GHENT, N.Y. — I’ve heard a lot of hand-wringing — can hand-wringing actually he heard? — about the next phase of the pandemic.
Dark warnings about seasonal affect disorder on steroids as the warmth of summer gives ways to the chill winds of fall. And with it fears of contracting COVID-19 from our friends if we choose to entertain indoors.
Fortunately, there’s an easy, purchasable solution to this dilemma. Mine arrived a few days ago. It’s a 48,000–BTU stainless steel floor-standing liquid propane patio heater. Fearing a rush on these summer extenders, I wasn’t content to have mine delivered; for some reason, FedEx and UPS are routinely flummoxed by our address and randomly drop off our purchases at other people’s homes, and just last week a handsome wainscot laundry hamper we ordered was located in Schenectady, N.Y., almost an hour from our house.
So, as soon as I received an alert from Lowe’s that my patio heater was ready for pickup, I rushed over and grabbed it before somebody else could.
I wouldn’t call myself a survivalist. But I’ve absorbed some of the teachings of my father, who had a rather jaundiced view of the cosmos. His mantra? Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.
Back in February, before most of us were paying attention, I’d already bought a freezer and had fully stocked it with enough frozen vegetables, fruit, butter, bread, hot dogs, hamburgers (and their matching buns) to get me through the apocalypse, or at least the first couple of months of a full-on Stephen King-caliber extinction event.
So, I wasn’t going to be caught flatfooted heading into autumn after a summer of therapeutic socially distanced entertaining. At dinner under the stars at the P.J. Clarke’s opposite Lincoln Center a few weeks back, I even discreetly asked the maître d’ their plans for fall and whether it might include continuing to serve outdoors with the benefit of patio heaters.
The reason for my query wasn’t that I’m such a fan of P.J. Clarke’s and its steaks and burgers, though I believe that both back- and front-of-the-house restaurant workers deserve some sort of medal for heroism as well as a super healthy tip for braving the virus to serve us.
It’s because I was trying to gauge whether there might be competition for patio heaters from the hospitality industry and I better get my order in fast. To answer your question, the maître d’ said they’re holding off on such capital purchases in the hope that indoor dining returns come autumn, rendering outdoor heaters superfluous.
I’m not so sanguine. But at least my fears of a run on the devices was alleviated sufficiently that I didn’t type patio heaters and Amazon into the search bar of my cellphone while waiting for the coffee to arrive.
Over the next few days I even did some comparison shopping. It’s amazing how much you can spend on one of these things if you’re so inclined. There are some made in Italy that will set you back almost $2,000. They feature gas flames climbing a glass tube so cinematic, they’ll have your friends gasping in admiration behind their face masks.
I decided to hedge my bets since there’s a distinct possibility mine will never be used; there’s no guarantee it will provide sufficient warmth unless we and our guests are huddling directly under it, and wouldn’t that just defeat the device’s socially distancing purpose? Also, I had a specific, or at least a specific industrial-looking, patio heater in mind that I’d seen used in restaurants in places like LA.
Fortunately, at under $150, they’re also among the cheapest you can find online. It was only after I purchased it that it occurred to me that it was affordably priced because the manufacturer assumed that after you cracked open the box and realized it would take a nuclear engineer working weeks to assemble all the screws and sprockets and ignition switches without causing a massive explosion that you’d grow so despondent, you’d hire a professional at multiples of the original cost.
Add to my distress that I’m singularly incapable of following directions. My son-in-law, as genial a fellow as they come, recently said to me, unprovoked, “You’re not very good at putting things together, are you?”
I’m not. However, I have a lot of free time on my hands these days. Also, while the patio heater came with no fewer than 19 different kinds of screws, bolts, washers and wing nuts as well as one AAA battery, the actual heater required no more than a half-dozen parts be assembled. Also, I enjoy peeling protective film off of stuff; it provides a sense of accomplishment without requiring any discernable skill or intelligence.
Within an hour, two max, I’d put all the pieces together without finding myself disturbingly short any screws or long any sprockets. Then I carefully connected the gas hose and regulator to the propane tank (not included) and called my family outdoors to enjoy the pyrotechnics, hopefully contained.
Cautiously following the instructions, I turned on the valve on the gas cylinder, pressed and turned the control knob to high and pressed the ignition button several times, assuming I’d singe my eyebrows; a small price to pay to commune with nature deep into the fall.
But then NOTHING! Not even a spark. Just the alarming smell of escaping unignited gas. I’d come so far. It looked so perfect. But the thing didn’t work. This vision of beauty, this functional piece of sculpture, had transformed itself into an instant eyesore. I felt helpless, a feeling I’m all too familiar with when it comes to mechanical devices.
But then my 31-year-old daughter, sheltering with us, spoke up as she leafed through the instruction booklet. “Are you sure you put the battery in right?”
I hadn’t. My relief and expectation was mixed with sadness and regret as I reversed the battery. I’d almost succeeded, but couldn’t make it over the finish line without intervention.
I pressed the ignition switch and my beautiful gas patio heater ignited. The sound of the flame alone was cause for jubilation, the sight of the roaring red-hot heat bouncing off the reflectors an added blessing.
We’ve entertained friends under the inviting warmth of the heater twice. Once for drinks, the second time for dinner in celebration of a friend’s birthday party. The device works great, though thus far the evening temperature hasn’t strayed much below 60 degrees. Who knows whether we’ll feel as toasty when the wind chill registers in the 40s and 30s? If so, I may just have to order a second patio heater.
Ralph Gardner Jr. is a journalist whose work has appeared in The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times and New York Magazine. He can be reached at ralph@ralphgardner.com. The opinions expressed by columnists do not necessarily reflect the views of The Berkshire Eagle.
