My ardor for cooking is unflagging. It has survived many things… smoke alarms, microscopic galley kitchens, chunky cheesecake, missing ingredients, ill-timed meals… I haven’t substituted salt for sugar yet, but it’s only a matter of time given how scatterbrained and clumsy I tend to be.
But this culinary passion of mine has conquered all disasters, including the truly obnoxious existence of electric stoves with coils. Every apartment (that’s reasonably priced) has them, and I balanced sauté pans on them faithfully for 3 years until becoming a homeowner. Then, prettily housed within a blinding array of strawberry-dotted wallpaper, another kind of electric stove greeted me. A kind that has not been reproduced since the 80s, and for good reason -- the solid, cast-iron plated electric stove.
They take 18 years to heat up and 18 years to cool down. They look hideous. They’re impossible to clean. If they didn’t happen to be immovable, they’d be worse than the loathed coils.
Yet lo and behold! A light shineth in the distance, and that light was a brand-new Frigidaire glass-ceramic stovetop that is flat as a pancake and glossy with promise! Thanks to Conn’s and my husband’s prowess, I am now thrilled to announce that I can plop four frying pans on that baby with nary a wobble or shake.
Sigh. Frigidaire, I love thee! (Ahem… you, too, honey…)
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1 comment:
remember that time in paris when we made cobbler with salted butter? ha. you've come a long way baby.
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