20140902_185604A few weeks back when The Housemate’s parents were here, “Mom” bought an air fryer. Her original intent was to take it back to Indonesia, but “Dad” put his foot down because they already had too much luggage. This meant that we inherited The Airfryer. This has since become the highlight of my Melbourne culinary experiments.

Thou still unravish’d bride of crispiness,
Thou foster-child of Hunger and slow Toasting,
Cookware historian, who canst thus express
A crusty tale more crunchy than our microwave:
What snack-fringed legend haunts about thy plastic
Of meals or munchies, or of both,
In Kitchen or the dorms of Academia?
What knobs or buttons are these? What settings loth?
What tummy-rumbling pursuit? What struggle to feast?
What timer-chime and humming? What wild yumminess?

-Definitely Not John Keats

I honestly have no idea how The Airfryer works. The idea of frying things with air doesn’t make much sense to me, but it is my new favorite thing.

Hence the total bastardization of John Keats’ “Ode on a Grecian Urn” above.  You just stick whatever you want in the bin, pick the heat setting and the time and just let it do its thing. It just kind of whirs and magically makes things into crispy wonderfulness that would otherwise have gone completely to rubber in the microwave.

So far I’ve basically just stuck frozen meat pies in there (for less than 20 minutes!), which taste infinitely better when they’re crispy. I highly recommend that everybody splurge and buy one of these immediately. That is all.

Actually, I wrote this while in the throws (by this, I of course mean the despair-riddled agony) of an essay for one of my courses. I had been meaning to write a post dedicated to The Airfryer for a few weeks and it finally came together in this bit of ridiculousness.

This may or may not lead to more appliance-related adulterations of Keats. I’m more of a Tennyson girl myself, so we’ll see what happens.

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