A place can lack running water, or windows that actually open, or some quantity of insulation in the roof, but give me something reliable to cook on and I'm a contented, fatter CabinDweller. Sadly, the majority of places I've rented this state have had electric stoves - which are an insult to foodies everywhere.
Of course, even an electric stove beats no stove at all. After 6 months of tenantship cursing the Toastmaster 1500, an abominaton of a two-burner hot plate, in July I gave up on my landlord's promise of installing an actual stove and took matters into my own hands. We agreed - I'd buy the stove and take it out of rent.
It's been two full months of propane-fuelled bliss. Except, of course, that time I ran out of propane late at night and was also in between paychecks. Funny how those tiny details of propane-dependency are erased from your memory when you are busy
But thanks to the trusty, old, reliable Coleman stove** ... and a can of Blazo stashed for just such emergencies, it's not such a terrible experience. Who among us hasn't had to turn to the Coleman stove in such times of need?
It's a lovely time of year to be cooking on the deck, nearly yellow jacket free at this point, and it kind of reminds me of fish camp. Though I suppose the neighbors have to be wondering about the sound of the tea kettle whistling in the morning as I heat water for coffee.
*A truism for both propane and relationships. My god! I'm turning into Hank Hill!
** A $10 garage sale score!
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