i wish i were an...

Tell me.

How am I to cook my way out of grief without a cook top?

I had a great one before it died last week; solid cast-iron burners which were sealed atop ceramic glass.  I think across the pond they're called hob tops.  Or perhaps all British cook tops are called that.  The hobs suited my cooking but they're no longer made here.  Bugger! 

Since its demise, our dinners aren't the same; "Tuna salad on a toasted, everything bagel, dear?"

So we dug out our old microwave.  It was retired to the garage years ago because it took up space and had really only been used to cook hot dogs for "our girls", two Labradors.  You know the old, hide-the-pill-in-the-hot-dog trick which of course rarely worked, but did train the two of us to heat Oscar Mayers on command.

Here's Olympia.

We got her during the '88 Olympics.  She was fun, mischievous, stubborn, and so smart.  Gifted actually... 

One summer Olympia began going to the door and barking to be let out.  Potty time we figured, so out she went.  But she wouldn't potty.  She'd just walk a circle and then bark to come back in.  We'd let her back into the kitchen but maybe a half hour later, she'd bark again, waiting at the door for us to let her out.  No beeline to the grass.  Again, she'd just nose around a little, then want back in.

Olympia had learned that the air-conditioner would turn on whenever she came into the kitchen from outside.  Okay, she probably didn't understand why, she just knew it was magic.  She'd stretch out in front of the vent on the cool tile floor and when the room began to get a little warm to her, she'd know to do the in and out.

I swear on the life of my oven that this is true.

And here's Annie.  Sweet Annie.

She was an anniversary present, three years after we got Olympia. 

Annie was the complete opposite; shy, docile, loyal, and obedient.  She adored Spoke, and followed him wherever he went.  In her old age, she liked to go with him down the drive on trash day, the three of them lined up like train cars; the large green trash can, rolled from behind by Spoke with Annie bringing up the rear, right on his heels.  She'd never have thought to take off and explore a neighbor's yard; she'd rather be with him.

Back up the driveway incline they'd come, this time side by side.  Every Thursday.

If Olympia and Annie were still here and if I had a cook top, I'd make them some eggs.  Fried, scrambled, chopped hard-boiled, it wouldn't matter.  They loved them all.  Fried were the most fun to watch them eat.  They got their own plate which would soon be scoot-scoot-scooting across the floor as they each licked every last, gooey drop of yolk.

Eggs!  Maybe that's what I'll cook first on my new hob top cook top.  Poached, laying on a bed of frisee with a mustard vinaigrette.  And a warm baguette to wipe up every last, gooey drop of yolk.

It's obvious I need to start shopping for it soon.  Kind of exciting.  I hope I find one that's.......well, smashing!

Olympia loved to soak, sometimes
resting her head over the edge of the 'pool'. 
Annie would never, not even once,
lie down in the water.