Gas

We had a domestic tragedy last week.

For weeks, possibly months, Daughter and I were sure that from time to time we could smell gas in the kitchen. Sometimes there was a logical cause – someone had turned on a ring and then not lit it – but often there was not. Eventually Husband was persuaded to call the number and report a possible leak; which he did on Thursday morning just after I had cut up several pounds of oranges and prepared them to make marmalade.

The workmen came with surprising alacrity; confirmed that there was indeed a gas leak from the oven; and, instead of just taping shut the oven door (the gas was leaking only when the oven was in use), disconnected the whole cooker and, cheerfully and full of tea, disappeared away up the road.

We looked at the dead cooker and the large pan of ur-marmalade.

There was nothing to be done but to replace the cooker as soon as possible. With a bit more notice, we might have thought carefully about all the possible alternatives, but with an immediate need we decided just to replace the cooker with one as like it as we could find. After all, for 18 years we had cooked happily on our old faithful friend and had not found it lacking in any important respect. We knew that a replacement would be difficult because our one absolute requirement 18 years ago had been an eye-level grill; and I recall vividly the young salesman explaining that only old people wanted eye-level grills, everyone else had moved on. And I recall telling him that for the purposes of cooker purchase, he had better regard me as an old person. 18 years later, we assumed that even the old people who had wanted eye-level grills then would themselves have moved on to a better place. 

Perhaps I had better explain about the necessity for an eye-level grill. I like toast. I like thick toast, crisp on the outside and soft within. I have not found anything that makes it better than a gas grill (the only alternative is an open fire and a toasting fork, and those are not to hand in the morning) – those nasty electric toasters either leave the bread damp and limp, or cracklingly dry. And when I am making toast, I am probably doing half a dozen other things at the same time, and want to keep an eye on it as I pass to and fro between clearing the draining board and feeding the cats. If it is out of sight, then I won’t notice the point at which it is absolutely perfect. 

If finding an eye-level grill was difficult 18 years ago, we were sure that it would be equally difficult, if not impossible, today. But with hope born of desperation, off we went to our usual local appliance shop. The salesman explained things slightly differently this time. Yes, there was one firm who made gas cookers with eye-level grills; and they made just the one model. He looked at us and said that he could see why we wanted one – it was more difficult to keep bending down when you were elderly, wasn’t it? I bit my tongue. The choice was remarkably easy and quick – with only one to choose from, yes, that was the cooker we would have. In black or white? We wanted green. We settled for white. I couldn’t resist telling the salesman that I would ask Husband to paint it green. He looked worried, as if he believed me. It was revenge of a kind. 

It will be a week before the new cooker arrives.