I’d been eyeing the Cuisinart digital air fryer for nearly two years. With the triple-digit price tag and me trying to be a fiscally responsible a-dult and pay off my credit cards, I resisted buying it. I stalked it and comparison shopped on multiple sites, like Amazon, Best Buy, and Bed, Bath & Beyond. Even when a friend worked part-time at Kohl’s and could apply his employee discount on top of the sale price, saving me a cool $100+, I stood firm.
Once this pandemic hit, all that fiscally responsible shit went out the window. I’m sequestering alone. I’m anxious. I’m sad. I’m scared. I’m lonely. Cooking and eating comfort me. I bought a 6-cup food processor, a KitchenAid countertop mixer, and most importantly, my coveted air fryer. I also bought waffle plates for my Griddler. They joined my years old slow cooker, NutriBullet, pressure cooker, hand-held immersive blender, tea kettle, toaster and blender in my Bed-Stuy kitchenette—not even a full kitchen. I’m out of storage space.
Let me tell you: I have been eating goodt! I made BBQ ribs in my slow cooker and baked myself a carrot cake for my birthday in April. I cheffed up Cornish hen, ham and mashed potatoes on Easter Sunday. Other times: chocolate chip brownies made in my mixer, garlic hummus in my food processor, fried salmon, red snapper, chicken wings, sweet potato fries in the air fryer, and rum-infused waffles in the waffle maker. I bought the bottle of Barbancourt in 2003 during a family trip to Haiti—family that thanks to the pandemic, I hadn’t seen in months, except on Zoom, Google Duo and video chats.
I miss their hugs.
I used to be a social drinker, barely drinking once a month. Now I drink almost every weekend at home alone. Only on weekends. For now.