I was promised I would love an air fryer. Here's why I returned it.
You'll love it, my two friends avered. They weren't swooning over a pricey handbag, or shoes both comfy and stylish. The object of their affection was the air fryer both had purchased and use almost daily.
I was intrigued. One of the benefits of this newest kitchen gadget was its ability to create a crisp skin on my regularly purchased chicken thighs. And wait there's more: without the added calories of deep-fried!
Of course I salivated. I'm obsessed with my weight. But I love fried chicken.
When the appliance arrived, I was chagrined at its bulk. If I stood next to it as if we were pals, the Air Fryer would reach my waist.
That was problem number one. Task two was finding a place for it on my already-crowded counter top. Consider the half dozen chargers, cables, and other stuff already calling the faux marble home. How would they feel being displaced by this massive newcomer?
Then there's the lifting of the leviathan to its residence. Did I mention I am 83 and weigh 97 pounds?
But crispy skin was humming in my brain as if it were a favored Rodgers and Hart tune.
I burnt the first batch of three chicken thighs. Nowhere in the instructions did it warn me not to smear the top of the bone-in, skin-on appendage with just a dab of olive oil and mixed spices.
Lesson learned, I thought. Not to be discouraged, I continued my quest for guilt-free, crunchy fried chicken. And maybe other foods previously prepared in pots and oven?
The slim, how-to pamphlet that arrived in the bowels of the box that held the fryer tempted with suggestions for frozen vegetables. More reason to love my air fryer!
Previously, the microwave was my chosen fire pit for spinach, green beans, and other ice-covered nourishing carbs. Sadly, after the air fryer completed its defrosting and heating, my vegetables sagged in embarrassment.
I was promised carbohydrate crispness via air fryer. But I wasn't warned about the wire basket. Not surprisingly, some wizard realized an additional product -- parchment paper -- would be needed to capture the veggies. Alas, it was not announced or offered with its big brother appliance.
Thus, my once beneficial veggies, terrified of the hot air that would soon engulf them, leapt to suicide through the wire and onto the floor of the air fryer drawer.
The cleanup of the brute was the next challenge. As a neophyte I was clueless to the heat it retains. To add to the chaos brought on by the beast, clashing parts caused my pet to run to another room.
Oh, I should have mentioned my shelter dog's reaction early on. I include her place of origin to make more pathetic and senseless my purchase of this cooker. It is loud. Its rotating fan is 65 decibels, akin to the vacuum cleaner that also speeds my pet to the bedroom.
The morning after my meal of charred bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs, I tiptoed onto the bathroom scale to await my joy at surely pounds lost by employing this slim-minded chef.
Two pounds. Gained!
Fortunately, for some reason -- perhaps I had anticipated the several problems -- I had held onto the two massive boxes the air fryer arrived in. Every piece of cardboard and foam was still in the corner of my living room.
Did I anticipate it would not work out? Was it similar to a blind date when I had an excuse at the ready if the fellow wasn't pleasing?
Or, did the two boxes take one look at the size of the purchaser, the width of the kitchen counter, the temperament of the dog, and think to itself, When will she give up? Best to hang around for the return.
With some degree of sadness, and raising heartbeat, I heaved the appliance from it's temporary home and eased it into it's lodging.
I printed a return label. I used packing tape to seal all of the flaps. I placed it atop my grocery cart, and wheeled it downstairs to our package delivery outpost.
I felt a mixture of relief and sadness. I was a foster parent who failed at making my charge feel at home. i lacked the patience to give it second chances.
How was I going to tell my dear pals that I had failed at winning over the appliance they had swooned over? Perhaps they will forget to ask how the two of us -- air fryer and naive chef-- got along?
Or, I'll just wait until they read this.