Cooking with new-fangled machines
By Joe Rector
I watched Amy prepare supper the other night. The stove and counter areas were covered with a variety of new appliances for the task. I marveled at how easily she worked those machines and how delicious the meal that she served tasted. I don’t know how she manages all those gadgets.
In an earlier time, cooking didn’t seem so complicated. My mother had a four-eyed monster stove with a cavernous oven large enough to make four pies at one time. The eyes heated and turned that regular orange-red color to let all know that they were functioning well and would burn the hide on anyone’s forearm who became too careless around them.
Today’s stoves are fancy. Yes, the eyes still glow, but they are smooth on a glass top. For those of us who infrequently work at the stove, burns are quite common. A couple of those places on the top have double circles that indicate small or large vessels can be placed on them. When they are turned off, the glow from hot eyes immediately disappears, another easy way for dummies like me to blister fingertips or forearms.
Mother had a basic set of pots and pans. She had a large pot for making soups, chili and spaghetti. In the drawer of the stove, she stored her cast iron skillets, Dutch oven and cornbread pone maker. She also had a pressure cooker that served up thousands of jars of canned vegetables. One Christmas, Daddy bought her an electric skillet, and Mother cooked some scrumptious chicken, fried fish and other meals that kept her three boys fat and happy.
My dear wife has an array of new countertop appliances. One is an air fryer. I don’t have the foggiest idea how any food can be fried with air. She also has an Instant Pot. I think it functions somewhat like the old pressure cookers but are much safer. She also has a food processor, although I’m not sure what that name means or how it works. We have a coffee pot, but attached to it is a pod machine that makes one cup of java at a time. I don’t like the taste of pod coffee; it tastes too much like soaked paper.
The funny thing about all these appliances is that they do the same things that Mother’s simpler tools did: cook good food. Amy is a wonderful cook; looking at my rotund torso is evidence of that. She uses her new appliances, but hours of reading instructions have gone into mastering them. They aren’t as well constructed as cast iron skillets, and their inner-workings can fail at any time, something that renders those handy-dandy appliances of no use.
I’m not about to demand that Amy get rid of her appliances. I like to eat too well to do that. I also enjoy conversations with my wife, but they would end the minute I make such a silly demand. Her appliances are the tools of her cooking trade. She uses them much better than I use my woodworking tools; that much is for sure because she hasn’t come close to severing a finger like I did not too long ago. I’m also glad that cooking is something at which my wife is talented. Otherwise, I’d starve to death.
