The Cthulhu Kitchen

Someday, all the gadgets are going to meld together into one big gadget and I'll just be there saying, "I told you so."

Dear Writer,

It was Ian’s birthday a couple of weeks ago, and when I asked him what he wanted, he said, “I’ll tell you, but remember that it’s okay if you say no.”

“It’s your birthday,” I said. “I mean, we can’t get you a Tesla, but if you want something we can—”

“It’s a kitchen gadget,” he said.

“No,” I said.

“I know,” he said, “but hear me out…”

During the move from my 2,000 square foot Syracuse home to our 850 square foot Denver apartment last year, the kitchen actually broke us. Over the course of a few months, between social media marketplaces and dumpsters, we managed to pretty much clear out everything else in the house, but on the day of the move, we were still packing the fucking kitchen. We had all these bullshit gadgets that just seemed to pile up everywhere, and between the two of us, we basically created an amalgamated kitchen monster built from all the stupid gadgets we bought, used once, and then shoved in a cabinet and never touched again. The list includes, but is in no way limited to:

• Two variations on Foreman Grills, one of which had a variety of plates, including waffle

• A dedicated waffle iron

• Four different kinds of garlic peelers/presses

• Three blenders

• Two toasters

• A bread machine

• Two microwaves

• A mini-fridge

• Two Instant Pots, plus a slow cooker

• Three coffeemakers (drip, espresso, cold brew)

• Two Breville juicers… one of which had never been opened.

Somehow, the kitchen was the last thing we packed up, and it just… never… ended. No matter how many boxes we packed, how many things we got rid of, there was always more. It was like all the gadgets just sat there in the dark cabinets and produced more gadgets. I’m not 100% convinced that’s not exactly what was happening. Lovecraft has never imagined anything as horrifying as the gadget breeding grounds that were my kitchen cabinets. Finally, about an hour before we were supposed to leave, we just pulled the ripcord, called the local junk hauler, and paid them a shit ton of money to come to the house and throw everything away.

Honestly, I think they might still be there.

To this day, when Ian and I talk about The Fucking Kitchen, we both get a faraway look in our eyes and shudder involuntarily. When we moved out of our 850 square foot apartment and into the new one with actual kitchen cabinet space, I was so excited that we could throw away the last remaining microwave because one came with the apartment. I felt like I, finally, was a person who had learned a hard-won life lesson and would use my new, spacious kitchen responsibly.

But then, I went to visit my best friend, and she was moving and had an Instant Pot she wanted to get rid of, so I took it. She also had a Keurig coffeemaker that was way better than the one I had, so I took that, and became, once again, a person with two Keurigs…. and a drip coffeemaker.

I could feel the creep happening. It wasn’t out of hand yet, but I knew that one wrong step, one bad decision in a moment of weakness, and we’d once again be people who owned two unused juicers and I just didn’t want to go back to that place emotionally.

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“It’s a kitchen gadget.”

“No.”

“I know… but hear me out.”

I closed my eyes and breathed through the trauma trigger. “Okay. Tell me about it.”

“It’s $800.”

“NO.”

“I know,” he said. “I know, I know.”

“Two juicers, Ian,” I said. “Two Instant Pots and a slow cooker.”

“Let me just tell you about it…”

And then he proceeded to tell me about this thing that basically cooks everything, and Ben Ebbers from Sorted Food liked it, it basically just tells you what put in and how much and then you just hit the button and it’s not just a food thing, it’s a technology thing…

“No,” I said, feeling myself about to break. Technology is my weakness.

“Let’s just watch the video,” he said, taking my hand and leading me into the living room.

We watched the video.

“No,” I said the second it was done. “It looks awesome but it doesn’t make everything, it’s a glorified Instant Pot which we already only use to make steel cut oatmeal and—”

“It makes bread,” he said. “The Instant Pot doesn’t make bread.”

“The problem isn’t the Instant Pot,” I said. “It’s us. We are not the kind of people who should have kitchen gadgets. We hate cooking, and there isn’t a gadget in the world that is going to fix that. As we have proven. Over and over and over again. Remember the juicers. It’s like remember the Alamo, only less racist and more accurate to our actual situation.”

“I know. You’re right. And I’m glad you said no.”

We sat in silence for a bit and then he said, “How about a bread machine?”

I opened my mouth, but he held up a hand to stay my objections.

“We have bread from the store that we bought a month ago that still hasn’t gone bad,” he said. “That can’t be right. And it’ll make the house smell like bread, which is nothing but upside, and over time we’ll save money and have fresh bread and not be eating the plastic bread that is more preservatives than actual food.”

See, this is how they get you. Or, at least, it’s how he got me. It was a sound argument… except we don't like to cook. But a bread machine isn’t really cooking or even baking and it is pretty easy and once you get into the habit it might could work…

“Okay,” I said, deflating. “Happy birthday.”

And now… I have an Instant Pot, two Keurig coffeemakers, and a bread machine.

Pray for me.

Everything,

L