I think every woman should have a blowtorch
Today–ironically–on what-would-have-been Julia Child’s 102nd birthday, I am writing an ode to our old stove. Because, yesterday, we bid adieu. The stove predated Big Papa’s purchase of the Urban Cabin, and was at least 11 years old, probably closer to 15.
Its time had come. How many times had I rotated our intended meal to ensure each side was thoroughly cooked? How frequently did large pans tip over on a burner that was too small?
Our new, swanky range arrived mid-morning. Okay, so it’s not an AGA,Viking, or Wolf, but rather humble GE (my father, a former GE employee, would approve). But it’s new, ours, and has a convection oven and a cook-top griddle. As Little Bird says: My excited.
Big Papa and I reminisced about ye old stove before the installation guys took it away (and the color of our old kitchen, revealed when the stove disappeared). Nine ‘Shepherd’s Pies’ set off fire alarms from this stove. Hundreds of meals were prepared, and a lot of water had boiled on its burners.
And then…there it was. In all its shiny new glory. I may not have a blowtorch, but I do have a new stove.
Happy Birthday, Julia!
Take the road less traveled, Beth