“The smell of that buttered toast simply spoke to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cozy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one’s ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries.” ~ Kenneth Grahame (The Wind in the Willows, 1908)
Though most of you probably greet each new day worshipping at the ‘altar of drip coffee maker’, my wake-up appliance of choice is my humble yet decidedly adorable toaster.
Love this clever and well deserved ‘toast to toasters’ by Allan Chochinov. 🙂
ODE TO MY TOASTER by Allan Chochinov Ode to my toaster, so shiny and clean You’re the butterknife's foe, you're the bread's trampoline You're the lightest, the darkest, the coolest and proud You’re the jack-in-the-box of the countertop crowd. In the old days you had a side entrance instead You were far more ornate as a true thoroughbred But now you're a box with a push-button trick You're a bit more convenient, but a little too slick. And if that weren't sufficient to cause you some shame, There's your bullying arch-rival muscling in on your game They say big toaster-ovens are "double the tool" They can brown up a bagel and reheat your gruel. But don't be discouraged, I still think you're swell You do do one thing, but you do that thing well And though fancy new gizmos might stir up a yen, remember Your name still pops up, every now and again. ~ via Design Observer (2008)
I smile whenever I catch a glimpse of my creamy-shiny, chunky but cute Dualit toaster sitting happily on the kitchen counter. I bought it when we moved into our current home 22 years ago, and it has served us well.
I remember thinking at the time that it was a little pricey, but I decided to splurge anyway.
After all, I loved its classic design, and it was hand built in the UK with fully replaceable or repairable parts, meaning I’d never have to buy another toaster ever again. It’s been worth every penny.Continue reading