The Stymied Cook

Our oven is broken. Every six or seven years, the pilot light in the oven conks out. That is, the mechanism that controls it conks out, the thermocoupler. We call Home Service, and they call Gino. I tell Gino the problem and he says, "No problem." But this time there is a problem. He comes on a Friday, but even though I've told him what's wrong, somehow Gino hasn't thought to bring a new thermocoupler with him. So already we've lost a day. Gino comes back on Tuesday (should have been Monday, but we have no control over that). On Tuesday he puts in the new thermocoupler and it doesn't work. Uh-oh. Something else is wrong. Gino leaves, saying that he will call the manufacturer and also talk to several stove-fixing friends, and he will be back on Wednesday. That's good news, because we're having guests for dinner on Wednesday.

 

Unfortunately, Gino doesn't come (or call) on Wednesday. We create an ovenless meal for our Wednesday night guests. Nor does he call or come on Thursday. We begin to revise the menu we had set up for our upcoming Friday night dinner party. (Maybe we should stop entertaining so frequently.) Sure enough, in the middle of our Friday dinner party, Gino calls. He has found the needed part. He will pick it up on Monday—but will not be able to get to us until Tuesday. And no promises about that, either. On the coming Friday we're having a neighbourhood party for thirty-plus. I'd like to be doing a few things ahead of time, but obviously I won't be doing anything that requires an oven!

 

This is my beloved Garland stove we're talking about. Stupid, I know, to fall in love with an appliance. Essentially it's just a gas stove. Not even a six-burner, at that. But it's a Garland, a commercial restaurant stove. Big, black, and beautiful. The huge oven easily bakes six loves of bread at a time on the single rack. The flame of the burners is larger than the flame of any ordinary gas stove I've ever seen. It heats water in the twinkling of an eye. Well, several twinklings.

 

And we've had it for 23 years. (Dino found, with minimal searching, the original bill of sale.) For 23 years it has inspired me, tolerated my lapses, and supported me when I get out of my depth with an overly ambitious menu.

 

I love my stove.

 

I have no doubt that Gino will find and fix the problem. Dino is not so sanguine. He's already saying, "Shall we give each other a new stove for our anniversary?" But I don't want a new stove. Or, if I did have to have one, I want this exact same stove again. Don't tempt me with computerized this or digitalized that. All I want is reliability, a huge oven, and four big fat burners. No clock. No broiler, even. (Okay, I do occasionally miss having a broiler.) Garlands have quadrupled in price since we bought this one. The company was always reluctant about putting a commercial stove in a private residence—and perhaps now they won't even do it.

 

I'm crossing my fingers for Gino's work. And, of course, I'm also hoping he manages to carry off his miracle before the end of the week. I've got cooking to do!

 

 

Copyright 2010 Ann Tudor   

www.anntudor.ca
http://scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com