Let the Aga Saga begin

I was not to an Aga born - instead it crept up on me. I was mildly amused by the prospect, it seems like stepping into a cliche. I was prepared, we saved a battered solid fuel Raeburn from the skip and managed to wrangle it into a van and even more impressively install it. The down side to that initiation is that I have had a close shave with feeding the simmering over with random household waste, absent mindedly forgetting it our Aga does not have an open furnace.













Well, it was love at first bake - I lifted the lid and bathed in the instant warmth. Just as well really as shortly thereafter it petered out. After almost two years it needed a service. Therein is the bummer, on top of its insatiable thirst for oil it needs an £85 service ever 6-12 months. Too late, I was hooked! Could it be the fact that festooning it with damp laundry renders the flat bottomed torturer almost redundant, no ironing required except for a quick glide for work shirts (my children look presentable at school for the first time).



Also Aga toast? Why had I not heard about it? It should by the inspiration myths and ballads. Well, maybe that is going too far but it really is rather pleasing!



I had to refer back to Aga guru Amy Wilcox as at this stage in my life I can't be bothered to learn from my mistakes - a course of action that has made life so interesting up until now. Apparently the rule follow is 80:20: no, not the ratio of wine to tea for a happy life, but I should cook 80% of food in an oven and resort to using the hot plates on top only 20% of the time. So rather than slowly sautéing an onion stove top, I just whack it into the bottom of the roasting oven in an oven dish - potentially saving on a more dirty dishes to be washed, what is not to be liked? Yes, I am still worried about the descent into a twin set and pearls, but at present that is still a way off.











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