I’ve written previously about stuff I have in my kitchen and what I can’t live without. Despite my well-stocked kitchen, I have few things that aren’t useful. I don’t have a blender or a full sized food processor (both broke and were never replaced), and I manage just fine without them. But now the Kitchen Gods are testing me, because my oven hasn’t worked for over a month.
So, you know, this is getting ridiculous. I’ve been a good little cook. I don’t commit a lot of food crimes, and y’all know that I’ve worked hard to become less judgmental about how other people eat and cook. I can respect The Recipe and still make it my own. I’m a good hostess. I take my guests’ likes and dislikes into consideration. I make sure there’s plenty of food for the vegans, and that no one dies from a nut allergy. What else do they want from me? Maybe the Kitchen Gods are Catholic and want to hear a confession. OK, then. “Bless me, Father Keller, for I have sinned. It’s been a gazillion years since my last confession. I eat canned soup and cookies from the grocery store, and I drink domestic beer.” I’ll be happy to say a dozen “Hail Julia’s” and take a trip to Lourdes as my penance, unless going to Tuscany would be more fitting.
Logan has spent a little time working on it, and he’s sure it’s the sensor for the “bake” option, because the broiler works. What he’s not so sure of is whether he can fix it himself. We might have to call someone in to take care of it. I have no idea when that’s going to happen. Logan has told me that I don’t need the damned oven anyway, because it’s August. But he’s also told me that I’ve spoiled him with my homemade bread. Nothing else is as good as what I make.
To that end, I got creative (Note: shameless pimping of my food blog just ahead.), with mixed results. Making bread on the grill is a big, wonderful adventure. It makes me feel like a pioneer woman, which is pretty cool. I need to be more adventurous in my cooking anyway. If it ever stops raining, and if my discs return to their rightful place in my spine (instead of spending time where they don’t belong, like a bunch of kids hanging out at the 7-11 smoking cigarettes, drinking cheap beer and annoying everyone around them), enabling me to pick up my cast iron dutch oven, I’ll try it again. I’m obsessed with getting it right.
Of course, the grill is generally a great substitute for the oven, but it’s not helping with my brownie craving. I’m about ready to mix up a batch of brownie batter, heat it on the stove just enough to coddle the eggs, and freeze it in tablespoon-sized portions.
I’m good at making do with what I have. I mean, how much does one person need anyway? I believe in counting my blessings and putting things in perspective. I know there are people in this country who don’t even have a stove, so it could be worse. But I’m also a fan of acknowledging my pain, literal or figurative, and bitching about it for a while. Not having an oven is making me very cranky. With fall on its way, my mood is just going to get worse. What’s life without lasagna? (Kate obviously agrees.)
If anyone knows the name of the Patron Saint of Modern Kitchen Appliances, please let me know. I’d like to light a candle and pray to her. I might still have a rosary around here somewhere.