"Oh, hell. Right!" Dora turned around to look into the oven as well and then glance up at the clock. "It's a chicken," she said, grabbing for her wand in the back pocket of her jeans (Mad-Eye would have had a fit to see it). She pointed it at the stove for a moment before reconsidering and deciding to look at the recipe again first. It had said something about basting after twenty minutes.
Whatever that was. "What's a baster, mum?" And this, from the woman who couldn't even make pasta on her own without ruining it.
"I was going to cut up some vegetables too," she explained. "By hand." The assurance was needed, she felt, given that they all knew what could happen when the clumsy became too exuberant with cutting spells and flying knives.