When the Aga is turned off, I miss toast. Toast from a toaster is all right under a poached egg or a big black mushroom, but on its own, maybe lightly buttered, Marmited or marmaladed, Aga toast is the best.
I don’t own a toaster any more, most of the year I don’t need one and in high summer, when Agaless, it hardly seems worth finding room for another appliance for a disappointing gustatory experience. Bread toasted under a hot grill is all right, but it hardly seems worth pre-heating, and slow-cooked toast just doesn’t cut the mustard. And, inevitable, one burns most of it too.
I have an Aga-toast-making implement, but only use it when I need to make eight slices at a time; normally I just put a slice or two straight on to the warm (simmering) plate. The useful thing about that is that, if I were to wander away and forget it, it doesn’t burn. If left, it simply curls up and dries out, so the kitchen – the whole house, indeed – does not fill with the unmistakeable smell.
There are some smells that can’t be anything else. Burned toast and boiled-over milk are two that fill the house for ages. The least whiff of TCP – I understand that you aren’t allowed to have it in hospital as it is so pervasive that it upsets some people. We each have our own particular favourites or pet hates, but others, good or bad, are instantly recognisable.
I’ve got music to transcribe for the clarinet, then off to church, then off to the pub. This afternoon, I’ll lounge on the lawn reading the papers if the sun shines or on the sofa indoors if not.
Have a lovely Sunday.