I buy Schwan's raspberry/white chocolate scones; they are delicious. For a while I would bake 2 of them at 350 for 25 minutes before I went to bed, then bag and refrigerate them so that I could have one for breakfast in the next two mornings. That's the kind of food that gets me out of bed in the morning.
Two nights ago I put two in the oven, set the timer on the oven, set the timer on the microwave and went back to a PBS documentary on 3 Italian cities: Florence, Rome, and Venice. Fascinating, so fascinating, in fact, that I did not hear either timer, which is really bad since the one on the oven never shuts off. Since the PBS show was part of their fund raising campaign, I had to fast-forward the show, which meant there was late night silence in the house, which meant I could hear the timer! I rose up off my chair like Neptune from the sea and hustled to the kitchen. The scones looked dark, very dark. I put on my large red oven mitts and hauled them out. Whoa! The Israelites could have used those things as bricks when building the Egyptian pyramids. Hard, very hard. I wrapped them in the aluminum foil I had on the baking tray and dumped them in the trash, once their temperature had dropped below that of the surface of the sun. Rats, as Snoopy might say.
Not to be foiled (nudge nudge), once the tray had truly cooled, I put another piece of foil down, sprayed it with Pam or something, put two more frozen scones on the tray and placed them into the oven. This time I turned off the TV and sat at the dining room table where I could look into the kitchen and hear the timers, both of them. They, the scones, not the timers, came out perfect, and the one I ate 5 hours later was delicious. I know there is a lesson in this mishap, but at the moment I am too tired to think about what it might be.
And I just noticed that 30 minutes have passed since the last time I glanced at the wall clock in the kitchen. Since the coffee is made and I also did the dishes before I sat down, I think I shall close the iPad and go to bed. Actually, upon further reflection I remember that I had glanced at the digital clock at the top of the page, not the kitchen clock. I think someone's messing with me. Schuster, the little dickens! It has to be!