Fuelling a burning desire

Ihave no patience for humble-bragging. Instead, here’s the full boast: I am lately the owner of the nicest stove in the world. Did I say stove? I mean a proper Victorian-style range, dual-fuel, shiny black, made in Italy. It’s got seven rings, all gas, including one for a wok; it has two ovens and a separate grill, all electric.

If you’re into appliances, then you’ll have guessed it’s by Smeg.

If you’re into brands, you’ll be swooning with envy. Or horror.

After all, this stove cost as much as … well … before we go into that, let’s discuss my oven history.

I grew up in a house with the worst stove in the world. Two rings didn’t work, a third was hotter than the sun, the timer was broken, and everything we committed to the oven went in with last rites and a prayer.

So notorious was this appliance that when my parents eventually got a new one after I left home, a friend announced it with a photographic essay on social media. Unfortunately, it quickly proved as argumentative as the old one.

As an adult, I inherited several stoves along the way, all with stubborn personalities of their own. Cooking was a combat sport, with juggling of pans and swearing as a side attraction.

Finally, in my middle years, with burn scars, mental trauma and a growing resentment of cooking, the domestic gods granted me my first ever new kitchen, and I got to choose a new stove.

And so I chose the finest stove known to man.

This stove cost as much as … well … half a brand new car – the very smallest new car, granted, but a new one nonetheless.

It’s almost criminal. It’s also bliss. Every morning I walk into my kitchen, see The Stove and sigh with appreciation. I’ve rediscovered the pleasure of cooking, and of taking pride in something splendid. Still, is it worth half a new car? Or the equivalent of 55 pairs of Levi jeans.

Or seven pairs of authentic Gucci takkies. Or four wedding dresses. Or three and a bit iPhone 8s. Or one rather lovely pair of diamond stud earrings.

Or a tenth of a BMW one series…

It’s funny the value we put on things.

Few would raise an eyebrow at a bottom of the range beemer, yet I know I’ll get more mileage out of my glorious, shocking new stove.