Clothes dryer and bottom warmer, or kitchen essential - Tom Doorley knows what side of the Aga divide he's on
Only one cooker has so far given its name to a genre of literary fiction. The Aga saga, as written by the likes of Mary Wesley and Joanna Trollope, tends to be a cosy read with a country theme. A Rayburn saga doesn't have the same ring, although these ranges are made by the same company. Agas are dearer and, in an aspirational world, perhaps more desirable. But are they just a status symbol, redolent of country houses, green wellingtons and well-thumbed copies of Horse and Hound?
Peter and Mary Ward of Country Choice, the delicatessen and restaurant in Nenagh, have had their four-oven Aga for 21 years. "I thought it would be better to have a range that you could run radiators off," says Peter. "But Mary had grown up with an Aga and she put her foot down. It's the best thing we've ever got into the house."
The Wards no longer use their Aga to produce their jams and marmalades, because with an annual output of over 20,000 jars, the scale has changed. "But we prepare all the peel for marmalade in the Aga roasting oven," he says. "That's how we get that nice caramelised character." Hams and tongues for the shop are still prepared on the Aga: brought to the boil on top, then the pot is covered and put in the simmering oven for three to four hours.
"We're away for the whole summer, so the Aga is turned off and comes back on again in September," says Alice O'Connell, who lives in Monkstown, Co Dublin. "The house comes alive again and the warmth in the morning takes the stress out of back-to-school." Her husband, Jonathan, thought at first that the Aga was "just a very expensive clothes dryer. But then I discovered my inner bread baker. The Aga is brilliant for baking, but it's also the best thing for rising yeast dough," he says. "And I use it for taking the chill off red wine. Not in it," he adds. "I just stand the bottles beside it."
"I love the accuracy of my Neff," says Alice, "but for some things the Aga is in a class of its own. I can put a casserole in the bottom oven at 10.30am and take it out at 7pm. And you get lamb literally falling off the bone if you put it in the roasting oven for 25 minutes and then transfer it to the bottom oven for seven hours. It's unique." "Our Aga is the heart of the house," says Peter Ward. "And we have lots of room in our house. Plenty of space to spread out. But we have armchairs in the kitchen. I even have my bookshelves beside the Aga. It's the reason that we all gravitate towards the kitchen."
So, what exactly is an Aga? It was invented, in very much the same form as exists today, by Gutav Dahlen, a Danish scientist, in the early 1920s. Essentially it is a cast-iron range that holds a vast reservoir of heat. The heat source was traditionally solid fuel, such as coke, and the daily stoking and raking was quite a chore. These days Agas are fuelled by oil, gas and even electricity.
The four-oven Aga is a vast affair, well suited to the feeding of a small army or, in the Wards' case, augmenting production for Country Choice. We make do very happily with the two-oven version. On top there are two plates, each thoroughly insulated by heavy, hinged lids. When you want to use these, for simmering or boiling, you pull up the lid and cook on the plate. Below are a roasting oven and a simmering or warming oven, in which you can slow-cook for hours without fear of burning, or produce amazingly intense semi-dried tomatoes.
"There's a fashion for brick ovens these days," says Peter Ward. "But the Aga is exactly the same, except it uses cast iron. It cooks just like a brick oven, but it's a lot more useful." Indeed it is. Maureen Salmon insisted on having an Aga when she and her husband, Brian, built their new house near Straffan, in Co Kildare. "I grew up with an Aga on the family farm," she says, "but I never realised how much ironing it saves. You just fold the sheets and towels and put them on top to air. I even bought a clothes airer that fits over the Aga, but I just plonk the clothes on top. And there's that lovely, comforting smell of warm fabric." Salmon is also a fan of Aga toast, made in a wire holder that fits between the hot plate and its hinged cover. "There's no toast quite like it," she says. "It's like toast made in front of an open fire, but it's easier to do and tastes even better."
Aga fans claim that their design classic will cook anything. This isn't true. The one thing the traditional Aga can't do is stir-fry. Agas are too gentle for that kind of thing. But stuff will burn, all the same, and you won't smell it because the ovens are vented so thoroughly. "That's the only drawback, as far as I'm concerned," says Barbara Hassig, who installed an Aga in her Victorian house in east Cork four years ago.
"But you get a lovely smell of cooking when you're out in the garden. I never thought I could fall in love with a lump of metal, but I have. It's a lot more than that, of course. If I had to part with it, I think the cats and dogs would be just as upset as me."
People develop exceptionally intimate relationships with their Agas. And even in these days of universal central heating, they regard the Aga as an essential part of the kitchen. They even forgive them for making the kitchen a little sweaty during the summer.
"There are two aspects of the Aga that prove that it's not just a cooker," says Peter Ward. "On a practical level, it's the best source of heat for drying clothes and swimming gear and damp boots. But it also seems to be the favourite kind of heat for animals. Ask any Jack Russell terrier."
In recent years, Aga has met the challenge of modern, instantly controllable cookers with innovations that combine the classic Aga with gas hobs, electric fan ovens and all sorts of high-tech features. Aga traditionalists, of course, are inclined to scoff, but I have yet to meet one who wouldn't like to have an Aga Mini as an adjunct.
Finished in the traditional enamel, it's only 60cm wide and features four gas burners on top, with both a conventional oven and a fan oven below. The larger Aga six-four looks, at first sight, just like a traditional two-oven range. But instead of the normal plates it has six gas burners, a grill and three electric ovens below. The appeal lies in the Aga look, without the need for a chimney, but with vastly extended cooking capability. At just over €8,000, it's more than €2,000 cheaper than the traditional Aga.
The conventional Aga, however, far outsells all these new concessions to 21st-century life, not only here in Ireland, but also in Britain and North America, too. As Peter Ward says, it's not just a cooker. "We'd still have an Aga even if we moved into a flat. It's not just the pleasure of snuggling up to it," he says. "I don't think I could get used to making bread in anything else." I know how he feels. We have been Aga-less for three years while we went through the hoops of building a new house. Like Barbara Hassig, we didn't think we could fall in love with a lump of metal, but we certainly did. It's going to be a very special reunion.u