GHENT, N.Y. — I’ve heard a lot of hand-wringing — can hand-wringing actually he heard? — about the next phase of the pandemic.
Dark warnings about seasonal affect disorder on steroids as the warmth of summer gives ways to the chill winds of fall. And with it fears of contracting COVID-19 from our friends if we choose to entertain indoors.
Fortunately, there’s an easy, purchasable solution to this dilemma. Mine arrived a few days ago. It’s a 48,000–BTU stainless steel floor-standing liquid propane patio heater. Fearing a rush on these summer extenders, I wasn’t content to have mine delivered; for some reason, FedEx and UPS are routinely flummoxed by our address and randomly drop off our purchases at other people’s homes, and just last week a handsome wainscot laundry hamper we ordered was located in Schenectady, N.Y., almost an hour from our house.
So, as soon as I received an alert from Lowe’s that my patio heater was ready for pickup, I rushed over and grabbed it before somebody else could.
I wouldn’t call myself a survivalist. But I’ve absorbed some of the teachings of my father, who had a rather jaundiced view of the cosmos. His mantra? Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.
Back in February, before most of us were paying attention, I’d already bought a freezer and had fully stocked it with enough frozen vegetables, fruit, butter, bread, hot dogs, hamburgers (and their matching buns) to get me through the apocalypse, or at least the first couple of months of a full-on Stephen King-caliber extinction event.
So, I wasn’t going to be caught flatfooted heading into autumn after a summer of therapeutic socially distanced entertaining. At dinner under the stars at the P.J. Clarke’s opposite Lincoln Center a few weeks back, I even discreetly asked the maître d’ their plans for fall and whether it might include continuing to serve outdoors with the benefit of patio heaters.
The reason for my query wasn’t that I’m such a fan of P.J. Clarke’s and its steaks and burgers, though I believe that both back- and front-of-the-house restaurant workers deserve some sort of medal for heroism as well as a super healthy tip for braving the virus to serve us.
It’s because I was trying to gauge whether there might be competition for patio heaters from the hospitality industry and I better get my order in fast. To answer your question, the maître d’ said they’re holding off on such capital purchases in the hope that indoor dining returns come autumn, rendering outdoor heaters superfluous.
I’m not so sanguine. But at least my fears of a run on the devices was alleviated sufficiently that I didn’t type patio heaters and Amazon into the search bar of my cellphone while waiting for the coffee to arrive.
Over the next few days I even did some comparison shopping. It’s amazing how much you can spend on one of these things if you’re so inclined. There are some made in Italy that will set you back almost $2,000. They feature gas flames climbing a glass tube so cinematic, they’ll have your friends gasping in admiration behind their face masks.
I decided to hedge my bets since there’s a distinct possibility mine will never be used; there’s no guarantee it will provide sufficient warmth unless we and our guests are huddling directly under it, and wouldn’t that just defeat the device’s socially distancing purpose? Also, I had a specific, or at least a specific industrial-looking, patio heater in mind that I’d seen used in restaurants in places like LA.
Fortunately, at under $150, they’re also among the cheapest you can find online. It was only after I purchased it that it occurred to me that it was affordably priced because the manufacturer assumed that after you cracked open the box and realized it would take a nuclear engineer working weeks to assemble all the screws and sprockets and ignition switches without causing a massive explosion that you’d grow so despondent, you’d hire a professional at multiples of the original cost.
Add to my distress that I’m singularly incapable of following directions. My son-in-law, as genial a fellow as they come, recently said to me, unprovoked, “You’re not very good at putting things together, are you?”
I’m not. However, I have a lot of free time on my hands these days. Also, while the patio heater came with no fewer than 19 different kinds of screws, bolts, washers and wing nuts as well as one AAA battery, the actual heater required no more than a half-dozen parts be assembled. Also, I enjoy peeling protective film off of stuff; it provides a sense of accomplishment without requiring any discernable skill or intelligence.
Within an hour, two max, I’d put all the pieces together without finding myself disturbingly short any screws or long any sprockets. Then I carefully connected the gas hose and regulator to the propane tank (not included) and called my family outdoors to enjoy the pyrotechnics, hopefully contained.
Cautiously following the instructions, I turned on the valve on the gas cylinder, pressed and turned the control knob to high and pressed the ignition button several times, assuming I’d singe my eyebrows; a small price to pay to commune with nature deep into the fall.
But then NOTHING! Not even a spark. Just the alarming smell of escaping unignited gas. I’d come so far. It looked so perfect. But the thing didn’t work. This vision of beauty, this functional piece of sculpture, had transformed itself into an instant eyesore. I felt helpless, a feeling I’m all too familiar with when it comes to mechanical devices.
But then my 31-year-old daughter, sheltering with us, spoke up as she leafed through the instruction booklet. “Are you sure you put the battery in right?”
I hadn’t. My relief and expectation was mixed with sadness and regret as I reversed the battery. I’d almost succeeded, but couldn’t make it over the finish line without intervention.
I pressed the ignition switch and my beautiful gas patio heater ignited. The sound of the flame alone was cause for jubilation, the sight of the roaring red-hot heat bouncing off the reflectors an added blessing.
We’ve entertained friends under the inviting warmth of the heater twice. Once for drinks, the second time for dinner in celebration of a friend’s birthday party. The device works great, though thus far the evening temperature hasn’t strayed much below 60 degrees. Who knows whether we’ll feel as toasty when the wind chill registers in the 40s and 30s? If so, I may just have to order a second patio heater.
Ralph Gardner Jr. is a journalist whose work has appeared in The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times and New York Magazine. He can be reached at ralph@ralphgardner.com. The opinions expressed by columnists do not necessarily reflect the views of The Berkshire Eagle.