The title is a note to myself. When I get up (and go out), I return with a new to me toaster. The unit carries a well regarded brand, sure, is handsome, absolutely, is well made, I can vouch for that, and is thoughtfully designed (toast remains tucked in the toaster after toasting to stay warm from residual heat, levitating upon requests paired with the press of a lever). But I already had a toaster that made fine toast. Now I have two. Sigh.
Can I blame it on my cousin? She invited me to an estate sale, see, asking for help carrying a big woolen rug to her car. No harm in that. A good deed, even. But I made the mistake of bringing myself to the job. Only myself to blame there. Had to have a quick look around. I felt pretty safe, confident even, until I came to the last room–a foodless kitchen with equipment wrested from cupboard and drawer, vessels and utensils naked on counter and table. Waiting in the center of this sad scene was the most morose thing I had seen all day (my life is sheltered and mostly swell). Toasty, that’s what I call him, waited apologetically. Covered in kitchen muck, a pound heavier than when he left the factory (what with all the crumbs it was harboring in his belly) and sporting a $5 tag (98% depreciation!), I had to save this neglected treasure, this faithful servant, a good silvery fellow made with pride in jolly old England! Sweet sixteen (made in 1997 if I am correctly interpreting the label).
How is it that yuppies everywhere have been convinced to buy these oversized, high priced toasters? I’ve a subtle prejudice against English electronics (nurtured by plentiful tales of woefully unreliability Triumphs and Jaguars), and I can’t be the only one. Do I really want to burn down my house for the sake of saving a kitchen appliance? Certainly wouldn’t pay retail for the privilege. Mostly joking. While I’ve heard a few stories of English cars bursting into flames (very few–most are just stories of abrupt termination of electrical operation), I’m not genuinely concerned about this unit ending our home’s 57 year winning streak. [Knocking on hollow core wooden pocket door.] I suspect the worst that could happen is an element burns out or the timer stops working. No matter. Parts are easily obtained, and the thing is a joy to open up. I already disassembled it fully (to get it really clean). It is held together nearly exclusively with phillips head screws. The frame is riveted together, but should never have to come apart. Only the timer is held in place with two flat blade screws. All wiring is finished with spade connectors or ring terminals that are bolted in place. Two screw drivers and a small adjustable wrench are all you need. Good show, Dualit!
In the end, I am happy for the adventure. Cleaning it was a fun 30 minute project and, with any luck, it is the closest I will come to owning an Airstream trailer (unless I find one of those for $5 at an estate sale).
Time to go toast something. Happy Saturday to you.