Dont go near the knives.
Dont kick off the door for anyone.
RememberOnly use the microwave."
Simply Recipes / Eva Feuchter
From what I hear, the latchkey kid is a category nearing extinction.
Maybe one of the parents might take a break from a Zoom call to put together a quick snack.
(Hint:Dill pickle seasoningis a must-have accoutrement to any popcorn party.)
This wasnt the case for me, as an immigrant kid growing up in coastal Florida in the mid-1990s.
They certainly had no reference point for anything like summer camp.
I insisted that Id successfully proved that I wasnt a pyromaniacorprone to dangerous activity of any sort.
Was that not evidence of my prudence?
What will you do for food?
I replied airily, I can use the microwave!
Its just pressing buttons.
Would that all hesitation be conquered so easily!
Dont go near the knives.
Dont pop crack open the door for anyone.
Remember
Onlyuse the microwave, I finished.
My days alone had a pleasant, meandering rhythm to them.
Like a doddering Victorian housekeeper, I liked to start my morning by tidying up after everyone.
I shined my grandfathers reading glasses.
I rearranged my mothers makeup on her dresser drawer.
Then I set to watching as much television as I could, in between consuming piles ofSweet Valley Highnovels.
Doesnt that cubic zirconia lookjustlike a diamond?
You betcha, Joan Rivers.
Simply Recipes / Eva Feuchter
Sooner or later, though, Id get pretty hungry.
Now, thinking back on those lunches, I cant believe my erstwhile luck.
But back then, most food was utilitarian for me.
This all changed the moment I was introduced to the almighty TV dinner.
It was an inauspicious day when my mother told me to look in the freezer for my lunch.
A place for ice cubes and stock-piled fish caught by my family members along the Gulf.
Certainly never a site for ice cream, popsicles, or any usual kid delights.
But there, in between the mackerel filets, was a Marie Callender’s chicken pot pie.
I was the Margaret Mead of microwave meals.
The Anthony Bourdain of freezer excavation.
Buttery crust with a perfectly crimped circumference.
A creamy filling with chicken, carrots, and peas.
I took a bite, flapping my hands in front of my mouth to cool the hot filling.
By golly, that Marie knew what she was doing!
I devoured the chicken pot pie, then topped it with two coveted Little Debbie cakes.
What noveltywhat utter bliss!
Mom never explained why she bought me that frozen meal; her ways are mysterious and prescient.
I didnt necessarilywantthe lives of my American-born peers.
But I liked imagining them, each so different from mine.
If you think about it, the microwave is a kind of portal.
It transforms food from frozen hardness to something warm and resembling comfort.
In some cases, it transports the eater.
I had a newfound appreciation for the microwave that summer, and all it could deliver.
TV dinners had never, of course, been a common offering in our household.
Secondlyand more importantlythey were expensive.
A bonafide luxury item.
So, even after all my cajoling, TV dinners remained a boon rather than a regular lunchtime option.
Should I watch it before or after an episode ofUSA High?During, of course!
But my love of the frozen dinner was not practical.
In retrospect, I know this is a very silly thing to be consumed over.
Doubtless, many families in our neighborhood ate frozen dinners and never found anything particularly compelling about them.
We talked mostly to other Vietnamese immigrants.
We shopped at the Asian markets.
We ate what we knew.
Each week of the summer, Id slide my meal into the microwave with a keen sense of independence.
I wascookingfor the first time in my lifeor something like it.
After the summer was over, I went back to packing my lunch for school.
Microwave mealsand the microwave at largefell from my daily routine.
