From The Alchemaster's Apprentice, Walter Moers:

One evening -- the two of them were standing in front of a kitchen cupboard -- Ghoolion suddenly laid aside the egg he was peeling. Unlocking the door, he invited Echo to look inside the cupboard and tell him what it contained. Echo did as he was bidden, but all he could see was a dusty jumble of unidentifiable kitchen utensils.

'No idea,' said Echo. 'Just junk of some kind.'

'That,' Ghoolion said in a voice quivering with rage, 'is my dungeon for useless kitchen utensils. There's one such in every kitchen worthy of the name. Its inmates are kept there like especially dangerous patients in a mental institution.'

He reached into the cupboard and brought out an odd-looking implement.

'What cook,' he cried, 'does not possess such a gadget, which can sculpt a radish into a miniature rose? I acquire it at a fair in one of those moments of mental derangement when life without a miniature rose-cutting-gadget seems unimaginable.'

He hurled the thing back into the darkness and brought out another.

'Or this here, which enables one to cut potatoes into spirals five yards long! Or this, a press for juicing turnips! Or this, a frying pan for producing rectangular omelettes!'

Ghoolion took gadget after gadget from the cupboard and held them under Echo's nose, glaring at them angrily.

'What induced me to buy all these? what can one do with potato spirals long enough to decorate a banqueting hall? What demented voice convinced me in a whisper that I might some day be visited by guests with an insatiable hankering for turnip juice, rectangular omelettes and potatoes five yards long?'

He hurled the gadgets back into their dungeon with a look of disgust. Dust went billowing into the air and Echo sneezed involuntarily.

'Why, I ask myself, don't I simply chuck them all on to the rubbish dump? I'll tell you that too. I keep them for one reason alone: revenge! I keep them just as medieval princes kept their enemies on starvation rations. A quick death on a rubbish dump would be too merciful. No, let them languish in a gloomy dungeon, condemned to everlasting inactivity. That's the only condign punishment for a rectangular omelette pan!'

So saying, Ghoolion slammed the cupboard door and turned the key three times in the lock. Then he went on cooking as if nothing had happened.

From that day on, Echo regarded the kitchen cupboard -- and the bottommost compartment in particular -- with new eyes. No longer a cupboard, it was a medieval fortress whose dungeon harboured a terrible secret. He often slunk past it, and when all was quiet he would put his ear to the door and listen. And he sometimes fancied he could actually hear Ghoolion's pitiful captives whimpering for mercy -- pleading to be allowed to rust away on a rubbish dump.