OVEN LOVIN’
Hello, oven.
It’s been a while. I missed you.
Did you miss me?
What? Silence? You’re giving me the silent treatment? Oh, come on. I know I haven’t paid any attention to you for awhile. Okay, okay, it’s more than “awhile,” you are right. It’s been what, five months? No, I’m not playing dumb or trying to minimize our time apart. But come on, it happens every year, and every year we have to have this little argument, this little spat, this little moment.
And after we make up, every year I give you a tender tune-up. I change the tin foil on the bottom, make sure there isn’t any leftover food on the heat coils, check your lightbulb, give you a test run to make sure you are in good shape and heat up evenly. Heck, I even clean the glass on the door so I can gaze lovingly at what you are so graciously heating up and cooking for me.
Don’t go there. Do. Not. Go. There.
I did not completely abandon you over the summer. I didn’t shut you out of my mind. I thought about you, I pondered using you several times, but it was too hot to fire you up. But that didn’t mean I was ready to ditch you forever. And, for your information, I am coming back to you way before the real cold weather hits, so this is not a “have to do” sort of thing like you imply. Indeed, I am going out of my way to assure you, to care for you, to reinforce how much you mean to me, despite how little attention I paid to you over the summer.
Let bygones be bygones; drop the rock; let it go; move ahead instead of looking back. What do you say?
Oh, this year is different because you heard me cooing and whispering sweet nothings to the stovetop burners after they cooked up a pan full of trout, fried potatoes and corn and everything came out great and at the same time? Yes, I was impressed and said so. It was a heck of a good job.
And the barbeque grill? Really? Yeah, I did say I loved it, but that was after it broiled to perfection a couple of steaks along with veggies and garlic bread. Spectacular effort, so yes, I patted the grill affectionately and paid it some heartfelt compliments.
Come on, those were one-time flings, as you call them. And now the barbeque grill is parked and out of commission for the winter. The stovetop will still be pitching in and doing some work on meals. But it will once again be a supporting cast member while you are the star of the show. Come on. Can the stovetop turn frozen tater tots into mouthwatering nuggets of golden goodness and an enticing, enchanting palette pleasing plate of pure joy and happiness? No, no it cannot. Only you can work that sort of magic and make such a mystical transformation seem effortless. For that and that alone you are the All Star of cooking appliance and damn near a Hall of Famer.
But there is more, so much more.
It goes without saying that cupcakes, muffins and cake owe their existence to you. I am a slacker baker who uses boxed cake and muffin mix but you come through every time and cover for my lack of skill and organization and make those store-bought delights well, delightful.
Leftovers? Of course you do a magnificent job softly and slowly bringing back to life the often sad and forgotten remnants of previous meals. Somehow you infuse what should be a mess into something not only edible, but nearly as tasty as it was the first time around. Magical.
Let’s talk about frozen beer battered cod filets that come out crispy on the outside and tender and juicy on the inside. Then there is the almost impossible trick of taking a frozen pizza, wringing the stale taste of cardboard out of the crust and turning the whole thing into a hot, cheese-covered treat. That’s all you, sweetheart, all you.
Can I mention trout? Sure. A little butter, lemon juice, a cluster of my secret ingredients and bingo, you bake up a trout that is tender, mouthwatering and a delicacy. Your effort puts the stovetop to shame and highlights that frying anything in oil is a crude and barbaric cooking technique.
Baking is subtle, intuitive, some would even say sublime.
Let’s join hands once again and continue our culinary journey, shall we?
Jon Klusmire of Bishop is working up the courage to have another difficult conversation when he mothballs his swamp cooler for the winter.
