Dear Electric Frying Pan,
Remember all the pancakes? All the goulash? And chicken broccoli surprise?
I think you cooked most of my favorite meals.
What I remember most about you was that you sat on the island, which meant that my mother (and my father, if it was pancakes) was facing us when she used you. I have an image in mind, made up of layer upon layer upon layer of images, of my mother standing sentry behind your quiet work, tipping up your lid to sneak a peek and saying “a few more minutes” or adjusting a cutlet by a millimeter with the tip of a wooden spoon.
The newspapers from the week were kept on a stool at that island, also it was a good place to sit with a snack or a little math homework.
Just wanted to say thanks for your even heat.
-e.