September 14th, 2007

Ode to a Stove

stove.jpg

The time has arrived. The paint color has been decided, the layout committed to paper. The cabinets have been measured and ordered, the countertops pondered. Lighting schemes are underway, plans for the floor determined. And yes, appliances, of the trendy stainless steel variety, have been selected and quoted. They only await our order. But herein lies the problem. I am in love with my current stove, a 40 inch 1959 GE that, I believe for reasons unknown to me, belongs in this house more than I do. Both ovens are 25-50 degrees off, depending on what day it is, and in order to cook the perfect pancake, you must switch the burner between 2 and 3 every couple of minutes. My husband curses it. I admire its temperament, have, from day one, felt a kinship with it. At least, I think, its quirks are consistent.

Keeping it in use, however, is no longer an option. Like I said, the cabinets have been ordered, the slot for the stove reduced to a standard 30 inches. But I cannot give my ’59 up that easily. Everyday I think of new places to put it. In my office as a bookcase. In the guest bedroom as a dresser. In the bathroom as a sinkless vanity. My husband will fight me on this, I know, but the one place I’m unwilling to have my stove live is in my heart as a memory.

Oh, the food we have cooked together. The pepperoni and fresh garlic pizzas. The Penne Norma, Porkchop Chile, Coconut Chicken Curry. We’ve baked hams and roasted turkeys, steamed veggies and canned jelly. Without you, will I ever look forward to cooking again? Will my new oven doors creak the way yours do? Will it perfectly dry out my bread and burn my granola if left unattended to? Will the timer, if bumped, send out an eerie buzz, like lights zapping bugs, the way yours does?

I’m afraid not. It will be new and shiny and stylish. It won’t talk back or even hum to let me know I’ve left it on. It will be silent. Stoic. Alien.

I will approach this new stove like a child approaches lima beans or broccoli—with a crinkled nose, a screwed up mouth, a staunch refusal to dig in, to just try it.

Oh, my stove, if you go, take me with you…

The question is: will I be the child who grows up to like lima beans and broccoli, or even just one or the other? Or will that childhood disgust continue into adulthood, color me like a birthmark, brand me like a deep and abiding scar?

  
Posted By: Kelly  |  Filed Under: Food Writing  |  Print

10 Responses to “Ode to a Stove”

  1. Katrina

    September 14th, 2007 at 11:39 am

    I bet you’ll love your new stove!

  2. Kelly

    September 14th, 2007 at 12:28 pm

    Aw, thanks Kat, I needed to hear that. That doesn’t mean I should give up my old one, does it?

  3. Adam

    September 14th, 2007 at 1:16 pm

    Basement? Maybe you could make a separate kitchen down there? I had a friend as a kid who had a separate kitchen in the basement — for canning stuff.

  4. Kelly

    September 14th, 2007 at 4:14 pm

    Alas, I have no basement… Sigh. Maybe this will be an excuse to buy some land and build a cabin. With a HUGE shop for hubby… Ha!

  5. JEP

    September 14th, 2007 at 4:38 pm

    Kelly—I love the cabin idea–I could totally live in the mountains with this stove. Great article!

  6. Kelly

    September 15th, 2007 at 11:21 am

    Thanks, JEP! I’m envisioning the cabin in a grove of aspen trees…

  7. Dan

    September 17th, 2007 at 9:56 am

    I liked broccoli as a kid.

  8. Kelly

    September 17th, 2007 at 11:50 am

    Hmmm. Unfortunately, I was more picky. I hated broccoli. And lima beans. (Still hate lima beans.) In fact, I used to sit at the dinner table long after dinner was over, with my veggies in front of me, just waiting for me to eat them so I could have dessert. But I’m sure you remember that! ;)

  9. Alice

    September 20th, 2007 at 12:46 pm

    How about a cabin in Colorado! Joint ownership? Brian can load the stove in his truck and bring it out!

  10. Kelly

    September 20th, 2007 at 2:23 pm

    Colorado, of course! That’s what I had in mind. Where else will you find the most perfect aspen trees? Joint ownership? Sure! I’m down for that. Start looking!


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