Christmas 1977
November 30, 2004
It was the late 1970s when my father gave my mother the gift he really wanted for Christmas. Indeed, it was really a gift for the whole family. We would all be able to use it and we would all reap its benefits. My father gave my mother the largest, most monstrous microwave ever built for Christmas in 1977. It was a Panasonic microwave and it was at least as big as the conventional oven that was currently built into our kitchen wall, about half the size of the desk I’m currently using.
I had never even heard of a microwave before.
Dad explained it as an oven that cooks in seconds what would regularly take many minutes, even hours! Mum was more apprehensive than excited. She informed us that this new oven works by using microwaves which were very dangerous beams that could possibly escape from the oven door, or so she had heard. My brother and I were strictly ordered to remove ourselves from the vicinity of the oven as quickly as possible after pressing the ‘Start’ button, “especially you, Meredith, since your head is on level with the microwave door and the beams will most certainly destroy your brain”, added my brother. None of this information kept me away from the new kitchen toy.
Luckily, the oven came with a manual and recipe book. Perhaps this is a case of mistaken memory, but I remember that book being a huge collection of information and recipes, the likes of which I have never seen since. The first recipe that I attempted was a sandwich, of all things. I now know that any type of bread in a microwave is a disaster, ending up rubbery and chewy. Then, however, I believed that this machine could do anything! Because it was Christmas time, the recipe for the ‘Double Decker Turkey Club’ was the obvious first choice. We had plenty of leftover turkey and combining this with bacon (miraculously cooked in two minutes in the microwave between two pieces of paper towel), cranberry sauce, stuffing and gravy was a little bit of leftover heaven. My father and brother made several requests for this sandwich. The trouble with the microwave was that only one sandwich could be made at a time (at least according to the manual), so I was given my first experience as a line cook, making sandwich after sandwich for my family, running far away from the microwave every time I pressed ‘Start’, as though diving for cover after throwing a grenade.
The other recipe that worked its way into my microwave repertoire was a ‘Hot Fudge Chocolate Sauce’, particularly good on ice cream. This became a favourite of my mother’s. She asked me to make this so many times that I knew the recipe off by heart, though I’ve forgotten it since. Mum and I truly loved that sauce. It was something special - worth the sacrifice of my brain cells. It was decadent and chocolate-y, but the best thing about it was that as soon as it hit the cold ice cream, it would solidify and become chewy fudge. That was the best part of all - the dessert changed as time went on. With the first bite, the sauce would still be warm and liquid-y. The contrast of the cold ice cream with the hot fudge was decadent. Then, the fudginess would slowly set in and the sauce would become chewy. Mum and I have always had a weakness for chocolate, a bond that we still share. We’ve both graduated to keeping higher end chocolate like Valrhona and Scharfenberger on hand at all times, but the ‘Hot Fudge Chocolate Sauce’ made with chocolate chips still holds a warm spot in my heart.
The microwave lost its appeal with my family after not too long, as most microwaves do. Once we were out of leftover turkey, I think all we really used it for was re-heating foods. Then in the early 80s, microwave popcorn came on the market. I had always been in charge of popping popcorn for my father, but had had to do it on the stovetop. Mum hated the smell of popcorn. I always felt for her when we made it in the house, but not so much that I would turn down the idea of munching on hot buttered popcorn while we all watched my father change channels incessantly on the television. (My mother never seemed to worry about the effect the channel surfing had on my brain!)
When my father first came home with microwave popcorn, I lost my job as popcorn maker. Now anyone could make the popcorn – there was no skill involved or required. I relinquished my title easily, however. The microwave did a great job with the popcorn – fewer un-popped kernels – and it truly was so easy. The only battle was deciding whether to watch the popcorn bag expand and risk losing my brain cells, or chance over-popping the corn as I hid from the free waves, which would result in a terrible burnt smell through the house – worse than the popcorn smell itself, my mother said.
I don’t know where that microwave is now. I expect my mother sold it in the garage sale she had before she left the country. Perhaps it has been sold to a museum by now, or maybe I’ll see it on the Antique Roadshow sometime soon. Whoever has their hands on it must be sitting on a goldmine – the largest and most unused kitchen appliance ever! I’ve had microwaves since then, but again, the only things I used them for were popcorn and re-heating foods. I even took a microwave cooking class years and years ago, but while microwave cooking might be easy, it does take all the pleasure out of cooking. Cooking requires human touch and brings out emotion. It may bring serenity or stress, pleasure or frustration, but it brings out something. You just don’t get the same feeling from pressing a button and running for cover.
This brings back a lot of memories for me. I remember getting our first microwave around ‘78 or so. My parents used to always make me stand back to stay away from “the rays.” So funny to think of it now.
They had that microwave for many years (I’ve forgotten what brand it was); they finally decommissioned it sometime in the mid-90s.
My mother’s excuse for her microwave purchase in 1976 was ‘medical’ aka her third face-lift. Apparently, her doctor said that she should not expose her face to the heat of an oven. Now, I don’t have any recollection of my mother putting her head in a hot oven, at least not while the kids were home.