Curse the Zucchini!!!!!!!
If any of you read my post from a few days ago, you will no doubt find humor in the continuing saga. Today I picked a few more zucchini from Melese's garden and brought them home, adding to the pile in the bottom of my fridge. With freshly purchased freezer bags I'd planned to grate a frenzy of squash and, like a good chipmunk, store it away for the winter months when zucchini bread cravings hit hardest.
When it comes to almost everything in the kitchen, I'm a food processor girl. A passionate one who has an absolute infatuation with her machine. The cruel irony is that as I began work on the mountain of cut zucchini I thought to myself that what today needed was a "Tribute to My Food Processor"; it's such a marvellous machine it seemed only right to honor it with a poem for taking minutes to do what once took hours.
Well, here I am, grating away and noticing that either the peel on the zucchini was particularly tough, or there was something wrong with my motor. To be honest, it's been acting a little funny lately, but still it was odd so I decided to give it a rest while I continued cutting and seeding the rest of the pile. Fifteen minutes later, I loaded it up again and again it labored to even grate the first inch or so of the piece. I pushed a little harder to give it something to grip onto and then it happened; I caught a whiff of something burning. When I pulled it all apart, plastic had melted and fused to the bowl in a big white, marshmallow-creamy clump. Thus, the end of my beloved food processor!
I must be flying through the stages grief rapidly because I've already experienced,
Shock & Denial-- "No! This can't be happening! You're fine, you're FINE! . . . Right?"
Pain & Guilt-- "But I NEED you! It's all my fault- I should have let you rest longer and cleaned your motor better! Oh how can I live with myself?!"
Anger & Bartering-- "Stupid Zucchini! You broke my machine with your cursed leathery skin and pulpy interior! I promise I'll never grate again if you'll only come back!"
Depression, Reflection, & Loneliness-- " I miss you. We used to make scones together- that perfect, flaky dough, and now. . . well, those days are all gone."
So far that's where I'm at. But I'm looking forward to the last three stages: Looking Upward, Reconstruction & Working Through, and finally, Acceptance and Hope.
Maybe I'll just skip to the end and start looking online for a bettter, larger capacity, twenty-year warrantied replacement. Maybe shopping will help with grief. Besides, I can't bring myself to go back into the kitchen and clean it all up yet.
If any of you read my post from a few days ago, you will no doubt find humor in the continuing saga. Today I picked a few more zucchini from Melese's garden and brought them home, adding to the pile in the bottom of my fridge. With freshly purchased freezer bags I'd planned to grate a frenzy of squash and, like a good chipmunk, store it away for the winter months when zucchini bread cravings hit hardest.
When it comes to almost everything in the kitchen, I'm a food processor girl. A passionate one who has an absolute infatuation with her machine. The cruel irony is that as I began work on the mountain of cut zucchini I thought to myself that what today needed was a "Tribute to My Food Processor"; it's such a marvellous machine it seemed only right to honor it with a poem for taking minutes to do what once took hours.
Well, here I am, grating away and noticing that either the peel on the zucchini was particularly tough, or there was something wrong with my motor. To be honest, it's been acting a little funny lately, but still it was odd so I decided to give it a rest while I continued cutting and seeding the rest of the pile. Fifteen minutes later, I loaded it up again and again it labored to even grate the first inch or so of the piece. I pushed a little harder to give it something to grip onto and then it happened; I caught a whiff of something burning. When I pulled it all apart, plastic had melted and fused to the bowl in a big white, marshmallow-creamy clump. Thus, the end of my beloved food processor!
I must be flying through the stages grief rapidly because I've already experienced,
Shock & Denial-- "No! This can't be happening! You're fine, you're FINE! . . . Right?"
Pain & Guilt-- "But I NEED you! It's all my fault- I should have let you rest longer and cleaned your motor better! Oh how can I live with myself?!"
Anger & Bartering-- "Stupid Zucchini! You broke my machine with your cursed leathery skin and pulpy interior! I promise I'll never grate again if you'll only come back!"
Depression, Reflection, & Loneliness-- " I miss you. We used to make scones together- that perfect, flaky dough, and now. . . well, those days are all gone."
So far that's where I'm at. But I'm looking forward to the last three stages: Looking Upward, Reconstruction & Working Through, and finally, Acceptance and Hope.
Maybe I'll just skip to the end and start looking online for a bettter, larger capacity, twenty-year warrantied replacement. Maybe shopping will help with grief. Besides, I can't bring myself to go back into the kitchen and clean it all up yet.
2 comments:
I love your descriptions. That cursed zuchinni!
This is a great post, Molly! It made me laugh!
Sorry about your Cuisinart ...
Post a Comment