That red assed quesadilla maker. My wife likes quesadillas. Someone gave her the red a few years ago, we used it once. You lay a tortilla in it, then scoop your stuff into it, lay another tortilla on top, then scrunch the whole thing down as flat as possible when you close and latch the lid.
The cooking surfaces are divided into about 6 compartments, but they are covered up when you put the first tort in it. So you just ladle your stuff in it and pay it no never mind. When you squeeze the lid shut, which takes considerable force, shit squirts out all the way around. Over the edge and down the sides and on the counter. But wait, there’s more. You clean up one side and then the other and when you look back at the first side HOT shit has squirted out and is puddling on the counter. Now you’re hot. You clean that stuff up and in the middle you think, hmmm…if this side squirted what about the other, so you look and…. Squirt. All. Over. That. Fucking. Counter. too. WTF is going on here?!?!?
So you throw the cleaning cloth down and go sit down. Glaring at that quesadilla maker from across the room. Time to go lift the lid and check it out. That latch is tight. That stuff inside is now under heat pressure and has expanded even more. Using both hands, and your knees against the lower cabinet door, you pop it loose and 3000 degrees of Mexi-heat washes the UV film off your glasses instantly and replaces it with steam. “MY EYES!” “I CAN’T SEE!!!” You hold onto the counter with one hand and take your destroyed glasses off with the other, relieved that you are not blind. Can’t see worth a fuck, but not blind. Pshwew That was close.
Clean the glasses up and reinstall and head for the q-maker. There it is, all toasty golden brown with steam emanating up from it. You grab a spatula to lift it out of there but find out quickly you need an industrial shovel. Yep. That bitch welded itself down into them 6 troughs and the edge, all the way around, is one-sixteenth of an inch thick and the consistency of cast iron. Looking close, you can’t tell where the black ‘maker stops and the q begins, it looks like all one piece. WTF???
So you grab a steak knife and try to find the line of demarcation between the m and the q. It gives way, so you push the knife in some more. Then you trace the steak all the way around the perimeter getting 3rd-degree burns on the back of your knuckles as you pass by that raised lid. OMG, where the burn spray iz???
Finally, you pop that q outta there and it clanks onto the plate. Clanks. It is hard. Soft in some internal spots, but hard on the edges. To break it into bite-size pieces is going to require a wood chisel and mallet, or maybe the radial arm saw. When you get the thing divided and plated you just stare at it. Spoon some salsa on it, maybe some sour cream.
Then you bite into it. 2 incisors snap off instantly. The minced ghost peppers you put inside kills your whole mouth inside and out. The heat from your exhale as you scream in pain melts your plastic lenses. “MY EYES! I CAN’T SEE!!!” The wife can’t help cause she took a bite and is writhing on the floor from cardiac arrest. She’s allergic to them ghost peppers. OMG, OMG!!!!
Anyway, the QM was a kitchen appliance someone gave us and we gave it to the landfill. Just passing it on.