Discovering That My Pioneer Spirit is no Match for Wimpy-ness

APPLIANCES TALK to each other, often in conspiratorial ways. Our built-in microwave and our electric range decided to flame out within a day of each other. “Thee go first,” said the electric range (It’s an Amana). “It’s only right,” said the microwave. After all, I am above you.”
Appliances can be creepy. Late at night on its own, the Amana went into its self-clean mode, heating up beyond the normally cleaning temperature. The oven door locked and the tell tale acrid electrical smell permeated the air. The control panel blanked out. There was no way to turn it off except to switch off the circuit breaker. It took more than four hours to cool down. The previous day, the microwave re-heated its last cup of coffee.
My first thought was – now we’re cooking with gas, because on the deck we have a gas grill with a side burner. We own a small toaster oven, too. Dinner that evening was fun and had all the adventure of camping out. We baked potatoes in the toaster oven, grilled chicken, and steamed flat green beans on the grill’s side burner. Let’s pitch a tent and install an outhouse on the deck. Ha! Take that, insubordinate appliances. We are made of sterner stuff.
Until the next morning. It is 6:00 a.m., so foggy that you can barely see. Everything outdoors is wet. I am on the deck boiling water for tea. Yogurt and fruit for lunch, cold sandwiches for dinner.
I searched the Internet for electric hotplates. Apparently there are no more La Bohme-type starving artists living in unheated lofts cooking on one-burner hotplates. Finally, I located one (with 2 burners) at a restaurant supply store. Then we Amazon-ed an electric water heater upper. All this time we were waiting for representatives from our Home Warranty Company to come tell us that the appliances didn’t work. A work order got screwed up, so a guy came to look at the microwave but he didn’t have authority to look at the range. No tickee, no lookie! That took another couple of days.
Being without appliances that are used every day to provide hot meals is not exactly like suffering through the tragic losses experienced by the hurricane victims in Florida. Eating out is an option, but who wants to spend 50 to 80 dollars a night keeping restaurants afloat? Still, we decided to make an attempt not to rely on hot dogs, burgers, and eggs for evening meals. Let me describe one of our recent dinners. The menu was mussels, steamed artichokes, steak, mashed potatoes, and peas. Gouty arthritis keeps me away from shellfish, thus the two different entrees. The hotplate has two heating pads. The large one is 1400 watts; the smaller one is 400 watts. Obviously the larger one generates more heat and cooks faster. We started the artichokes early on pad A, because we would need it later to cook the mussels in a large deep frying pan. We would use pad B to heat up butter and garlic to make garlic bread. I told you we weren’t settling for fast food.
I purchased the steak with money from a Go Fund Me account. Perfect strangers can be so generous. I started the potatoes on the grill’s side burner and waited for the water to boil. It was cool outside but an velvety cabernet warmed me.
I ran back inside to remove the pan with the butter and garlic from pad B, replacing it with the pan holding the peas. Chef (I’m the sous chef) was busy with the mussels, which take a lot of preparation and concentration. I took a few sips on my indoor wine, a chilled Chardonnay.
Back outside, the spuds were done. I removed the pan from the burner, sipped some cabernet, rushed the potatoes inside to keep warm on top of the toaster oven, which was heating a baguette to make garlic bread. I would mash them while waiting 10 minutes for the steak to settle. Somehow everything came together at the same time and dinner shared with a vivacious companion garnered three Michelin stars.
How did my grandparents manage? My paternal grandfather was born the year before the Civil War ended. I’m sure he never saw modern conveniences until he came to America. My mother cooked on a gas stove that had to be lighted with a match. She used an icebox to store food, replenishing it when the iceman cameth. She hand washed clothes with a washboard and dried them on a clothesline.
We’ve grown soft through dependence on modern appliances, rushing to make motel reservations at the first sign of a power outage. Though we are without a stove and microwave oven, we still have electricity. I can complain on Facebook and get dozens of sympathetic likes, except for my nephew, Jimmy who lives in Alaska, has a Russian wife, eats bear, moose, and elk, and lights his cigars with exploding shotgun shells. He thinks I’m a wimp. He may be right.
Contact Jerry at jerrygervase@yahoo.com