Instant Pot Madness

Christmas has come and gone, but Instant Pot madness lingers at our house.

Handsome Hubby (HH), a modest fellow of few wants and needs, had expressed a gift wish for an Instant Pot, a wish I failed to heed until it was too late. I should have realized he was serious when he started reading New York Times Instant Pot articles to me with the solemnity he usually reserves for stories about the environment and the Golden State Warriors.

What is it about men and their desire for gadgets?

Peering over his reading glasses, HH extolled the virtues of this newbie electronic wondrous multicooker at length and with an enthusiasm I hadn’t seen in years.

“It sautés. It steams. It’s a pressure-cooker. You can make yogurt in it. Even cheesecake.”

“Yeah,” I thought, decidedly not sharing HH’s excitement. “I can also buy yogurt and cheesecake at the store and get steamy facials at the spa.”

Cooking Promises Unfulfilled

I just could not get excited over the idea of buying yet another kitchen gadget for my own Mr. Gadget who seldom cooks, but often purchases tricked-out cooking toys that ultimately wind up in the garage collecting dust.

In the early days of our marriage, I believed that HH’s kitchen devices would result in yummy delights. He bought a pasta maker; I dreamed of pasta Bolognese and linguine with clams. He bought an ice cream maker; I salivated over the thought of rum raisin and rocky road. But my dreams never materialized and the gadgets were soon forgotten.

Instant Pot Illumination

So, you can appreciate my lack of Instant Pot enthusiasm, but still … Two days before Christmas I realized that HH really did have his manly heart set on this latest trendy culinary sensation. I rushed to the computer. Alas, while Amazon had the popular pot in stock, short of a shipping miracle, there was no way it would arrive in time for the holiday.

Undaunted, resplendent in my sweaty sweats, I jumped into my dinged-up, 11-year-old trusty Toyota Highlander (energy-efficient Hybrid) and sped off to the nearby Target to buy HH his desired nifty gifty. I arrived 15 seconds too late. I kid you not. A well-dressed, vest-wearing man had just placed the last Instant Pot in his cart.

A Blessing in Disguise?

Driving home, I had time to think. Perhaps my failure to nab the multicooker was a marital blessing in disguise. Like I said, HH doesn’t do much cooking these days and I, sure as the casserole overflows in the just-cleaned oven, didn’t want one.

Yes, HH would have been momentarily happy opening his gift and yes, he would have happily concocted some dish in his shiny new Instant Pot. But then … Then life would intrude; the holidays would end; HH would resume working long hours and logging countless air miles on business trips, while I … I would be stuck pushing the unused cooker around, first from one counter to another, then from one crowded kitchen cabinet to another, until finally, in exasperation—in the dead of night—I would sneak the unused vessel out to the garage

The Shelf of Forgotten Appliances

And in the garage the Instant Pot would sit for years, possibly decades, gathering dust and grime on that dark, dangerously overcrowded space I call The Shelf of HH’s Forgotten Appliances. There, if you are brave and armed with a flashlight and a dust rag, you can find his pasta maker (last used in 1987), his big fancy juicer, the second, slightly smaller juicer, the ice cream maker, the rice maker with a cracked bowl and something else I cannot quite make out in the wayyyy back.

I guess I should consider myself lucky. HH could lust for fancy cars or women who buy gifts from their men’s wish list in time for the holidays, but still, all these barely-used appliances seem like such wasteful purchases.

When I told HH of my failed attempt to acquire the Instant Pot, he took it reasonably well, acknowledging that we probably didn’t need it.

Hallelujah! I thought. With age does come wisdom!

Big Boys and Their Toys Forever

Then, on the 27th we went out for dinner with some friends. I was chatting with my girlfriend, when out of the corner of my ear, I heard HH tell her husband, “Hey, I just got a great day-after-Christmas deal on an electric bike. It’ll be here in 10 weeks.”