My beloved Wolfgang Puck griddle/grill is no more. I wore it out, peoples. It was used almost daily for years and years, and then it just quit working. That’s the way it goes with certain kitchen appliances. You bond with them, frequently express your appreciation for their thoughtful design and usefulness, come to depend on them to elevate your cooking to new levels of deliciousness; and then, when you are totally fanatically, obsessed and dependent upon them, they quit working.
I didn’t take the demise of my griddle/grill as well as I might have. I had to go through a sort of kitchen gadget grief process. At first I couldn’t accept that it was broken. I plugged it into every socket in the kitchen trying to get it to heat up. I fiddled with the temperature gauge. I put my hand on the griddle trying to feel the heat, but the griddle side was stone cold. Same thing with the grill side. So very cold, so very useless, so very, very obviously beyond rescue. Even pounding on the griddle grill part and shaking the thing violently could not resuscitate it. It was totally used up and beyond recovery.
Mr. Dave cheerfully carted it off to the garbage bin. To Mr. Dave it was just a broken electronic gadget that had been useful in its day, but was now not useful. Get rid of the broken one and get a new one was Mr. Dave’s response to the death of my beloved small electronic kitchen appliance.
Quite more easily said than done, Mr. Dave! I searched for an exact replica of my Wolfgang Puck griddle/grill. They don’t produce that exact style of griddle/grill any longer. I located a similar version of it on Amazon; however, I am wary of this new configuration of the original. What if the creators of this present version of griddle/grills decided to increase their profits by using substandard materials? What if it doesn’t heat evenly throughout the griddle/grill part? What if it doesn’t work as well as my old one did? Do I want to spend money that could be used for other stuff on a potentially inferior replacement?
I attempted to discuss the merits of replacing the griddle/grill with Mr. Dave while we were watching the television game show, Jeopardy. Mr. Dave likes Jeopardy, especially when the subjects are history, geography, and sporty stuff. He usually knows all the answers, which always surprises me. The mind of Mr. Dave is an uncharted labyrinth of infrequently needed data gathered over a lifetime of just being a guy. How else can I explain that the man is able to recall the name of nearly every general of the U.S. Civil War and what battles they fought and who also knows the names of all the world’s major mountain chains, rivers, obscure countries, and waterfalls?
Anyways, I was thoughtfully burbling away about the pros and cons of replacing our griddle/grill when Mr. Dave snapped. Apparently, Mr. Dave was having difficulty hearing the host of Jeopardy, Alex Trebek, over my wifely prattle.
“Oh for cripes sake,” grumbled Mr. Dave as he leaned towards the television trying to hear the discussion between Alex and player number two. “If you want another one just get it!”
“That’s what I’m trying to decide about,” I replied, ignoring Mr. Dave’s tense body language which probably indicated to anyone but myself that he would rather compete in a to-the-death wrestling match with an insanely pissed off, one-eyed alligator named Buddy Bob than discuss griddle/grill issues with me.
“I want to know what you think about it,” I said.
“I don’t think about it,” replied Mr. Dave.
“Well, I’m thinking about it,” I said.
“Think silently,” suggested Mr. Dave.
“So, you have no opinion?” I asked.
“WHAT IS MOUNT FUJI?” Mr. Dave shouted, addressing the television screen.
“Correct for two hundred dollars,” said Alex Trebek.
“Are you even hearing me?” I asked in a miffed tone.
“WHO IS GERALD FORD?” Mr. Dave exclaimed, clearly demonstrating, to my wifely dissatisfaction, that he wasn’t.
“Correct!” replied an enthused Alex Trebek.
“HAH!” Mr. Dave exclaimed. “I’M ON A ROLL!”
“I hate Jeopardy,” I muttered, shooting a malevolent glare at Alex Trebek.
“Huh?” said Mr. Dave, turning towards me with a confused look on his face.
“Never mind,” I sighed, “we’ll talk about it later.”