Dusty D loves stories about battling technologies, and here's a sterling example, all on one front page. In the upper right there's a story about some poor schlub who jumped out of his upstairs window to escape an EXPLODING GASOLINE STOVE--that's right, a stove that burned gasoline. In the center is an account of the new Electric Company trying to woo housewives with elegant tidbits cooked in a New! Electric! Stove! (Oooooh!)
The exploding-stove guy stopped to put his trousers on. (Rolls eyes). Perhaps he took a moment to select a matching cravat, and maybe arrange his hair just so with some Dippety-Doo. When your sister yells "THE GAS STOVE EXPLODED!!!" that is not a signal for sartorial musing. Go, man, go!
Over at the electric demo, the stove has 3 settings. Period. Low, medium, high. So for those of us used to baking bread at 350 for 40 minutes--outta luck. You had to guesstimate it; temperature settings didn't come along till later.
But at least you didn't end up jumping out of windows right and left. The story reads like a press release, does it not? Coincidentally, I hope, there's a nice big ad for the Electric Co. right next to it. It shows the menu for the next electric stove demo, headed by Chicken a la Wilke, a dubious amalgam of peas, eggs, cornstarch, and chicken. There are also mac n cheese and coffee and cake. Though Dusty D is one of those snooty (natural) gas-stove snobs, the electric stove must have been a godsend to housewives who, you know, were tired of their stoves exploding all the time, dangit.
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