed before me, I came to the swift conclusion that my inner michelin star chef is one baking rampage away.

So I trodded my burnt-toast-speciality ass downstairs and began mashing, bashing and whiplashing a poor excuse of a dough.

Which was all hunky-dora until my inner-domesticated-self shriveled to a pulp when it discovered that the recipe called for use of a piping bag. A piping bag? The most sophisticated piece of cooking equipment present in my household being a cheese grater.

And after much huffing and puffing, I gave up my girl scout creativity skills and just spooned the dough onto the oil to form churros resembling floating pastry lumps of turds. Some mother-effin Delia Smith I am.