Musings from some former inhabitants of the sprawling metropolis that is Prudhomme City

Friday, January 18, 2008

FoodSaver Wars

So I'm not a "gadget person". I don't, in a general sense, enjoy gadgets. Mostly this is because, like most of the particulars in my life, these things tend to go to hell in a handbasket in short order within my presence. Take my first experience with an MP3 player. Defective. Seriously. Like right out of the box. Yeah, that's me. One exception to this is cell phones. For some reason, I have an obsession with cell phones. This makes absolutely no sense at all as I hate phones. I hate talking on the phone. I only call people when absolutely necessary. If I call you just to chat, chances are the earth has slipped off its vertical axis, and it is snowing in hell. But every time I get those "Upgrade your phone for free!" offers in the mail, I'm hightailing it over to the Cingular store like my hair is on fire, and they're the only ones with water. The only other gadget that I am enthralled with is my FoodSaver. My dad gave it to me. It is my current obsession. I recently bought a bounty of Food Saver containers. My goal being to vacuum pack in bags or containers every food stuff on the shelf or in the fridge, so that I never have to go to the grocery store again. We'll have an archaeological display in the pantry. Just look at that brown sugar! I'll prounce with pride. I've had that since the turn of the century. I have tried, over the past few weeks, to vacuum pack everything. This led to an unfortunate incident with the cat, but I digress. You get my drift; the Food Saver is MY gadget.

Alex is a lover of gadgets. (Except, of course, for cell phones. If there is anyone who hates the telephone more than me, it is Zandy.) Since we got our new grill from Ted and Molly, we decided to do a trial run with ribeyes, which Alex always marinates. Thus, his beady little eyes took an interest in MY gadget for the first time. Until the grill, Alex had no interest in MY gadget. The ribeyes changed all that. Suddenly, he wanted to know "how exactly to use that thing", although I have been showing him glittering packages of my vacuum packed handiwork for months now. It's been like show and tell around here. I'd vacuum pack something and then scamper to the office, which is where Alex is invariably holed up, giggling madly and holding up my prizes. Look! I vacuum packed seventy-eight pounds of pork chops! Look! I vacuum packed nine gallons of spaghetti sauce! You get the idea. I am the master of the Food Saver, and it is MINE. It made me extremely nervous and overprotective that he wanted to lay hands on it. I hovered over him like a mother bird.

Our first battle was bag vs. container. He wanted to use a bag to marinate the steaks. No! I cried. Not bags! Containers are for marinating. You can't use bags. It'll suck the liquid into the vacuum thingy, and you'll have broken MY gadget, and then I will have to come up with a clever way to dispose of your body! Now, the thing with Alex is, when you tell him he can't do something, he just has to prove you wrong. So I was very suspect when, after a much too brief argument, he gave in and used a container. I should have known better. Later, I'll come back and turn these and vacuum them again, he told me.
Oh, but you don't need to do that, I told him. The FoodSaver is a miracle from a box. It will marinate those steaks in 4.3 seconds, and it will put all other foods you've ever marinated to shame.

Quite a bit later (he cleverly tried to wait until I was lulled into a stupor by "House Hunters"), I heard him rustling around in the kitchen. It took several minutes before alarm bells went off in my head. I flew off the couch and got into the kitchen in time to see him pouring marinade into a FoodSaver bag. Rats! Foiled! was pretty much what I got out of the look on his face. Things went downhill from there.

Me: You can't do that! I told you! No liquids! You'll break it!
Him: It's fiiiiiiiine. I'll be careful. It's just a little.
Me: No! I actually read the manual, and my daddy told me! No liquids in the bags!
Him: It's fiiiiiiine. I'll be careful.
At this point, he was closing the lid, and panic was setting in at the thought of losing my baby.
Me: Stop! Don't do this! You're going to break it! I'll never, ever forgive you! Don't make me divorce you! Don't make me kill you! Stop!

Then as his fingers hovered above the button, I realized that if I was going to stop this handcart to hell, I had no choice but to break out the big guns.

Me (now verging on hysteria and in the high-pitched voice of crazy *ss southern wives everywhere): If you break my FoodSaver, I will ...TELL MY DADDY! That's right! I'll TELL MY DADDY! My daddy got that for me! He'll hate you! He'll kill you FOR me!
Him (completely non-plussed and sadly shaking his head at me): You need medication. (presses button)

Of course, it did start to suck up the liquid, but since I was standing there wringing my hands and one step away from hanging from the rafters by my fingernails, he stopped when I shrieked. Then he slowly turned, put his hands on my shoulders, and said, Prozac. Tomorrow. Oh..and I told you I was right. If you're careful, you can use the bags. I just grabbed my Food Saver, cradled it lovingly to my chest, and murmured soothing words to it about "the bad man" and "never letting him touch you again."

Now if you'll excuse me, dear peeps, I'm off to vacuum pack sixty-four pounds of chicken breasts.

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