Speed. Convenience. Death. OK, maybe I’m exaggerating. It’s just I’ve had a bad experience in the past with pressure-cooking. I didn’t almost die. No, it’s more like I almost had my face burned off. A typhoon of hot, scalding water leaped at my noggin in an attempt to maliciously deface me. I had the good sense to leap back, run and never return. I left the pressure cooker, the house, the car, everything. I never went back.
I don’t know where I went wrong. This was years ago. I had been gifted a used pressure cooker and attempted to cook something in there. All was going according to plan … until I put it on the burner. At that point the cooker built up pressure (I thought it was supposed to!), burst out its steam release valve and sent what looked like Old Faithful across my kitchen.
It took three years and a lot of therapy before I could even bring myself to scramble an egg.
But now, in an attempt to turn my dinner-time cooking into something that takes no time and produces gourmet-quality meals (the box proclaimed it), I am at it again. I recently purchased one of those 9-in-1 cooker contraptions that promises to boil down my dinner to mere minutes thanks to high-pressure steam. Others told me of the joy of using the device, and how easy it is to make beans, rice, birthday cakes and all manner of things.
It hasn’t been easy. I’m still getting over my terror of pressure-cooking. Plus, the instruction manual isn’t helping. There are about 75 pages of warnings at the front of the book. (They’re denoted as “Important Safeguards,” not “warnings.”)
Part of the issue is I like to read warnings, but ignore the actual instructions on how to use appliances. But the first safeguard is to “read all instructions,” which has put me into an existential crisis.
The warnings cover everything. What happens if a meteor strikes while you’re pressure cooking. Why you should never gnaw on the cord while you’re cooking. How you could receive a life-threatening paper cut from the pages of the “safeguards” if you don’t take special precautions.
Some pages have multiple warning hazard symbols, and there is even a graphic image of a man having his eyeballs burned out by looking directly into the steam release. If “Raiders of the Lost Ark” taught us anything, it’s to never stare directly into something menacing if you don’t want your face melted off.
I dressed in full battle gear as I prepared my first go at it: a pot of jasmine rice. Start small, live to fight another day I figured. I wore safety goggles, duct-taped oven mitts over my hands, had a baking tray strapped to my chest and covered my face in burn ointment as a precaution. I used sticks and tongs to press buttons and pour in ingredients so I wouldn’t have to get too close. I built a blast shield out of plywood and plexiglass to hide behind. Then I hunkered down and prayed, waiting for the geyser to erupt and evaporate the flesh from my bones.
But nothing ever happened. Not true: Like 13 seconds later,
perfect jasmine rice appeared. Like the kind you get in a restaurant. I patted
down my body, making sure no part of me was on fire, or missing. I took a deep
breath and realized I had vanquished my demons. I had succeeded with the fancy
pressure cooker. I was ready to hit the big time … provided I can avoid one of
those meteor strikes or the life-threatening paper cuts from the “safeguards.”