Lack of Fire

Last night, I went to see Julia & Julia while Lance watched District 9. As good as District 9 may be, I am actually not too big a fan of alien movies. And I wasn't really in the mood for an action movie with aliens, so I gathered a couple of ladies, and we went to Julie & Julia instead.

The film was just what I was looking for, though the Julia Child (played dazzlingly by Meryl Streep) far outshone the bits about Julie Powell. Powell's book was far more amusing than her portrayal in the film, perhaps because the Julie in the film was almost too sticky-sweet and doe-eyed for all her claims to bitchiness and perhaps because the Julie in the book swore frequently while drinking gimlets and destroying her kitchen.

All the viewing of cooking got me in the mood to cook, so I decided to make this pie for potluck tomorrow. Go on, click the link. I'll wait.

That's right: a peanut butter, chocolate, banana cream pie. Yum. I expect folks will enjoy it, at least if Lance doesn't try to eat it all with a spoon while simulaneously brandishing that spoon as a weapon to keep others away. I haven't topped it yet, but I'll try to post a photo of how mine turns out.

Anyway, this pie requires a minimal amount of stove and oven use: I did need to bake the pie crust and make the pudding. Our stove, however, has been causing me grief since we moved in, and I haven't even cooked very much.

The pilot lights WON'T STAY LIT.

This lack of fire when I turn the gas to "on" is both disturbing and stressful--and it has led to a few minor meltdowns vaguely reminiscent of Powell's. At first it was because I didn't know how to light the pilots, and now that I do, it is because I want FIRE when I turn the knob to ON. Is that so much to ask, stove? Is it?

Needless to say, I managed to get everything lit (the pilots went out immediately after I lit them the first time). They go out if I use the oven; they go out if I look at them funny; and they go out whenever I want to cook. I've decided that the stove despises me.

Lance plans to e-mail our landlady and spook her with the fact that the stove is GAS and OHMYGOD the pilots won't stay LIT, which means that GAS will be POURING into our house if she doesn't replace the stove IMMEDIATELY. But of course, it'll be way less dramatic and much more subtle. In fact, he'll probably word it such that the terror will come from her own fear of gas and not anything that Lance tells her. He's crafty like that.

Until then, I get to anticipate lighting the damn thing whenever I want to cook, which will be a lot because I need to pickle (or otherwise process) things: