Tales of the Domestically Challenged: Cleaning the Oven

About a month ago our oven began to emit gentle puffs of smoke when being preheated. The sort of

Sometimes you stare into the abyss. Sometimes the abyss needs cleaning.

puffing you would pleasantly associate with your grandfather's pipe if you had a grandfather who possessed such a hobby.

I did not have such a grandfather so I immediately thought: "That can't be good." I wondered if my oven was now really, really, really a fire hazard.  I muttered, "What could be burning in there?"  I stood back and frowned but I did not turn my back to the oven because ovens are sneaky bastards just like all household appliances. 

The wheels in my head turned slowly until they groaned to a stop many months ago when my friend Amy came over and used our oven to make a snack. She opened the oven and exclaimed: "Woah! You need to clean your oven!"



I wandered over to see what she was talking about and scoffed in her general direction, "Clean the oven?! What is this The Middle Ages?"

Since then it has occurred to me that in The Middle Ages they did not have electric ovens that needed cleaning. They probably had like a cauldron over a fire and when they needed to "clean it" they had some peasants drag it away and dump it on the ground. Then they let packs of wandering feral dogs roll around in the rabbit bones or whatever.

Now back to the present day- Amy's words echoed in my head and I knew it was time to clean the oven.

In times like these I turn to Jolie Kerr, cleaning expert and author of My Boyfriend Barfed in My Handbag...and Other Things You Can't ask Martha. I knew she had an oven cleaning article.

After I read it through a few times I decided I was going straight for the quick-fix: nasty chemical oven cleaner.

The oven job was like our recent plumbing job :time was of the essence. Kerr said I would need to ventilate the room while I worked so I had to get this done before cold weather arrived. Thanksgiving was also on the horizon.

I rolled my eyes when David expressed an interest in cleaning the oven.  Kerr summed it up best: "It is absolutely disgusting work. But also incredibly satisfying in a very strange way." David loves that sort of work but he also loves to procrastinate about stuff around the house.

If I let him do it he would wait until right before Thanksgiving. He would underestimate the time and difficulty of the task thinking the day before would be fine (it would not be fine).

Here is an example of David's "vacation at home task" time management skills:
Me: How long does it take to preheat the oven?
David: Five minutes
Me: How long does it take to prep the turkey?
David: Five minutes.

Reality: It takes approximately fifteen minutes to preheat a cold oven and it takes him a half an hour to prep a turkey. I know because I timed it.

Anyway, I'm big on timing so I cleaned the oven. This was a two-day job but I didn't (have the patience) want to stretch it out that long. I figured I could do a mediocre job in one day if I worked in 30 minute intervals for 4 to 5 hours. I followed Kerr's directions and nervously sprayed down the oven.

Spraying foul-smelling chemicals, even into a cold oven, is totally unsettling. Then I had to close the oven door and wait, also totally unsettling. Then I came back and peeked into the oven by cracking the door. I was terrified I had just conjured a chemical breathing dragon.

The spray basically melted the greasy gunk into an easy to wipe-away sludge and like Kerr said I had to change the water in the bucket several times. I am glad I did it in intervals too because I could not take the smell for very long. In the end I had a slightly cleaner oven than I had before and a slightly sorer body from all the crouching and reaching.

When David came home he took a look and was impressed with my half-assed job. I walked him through the steps and told him in the spring he can do the honors. This isn't the freaking Middle Ages and he is perfectly capable so long as he has all the time in the world.