Ode to a Dorm Stove

Oh woe is the Frigidaire FFEF3011LW electric range destined for college apartment-style dormitories.  Already a base model, free of the frills afforded its high-class brethren (infrared, convection, plasma), the doomed are destined for the basest of existences.  Never will it know the joys of coaxing the delicate chemistry of a child's birthday cake into life, or toasting the skin of a Thanksgiving turkey into the gilded packaging of a brined, moist inside that will set off a round of oohs and aahs at the table. 

There is scarcely a clue that the dorm stove has even been used, save for the scarred burners scalded by sputtering cauldrons of Top Ramen and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.  The oven may be used for storage of textbooks, or a place to hide an illicit stash.  Perhaps, if occupants are particularly industrious, a frozen hockey puck of a burrito will be slipped into its hungry mouth.

What terrible past life has this poor stove lived to incur the karma this fate allots?  Did it have some bad wiring, sparking off a devastating house fire?  Allow the souffle to fall the night the boss was over for dinner, denying Daddy that promotion the family so desperately needed?  Is there a dorm truck that pulls up to the Frigidaire factory like a hearse, trucking off these units to this never-ending Hell?  All the Sears and Home Depot and strip mall apartment stoves watch with a mix of pity and relief, knowing it's not them.  Sure, they make take a few knocks in their lives:  leaky pies, spitting spaghetti sauce, forgotten roasts, but at least they'll be living. 

I'm sorry, Dorm Stove of Room 101, with your sad embroider-less towel and freakishly clean oven insides.  I hope you enjoyed a few moments roasting the stuffed peppers I put together with a set of supplies that makes my camping trip cooking look like the Iron Chef kitchen in terms of resources.  Even though you have the most crappy broil setting I've ever seen (about 20 minutes to bubbly cheese), I know your heart's in the right place.  I'll let Home Stove know that it better count its damn blessings, and to watch out.  Whoever moves in next might really love takeout. 

(I'll be back home to Eats of Eden on Sunday.  Writing residency is wonderful!)