Two weeks ago yesterday, we discovered, after I had a sip of relatively warm and slightly “off” milk, that the refrigerator in our new apartment was hovering between 46°F and 50°F (recommended safe temp for food is around 37°F).
The soonest a repair person could come was two days later, so we decided to buy dry ice in an attempt to keep our food good (though for all we knew it had been at unsafe temps since we’d moved in). Given my previous dry ice escapades, Matthew went on the ice run.
Tuesday rolled around and the repairman finally showed up. After asking me a few questions and poking around the fridge for five to ten minutes, he declared that nothing was wrong with it.
I felt like he thought I was either crazy or lying. And I thought the same of him, given that our thermometer, which we’d tested for accuracy, had clearly showed unacceptable temps (though they seemed fine when he was there, due to the dry ice, which I pointed out to him).
Ten days, one more repair visit (in which they replaced the unit’s internal thermometer), multiple runs for both dry ice for the fridge and then regular ice for keeping food in coolers, much time wasted, lots of worry and debate over whether or not we should discard everything in the fridge to be on the safe side, and one tearful call to the landlord later, we received a new fridge.
Of course, the delivery truck arrived just as I had stepped out of the shower, in a rush to get ready to get Gabriel to the doctor and Gabriel waking from his nap with a diaperful of diarrhea, but that’s a different story for a different day.
Fortunately, our landlord was there to handle the delivery. I returned home to my lovely shrink-wrapped fridge.
While this is not the fridge we would buy for ourselves (freezer on bottom models are most efficient and we really don’t care about ice/water in the door), having a fridge that we know is keeping our food at safe temps is a big relief. Now we can get back to making and and fully enjoying delicious meals with our amazing garden bounty!