Finally, after at least a decade if not two, the gas stove that came with Rancho Rolly Polly has pooped out. The burner underneath the oven won’t stay lit. We could, I know, get the burner repaired and move smartly along. But the bloom is off this particular stove after many years of hard work and scuff marks, and ours is the world’s preeminent consumer culture, so Mr. B. and I went off to Lowe’s to order a new stove. He preferred one with a bunch of removable broiler accessories in the drawer under the oven, but I convinced him to go for my choice by pointing out that it had a special switch to turn on an industrial-looking fan in the oven, for convection baking, which allegedly will cut the baking time by a third. For busy people on the go, you know.
I slyly called it the cookie-making switch, alluding to one of Mr. B.’s favorite activities with Mom. So that was settled, until Mom got home from work last night and pronounced the 2-year warranty I paid for unnecessary and the choice of a Frigidaire (instead of the Maytag I had mentioned before) not a good one. Well, I said, at least we have the warranty in case something goes wrong. This is only the second stove I ever bought, and as far as I can tell they have few (or no) moving parts, which is probably why they last so long. So one brand is probably as good as another. This one does have the fan to go wrong, not to mention the switch to turn it on, but why not a little adventure with what is normally a pretty dull purchase, i.e. a stove?
My grandmother’s stove was a woodburner right up into the 1950s. She taught my sister how to make French toast on it. But that’s not the kind of adventure I had in mind. I did notice that the "extra features" of my callow youth–see-through oven window, inside light, and removable (i.e. easily cleanable) grates around the burners–are now standard. So the only way to get a little adventure (unless you care to start cutting wood every day) is to go for something like the convection oven switch.
Now for the really hard part: waiting to see if the installers can come at a workable time and can avoid making a big scratch in the floor vinyl whilst removing the old number and installing the new one. Like most men I don’t like shopping, and since Mr. B. doesn’t either I suspect it must be a genetic preference for males, but really the installing part is the hardest to bear, requiring hovering about to make sure the nifty new item isn’t put in in such a way as to screw up something older that hasn’t stopped working.
UPDATE It got delivered four days before the installer showed up, so sat in the garage and we got to be careful not to hit it pulling in. But by Friday afternoon it was hooked up, after only minimal hovering, the vinyl was safe, and we even retrieved the mechanical timer and one longhandled wooden spoon that had fallen behind the old stove. So that’s over with. What’s next? We’ll find out.
THE TEXAS SCRIBBLER 