Wrangler Dani

For six weeks, from mid-September until the last day of October, every meal we had at home was either from the grill or Crock-Pot. (Actually, we added a microwave about four weeks in). We washed dishes with the hose and we made our coffee in the bathroom. All of these inconveniences are tiny, however, compared to the joy of a full-size gas range and oven after six weeks without it!

When we lived in San Clemente, we had a gas stove, but it was “apartment-sized”, which was a popular size back in the 1960’s, supposedly. In case you’re wondering, “apartment-sized” really means “good luck roasting that chicken, amateur” or “HAHA a dozen muffins you MUST be kidding” or “I know I have four burners, but four pots is just too much to ask. I will now push your pots onto the floor, like so”.

When we first moved to Bend, our apartment stove was normal-sized, but electric, which meant that I either served burnt or raw food when using the range, because electric ranges are terrible (I can’t responsibility for my cooking failures, but not when I’m forced to use electric. It’s that awful.)

Now, this house had an electric stove, but I cackled with glee when we pulled that baby out. We placed a propane tank and a gas line, and glory hallelujah we are cookin’ with gas! Our range is so pretty I can hardly stand it. I’m making pastas and risottos and scrambled eggs with abandon and it’s awesome. Who knew that something so basic could bring so much joy? Come over sometime, we can stare at the blue flame together and I’ll cook something scrumptious.

Grateful doesn’t even begin to describe my feeling about the new range and oven. Ecstatic? Overjoyed? Fall-on-my-knees thankful? That sounds about right.