Of course, I bought one. Because I love kitchen gadgets, but more than that, I love the smell of hot, just-baked bread, but I can't be bothered with the lengthy kneading and proving process necessary to make it.
So I got home, unwrapped my prize, read the instructions, and set to work. Added all the ingredients, set it off, and waited. Time's up, and the loaf is turned out. A thick slice is cut when it's cooled down, loaded up with butter, and yum!
Actually, no. It was ghastly. I was mortified! And I looked again at the recipe that came with the machine.
Oh. Right. A teaspoon of salt. Not a tablespoon. Whoops! A lesson learned in reading the instructions a little more carefully.
So, just how is it that in this story, the only thing affected by the chef's claimed disability was apparently the sell-by dates?
That's some amazingly convenient dyslexia....