My comment on the post Hot Stuff at kbculture about the Kenwood Cooking Chef mixer that has an induction cooking element under the bowl which allows you to brown meat and then have the Cooking Chef stir the stew while it cooks — all in the same pot or bowl. Of course, it can also be used to mix and possibly bake cakes.
Until William Blatty painted himself dark with the The Exorcist he was a comedy writer — all horror is ultimately based on comedy — and a very clever one. His book John Goldfarb, Please Come Home, made into a movie with Peter Ustinov, Shirley MacLaine and Richard Crenna as John Goldfarb, poked fun at almost every pretension then afflicting America. One of the characters who did not make it to the movie was Rick Dixon, a would-be politician who slept his afternoons away on a leather couch as President of a private Southern California university. The campus was effectively run by the SMEDLEY IV computer, a machine that hummed lovingly to itself, gave occasional wrong answers out of sheer obstinancy and had a distinct sense of humor all its own. In a school rife with patriotism, it piped the national anthem into every toilet stall, so the moment anyone sat down they had to immediately stand up again. My point is that when your mixer becomes your frying pan, when the chef becomes overly mechanized and thoroughly computerized, you run the risk of being laughed at. Other than that, it's a stunning appliance.
Until William Blatty painted himself dark with the The Exorcist he was a comedy writer — all horror is ultimately based on comedy — and a very clever one. His book John Goldfarb, Please Come Home, made into a movie with Peter Ustinov, Shirley MacLaine and Richard Crenna as John Goldfarb, poked fun at almost every pretension then afflicting America. One of the characters who did not make it to the movie was Rick Dixon, a would-be politician who slept his afternoons away on a leather couch as President of a private Southern California university. The campus was effectively run by the SMEDLEY IV computer, a machine that hummed lovingly to itself, gave occasional wrong answers out of sheer obstinancy and had a distinct sense of humor all its own. In a school rife with patriotism, it piped the national anthem into every toilet stall, so the moment anyone sat down they had to immediately stand up again. My point is that when your mixer becomes your frying pan, when the chef becomes overly mechanized and thoroughly computerized, you run the risk of being laughed at. Other than that, it's a stunning appliance.