I don’t think I yet made it clear that I’ve moved into my dad’s spare bedroom. This is a temporary arrangement, and one that I’m deeply grateful to have as an option – I really believed I’d get a royal razzing for moving in with my dad, but every single one of my friends has said a variation of a deeply sincere “Oh, that’s nice.” The tone is clear: it’s a unquantifiably lucky thing to have nice parents, and especially ones with bedrooms to spare.
Dad, I love you. You’re the best dad ever. Everyone agrees. But THIS FUCKING STOVE IS TESTING MY PATIENCE.
This is the most astonishingly, completely, improbably inefficient and unusable cooktop ever manufactured. I’d rather be cooking over a dung brazier in a mud hut. But Sunday, you say, how can it be so terrible? I’ll tell you dear reader: to begin with, the element takes a very long time to get up to heat, and then continues to ramp electronic cigarette comparison up to carbonizing sun-surface temperatures for just a moment before shutting itself off for upwards of two minutes at a time.
To put that in running commentary form: I’ll set the dial to medium heat. I’ll wait five minutes for the pan to warm. I’ll set a grilled cheese on the pan, and nothing will happen other than a warm dampness. Without touching the temperature dial, within a few minutes the sandwich will go from humid and sweaty to suddenly scorched in a matter of seconds, after which the burner will “maintain” the heat by not coming back on for several more minutes. ENJOY YOUR HALF BURNED, HALF COLD SANDWICH, MORTAL.
For fun, the oven door has a very strong spring on it that requires that I put my knee on the door to keep it open. While the oven is on.
In conclusion: get a Whirlpool Accubake¹ as soon as you can.
¹ Or as those on the inside call it, Satan’s Anus.November 21st, 2011 | Drama!