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Over and over they say this, as if the one maker of this fuse works out of Pitcairn Island* which just happens to be 10 days travel from Everywhere. The sun coming through the big window in your pasta-making area is now beating down on the machine, warming and drying that dough a little faster.
If you were anything like me you might start reminiscing about old episodes of MacGyver hoping for inspiration.
Luckily, I had to look no further than my own recollection of an oven I had once worked with, which I'll call The Phantom Oven. The Phantom Oven had a frustrating electrical fault that no technician could ever observe. . . sometimes, in the evening during dinner service, it would try to self-immolate without warning. I would open the door expecting a crispy loaf of bread to pass to the waiters, and would be greeted by an angry red glow and a stick of bread-charcoal. The heating elements would be raging on full burn (ignoring the thermostat) and so I would shut off the power switch. . . to no avail! Literally, the switch would turn to the off position and the elements would keep blazing hellfire in my face. At these times the only way to end "China Syndrome on the Salad Station" would be to run to the basement and shut off the breaker to the Phantom Oven. And of course, after it cooled down, I could turn it back on and it would operate normally for months.
One time I took it upon myself to investigate that tricky bastard and discovered that for some reason, both of the fuses screwed into the front panel had been tampered with (even though they both had intact wires inside. . .) And so at the heart of the Phantom Oven was the Solution to my Future Pasta Machine Problem.
What I am about to tell you is information that could get you in big trouble or catch your house on fire. For entertainment purposes only, and with full knowledge that I will not be held liable for any damage caused. . . the answer is Aluminum Foil.
(In kitchens, most problems can be solved with either Aluminum Foil or Shelving. This problem belongs to the former group of difficulties.)
I took a small rectangle of foil and sheathed the burnt fuse end to end. Then, I slid the fuse back into place and screwed the cap back on. The foil conducted current outside and around the burned wire and closed the circuit. Arrivederci! old dough. I ran the machine just long enough to get it apart, then removed the fuse and slipped it into my wallet for later. After cleaning the machine, I started what would be a week-long Odyssey of sorts trying to get ahold of a few of these cheap little European fuses that I needed. The burnt-out one took trips with me across town several times to see people who were convinced they had found Mr. Right Fuse only to discover that my Italian Ladyfriend has peculiar voltage requirements and odd tastes in amperage.
Well, she was back together today, feeling quite fit and making Linguini with panache. Thank you System D and Reynold's Wrap!
As for the Phantom Oven, removing the foil from its 2 perfectly good fuses (which of course I did when I discovered them) did not change the behavior of the oven at all. I visited that kitchen in the last few months and observed a new cook working that station. I told him the ghost story:
"Do you know, sometime when the moon is holding water and the second seating has begun on a promising Friday night, you will put a loaf of bread in to bake and go downstairs for a minute to restock desserts. . . and when you return, you will find yourself face to face with Hellfire coming out of the Phantom Oven."
He said: "Yeah. Happened last week. Worked around it. It was fine."
Well, I felt a bit deflated. But let me say: that cook's a good hire!
Ciao! Send me a postcard from Pitcairn! (And another pack of fuses.)
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