If the devil ever needed a source of heat to cook its food, it would probably use a microwave. I may pour scorn on them but, hypocritically, I’ve always owned one. It’s just taken me a while to realise I don’t like them. They’re like the bidet in the bathroom. I know what I’m supposed to do with it but the thought of using it leaves me cold and reticent.
I bought my last one about six years ago (microwave that is – nobody’s ever had my pants down for a bidet) and soon after buying it I swore that it would be my last. I’ve been hoping and praying for some time now for the big bang. That moment when it spontaneously combusts and I can dump it in the dustbin of daft decisions. And get half of my kitchen back in the process.
I mean let’s be honest, heating up a bowl of porridge is the only thing a microwave does well. What else can it actually be used for?
Cooking food? Great idea. Let’s nuke our fresh, quality ingredients so that they’re bereft of any nutritional value whatsoever. But I suppose if you’re using a microwave in the first place you’re probably cooking a “ready meal”. You know, the ones whose ingredients read like an e-lottery ticket.
Reheating food I hear you say. What about last night’s leftover ruby? Well I say use the oven, and while it’s heating up, why don’t you take the time to jazz it up a bit? Add some onion, a few tomatoes and a bit more spice. Half an hour later I reckon you’ll enjoy it even more than you did the night before.
If you want to defrost food, get organised and think ahead. Take it out the night before and if you forget, then eat something else. There’s always tomorrow.
So, like the Russians did in 1976, I’ve banned the microwave from my household. For good. Where it used to sit, I’ve filled the void with my slow cooker. It makes a magical bowl of kasha.(You know your oats if you don’t have to google that one.)