Stove Love

Perhaps a Theme is developing here. Perhaps not. If it is, it seems to revolve largely around domesticity, which would be disturbing if I didn't enjoy nurturing my inner housewife so freakin' much (spur-of-the-moment scratch pudding, anyone?).

For instance, I am HIGHLY excited about my new stove. Not only because it has five, count them five, functional burners, including a warming burner, but also because it
A. is black.
B. doesn't smell like stale grease. Or burned eggs. Or whatever it was exactly that the old one smelled like. So far.
C. was on sale.
D. has a timer -- and it's not one of those old-school turn-ey timers that you can never adjust quite right and produces this horrible stuttery buzzing sound when you least expect it usually right after you've realized that everything has already burned and then you can't figure out how to make it stop. Nossir, it's electronic.
E. has temperature control knobs with labels that seem to reasonably correlate with the actual temperatures it produces.
F. has dual burners. Two of them.
G. has a window. That you can see through.

It's not the fanciest of the fancies, and it is electric with that weird smooth glass top I really can't seem to get used to, but I can forgive it after the two of us seamlessly melded to produce a Thanksgiving Day Feast Extraordinaire last week.

Well, what I mean is that the turkey was almost completely cooked through and the brussels sprouts were only charred because they were supposed to be. What I mean is that we're a well-oiled machine.

Or at least my new stove is.