Ode to an Ove’ Glove
Here’s a little thing I love.
Have you seen these bad boys before? They’re called Ove’ Gloves (“Ove'” mispronounced so it rhymes with glove . . . Grrr), and they have become indispensable to me. Frankly, I’m pretty sure I’d rather give up my left arm than my right Ove’ Glove.
I saw my friend, Bonnie, wearing them as she was cooking one day years ago, and felt compelled to pick up a pair of my own in the Walgreen’s “As Seen on TV” section, no doubt wedged between the Ronco Chop-O-Matic and the Ped Egg Ultimate Foot File.
Best kitchen purchase I’ve ever made.
I watch the beaming chefs on TV heft 20-lb. roasts out of blazing ovens with nothing more than a flimsy dish towel, and I cringe from the safety of my couch – my fingers curled in the fetal position. Dudes must have Teflon fingertips. Not I. I rely on these gloves to protect me from the heat every single day.
They’re not only protective, but they’re flexible, washable, and allow full finger functionality as well. And, after all, who doesn’t crave “full finger functionality”? (What?!) I can even sign a Mom-it’s-due-today! permission slip wearing them – proven fact. Also? Those blue lines are some sort of magic grip rubber coating that have kept me from dropping entire pans of bubbling lasagna and trays full of individual chocolate lava cakes, for which my husband will eternally be grateful.
As is evident in the photo, my Ove’ Gloves have seen a lot of use, and will hopefully live to see a lot more. And when they bite the dust one day, which, sadly, they must, I’ll march right back into the store, past the Ahh Bras, the Sobakawa Buckwheat Pillows, and the Orgreenic Non-Stick Fry Pans, and happily reach for another pair.
P.S. If I were Oprah, everyone reading this post would walk away with a free pair.
P.P.S. I’m not Oprah.