After about 14 years of life in the States, we finally took the momentous plunge into the world of haute cuisine technology by purchasing a food processor. That's not to say that I didn't pull out every possible Luddite argument against it, but my husband was insistent. He snorted at my brand new sharp-as-a-sword but not as fearsome 'Santoku' knife, my trusty pair of ancient "Laser" brand vegetable knives from a decade ago, and our Antiques Road Show candidate of an Osterizer. "Time to enter the 21st century in this kitchen", he declared grandly.
He pored over the Consumer Reports Online, Epinions.com and Amazon.com customer reviews for at least a dozen different brands. Every time we visited a store, we made a beeline for the home electrics department to check out the latest Food Processor offerings and religiously tabulated their prices and features.
In the meantime, I continued to soldier on in the kitchen with my knives and cutting board, kneading chapati and pizza dough by hand, grinding chutneys in my leaky- at- the- bottom Osterizer.
'I'm going off to check out Macy's and Sears, want to come along?', he announced one evening, as I was preparing dinner. Exhausted by having to opine on practically every possible type of food processor and free-standing mixer, I sighed "Just go ahead and check on your own. You know what I want." ( I really meant to say "You know YOU want!")
An hour and a half later, the door from the basement opened, and he staggered in with two large boxes.
" I got the Cuisinart 11-Cup food processor, and also found this Ice-cream Maker that automates the whole process of ice-cream making!" ( He had always found fault with the ten-buck handle-rotated cheap version that I had nabbed at a clearance sale last year- 'How prehistoric! Icecream makers should be able to cool the cream as well as stir it with the push of a button- None of that silly pre-freezing of the bowl nor the turning of the churning spatula by hand should be needed!').
So now, we were in for many treats. The kids were jubilant, I was ambivalent, swinging between enthusiasm at his efforts to try cooking and scorn at the 'modern equipment' needed for the simplest results. Plus, I needed to figure out how to clear out enough counter space to host these clunkers.
He rubbed his hands in glee, and diligently started studying the recipes for fresh salsa, hummus, pizza dough, ice cream recipes collected over the months before. Our mouths started watering at the mention of dizzying array of gourmet (and not-so gourmet) food that he planned to concoct with our (rather, his) newest toys.