Things I Will (and Will Not) Miss in D.C. #3: Our Miserable Stove

This is probably the first item in a somewhat long list of things that I will not miss about our little studio apartment on Columbia Rd. Oh I'm sure in 10 years or so, the nostalgia will set in. We will think back on how we managed to live together for 4 years in 580 square feet and will laugh. However, some memories can't even be softened by the rosy-colored passage of time. One of those things is our stove. Our miserable, minuscule, temperamental stove. The darn thing never ceases to confound me and I am convinced, in all honesty, that it is out to kill me.

This is our second stove, and much smaller than the first (that's an entirely separate story that I've tried to put behind me). Technically, it has four burners. However, I'd have to pull out my Fisher Price cook set in order to actually fit four whole pans at one time. Plastic peas and carrots anyone? Given that I have adult-sized pots, and actually like to cook things, this poses a real problem anytime I want to get more elaborate than one-pan pasta dishes. In fact, several of my adult-sized pans have been decommissioned because they simply won't fit. My poor pizza pan stands alone in the corner because it's just too wide. Regulating the burners is also a treat. We have three settings: Off, Blazing Hot, and Somewhere in Between (but never EVER a low simmer).

And forget baking. Anytime I would set the oven temperature above 325 degrees, it continued to climb until I'd massacred another round of cookies or a beautiful layer cake. I had serious doubts in my abilities to do anything but boil water when Jesse put a moratorium on pies and cakes a few years ago - he even banned cupcakes! This was a very hard decision for him to make. I thought it was because he was so hurt by my utter disrespect for a decent baked good, but as it turns out, he was worried about my mental state when I kept failing over and over again. The moratorium has been lifted, thanks to my pizza stone, which has triumphed over the oven's most valiant attempts at wildly fluctuating in temperature. It's sad, though, that I need a rock in my most important appliance in order to cook food properly.

Some days, especially since we still don't have air conditioning, I gaze out of our open kitchen window that is conveniently located next to the miserable stove. I fantasize about the day I will have a vessel that is large enough to accommodate a whole turkey. Sometimes, the wheels start turning and I think about how fun it would be to just chuck the whole thing down onto Belmont Street (possibly setting it on fire first). I know, I'm nuts, but the stove is small enough to fit through the window (I've measured twice). Coincidence? Hmm.

Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure there's a clause in our hypothetical marriage contract that prohibits me from throwing large appliances (I'll verify later with Jesse). This same contract also prohibits him from buying musical furniture, so I guess for now the oven gets a stay of execution.