Except that I'd forgotten I wasn't in Italy, where the fan-assisted oven setting on the right-hand oven is two turns anti-clockwise from 'off'......which is what I did. In London, however, that setting starts the self-clean function going, which means that the temperature is raised to a planet-scorching level of intensity...and it was only as the distinctive self-cleaning-hot-metal smell wafted into my consciousness that I realised something might be wrong.
By which time, the self-clean self-lock facility had also come into play (a little gizmo which prevents non-existent children from immolating themselves by opening the oven door during the self-clean process), and all I could do was watch helplessly through the glass panel as the pastry shell burnt to a crisp, and I wrestled in vain with the locked door, willing the oven to cool down sufficiently for me to get the bloody thing open.
Which eventually it did....and it was just as I finally retrieved the sad and sorry burnt-offering that the cream - unwatched - effortlessly boiled over and flooded the entire hob.
It was (sigh-makingly) more like the Keystone Cops, than cooking.
Tonight's Dinner:
Steamed Prawn Won Ton.
Slow-roast Pork with Garlic & Star-anise; Spinach sautéed with Spring Onion
Chocolate Mousse, with fresh Raspberries