There’s no subject like Agas to polarise opinion.
Anyone would think I said something sacrilegious or swore in church! All I did was dare suggest that they might be overrated.
The outrage goes on. I’ve had another call this morning from someone saying they disagreed. In the strongest possible terms. They weren’t from Tunbridge Wells but they might as well have been. They were that disgusted.
So here, just to add fuel to the fire, is the original article by a farmer friend of mine complaining about them. Naturally, in the interests of fairness, I’ve let an Aga fan have a right of reply.
THE CASE AGAINST, by Charlie Flindt
I’m sorry, but I don’t get Agas.
It’s almost sacrilegious to say so, but I don’t see what all the fuss is about. There’s an Aga in our kitchen; it’s big, it’s hot, and it doesn’t do a lot.
I think the problem stems from the fact that, for the first 10 years of our married life, we lived in the farm bungalow, which had an oil-fired Rayburn Nouvelle installed. This was a magnificent little machine.
It was compact, it could be hot, warm, or anything in between. And it did everything: cooked, supplied hot water (even in hurricane-induced power cuts), and did all the central heating. It was a bit temperamental, needing servicing every six months without fail, but it was a relatively complicated machine, so regular maintenance is only to be expected.
Then we moved into the farmhouse, complete with magnificent, pale blue, four-oven 1959 Aga. And tacked on the end is the Agamatic boiler. Everything a modern farmhouse needs, you might think.
You’d be wrong. The Agamatic, which once supplied literally limitless hot water, blew up in the early 1980s, flooding the house to a depth of a couple of inches, and hasn’t worked since. So we have an electric immersion heater in the airing cupboard for hot water. And the main body of the Aga doesn’t do central heating, so we have to rely on a boiler in the cellar for that job.
When I want a prompt cup of tea, the electric kettle is quicker; if I want quick porridge, the microwave is best.
So what does this enormous machine actually do? Well, it sits there, hot. Except when it goes out, which it does with astonishing regularity. Last time, it was only seven weeks after a £100 service.
“It’s your oil,” says tooth-sucking Aga engineer. “Get your oil company to test it.”
“It’s your engineers,” says indignant oil-company rep. “Tell them to service it properly.”
So we’re still waiting to find out what the problem is. Meanwhile, the blasted thing is starting to ‘putt-putt’ Again. One day, I’ll get on and learn how to DIY it.
Our Aga is nothing more than a troublesome three-ton radiator, sitting in the kitchen being hot. And whenever visitors coo over it – “Aren’t you lucky to have such a big Aga?” – I get sorely tempted to sell it to them, and buy something more practical instead.
THE CASE FOR, by Suzie Paton:
I started my relationship with my Aga six years ago when I moved into the family farm.
Initially, I viewed the blue shiny solid piece of cast-iron and chrome with some trepidation. How was I ever going to learn how to cook on something with no dials? Everyone knows that the Aga has long been associated with good food, so I was also excited at the prospect that this beautiful oven was going to turn me into a proper farmer’s wife, enabling me to create endless culinary delights.
In reality, we (my Aga and I) have had our moments of triumph and admittedly our moments of disappointment, but together we’ve managed to feed a daily cooked breakfast to our discerning B&B guests, lunch to family plus extras, hungry children at tea time, Sunday lunch for the extended family, small dinner parties and large celebrations.
The beauty of the range is that it’s so easy to use and versatile. From baking, frying, grilling, stewing, toasting, simmering, steaming, roasting or stir-frying, everything can be done in one place. This means whatever chaos the children are creating behind you, you can quickly produce the hot meal Jamie Oliver would approve of.
It sits in the corner of my kitchen – warm, reliable and at all times ready for action. We’ve never actually stuck a new-born lamb in the bottom oven of the Aga to revive it, but I’m sure it’s just the job. I prefer to use it as a slow cooker. Meat and stock are left to cook overnight, potatoes and veg are added the next day and hey presto, a perfect lunchtime stew.
For those of us with little time, an Aga needs little maintenance, and its ovens are self-cleaning. Essential for the resident caffeine addicts and unexpected visitors, immediate heat means the Aga kettle also boils quicker than electric kettles. Great coffee in an instant.
A comforting presence in the house, our Aga has become a way of life. Its many outstanding virtues are too long to list here, but it’s certainly handy for airing freshly washed clothes (saving on ironing), drying wet outdoor clothing, shoes and children’s paintings, and simply warming your derrière on a cold day.
In a world of gizmos and gimmicks and constantly superseded technology, standing alone against a minimalist modernist world, the strong silent reliable type will still be there when the others are dispatched to the ever-growing scrapyard of modern disposable life. Long live the Aga!
* Field Day is a quirky take on life in the countryside by Farmers Weekly's Tim Relf. County people, food, pets, wildlife and village issues are among the topics that it covers - save it as one of your favourites at http://www.fwi.co.uk/blogs/rural-life