I brought my own microwave, thank you very much.

Let me explain how I came to own the microwaveable egg poacher, first. Then, you can make your judgements.

I am, as someone once said, a “marketer’s wet dream.” I’m not sure if or how that could be considered a compliment, but when in doubt, I make everything a compliment, anyway, so…

I like to think everyone in the whole world, actually, is talking about me, at any given moment.

It makes me feel better.

I can’t deny that I probably have a problem, like a genuine problem, this time; I’m a walking bank account when it comes to clever advertising and bright colors. There have been times in my own personal recorded history when I’ve entered a store and become so inundated with intoxicating sensory overload that I’ve ceased to even recognize language, I just purchase away: this was especially embarrassing when Tampax came out with their line of Pearl Tampons. I ended up with three boxes of them before I realized what they were.

They became awkward gifts.

And now, I’m not allowed to go to stores by myself, anymore.

But, I mean, come on, a microwaveable egg poacher! Who could resist? It’s so modern, so in the now, so technophilically necessary.

And, here’s how it happened: I was in the grocery store, I was buying things, and when I rounded the corner of the pasta and condiments aisle, I saw it hanging so delicately at eye level, how thoughtful!, and had to have it.

I shouldn’t say this, but if you make something look pretty, I will more than likely convince myself that I must have it, that I must own it, and if you put it at eye level, then it is what we commonly call a “done deal.”

Good branding is my kryptonite.

I blame my time of employment at Disney, if you need to know, for this obsessive-compulsive behavior. Their focus on perfection is addictive and apparently, lifelong. It’s been over a decade since I worked there, and yet, not a day goes by that I don’t see something on the TV, or in Kroger, and I end up buying it…because I believe it will bring me a little closer to “perfect.”

As we speak, I’m about ten minutes from going online and buying the Ninja. Have you seen the Ninja?! “Hello Onion, and then Hi-ya! Chop!” That’s what I need, I need that.

Yet, like any five-year-old, the desire, the lust for well-designed marketing diminshes as soon as I get home and tear the packaging off, and I know this, but I can’t seem to stop. I’m only just a little shy of becoming like one of my sisters who insists on saving wrapping paper and Christmas bows that aren’t too terribly bent out of shape in a box in her upstairs closet labeled Things That Are Still Good.

It’s terribly self-destructive, this behavior. I’ll pull the item out of the shopping bag, admire it for a few moments, rip it out of its lovely consumer-researched cardboard cover, or whatever, and then almost immediately hate it. I’ll have a few additional moments where I’ll feel guilty over such extravagant waste (the egg poacher cost $3.75), and then, as I’m sure you could guess, I’ll make myself use it.

And, during its alleged inaugural run, I’ll use the heck out of it, too.

Within barely two days of owning the microwaveable egg poacher, I called some friends together and announced that “come that Friday night, we were having a Best Poached Egg Cook-off.” Of course, we did this at Alix’s house and she had no microwave, but I couldn’t back down. I’d thrown the blame gauntlet, after all.

So, I did what any righteously indignant novice egg poacher would do…I brought my own microwave. I loaded it and the egg poacher into my backseat and drove to Alix’s house, all the time thinking: this is going to scare her to death. When she sees me pull up with my own microwave and the futuristic-looking egg poacher, itself, she’ll throw in the towel.

I learned a lot about Alix that night.

For starters, she doesn’t even have a towel. She had no “Throw” but the “Down.” And, suffice it to say, I got myself, pretty quickly, into some hot water. She can cook…and she grows her own herbs. That’s like, well…you just shouldn’t ever mess with people like that.

Her poached egg was like a virgin birth. It was unbelievable. See, when you poach an egg in the microwave, it firms up. There’s no delicious temptation to pierce the yolk. I think she knew that was going to happen to me. That my EP was going to be lacking, to say the least, in its flavor, so, perhaps as a reprieve, she allowed sauces to be made, to accompany the eggs.

If it hadn’t been for that sauce, I’d never have placed 2nd. Of course, she and I were the only ones competing, but still, on paper, 2nd place is 2nd place.

And now I’m going to do something unprecedented: I’m going to randomly be kind, and let you have the ingredients of my 2nd place sauce. (It’s actually quite tasty…but in the tradition of my great-grandmother, Tigi, I’ll let you figure out how much of each ingredient to use.  That’s what makes cooking so much fun – so she said).  

Enjoy.

Faux Allemande Sauce (I’m calling it this because that’s what it looked like; however, mine is dairy-free)

Sprigs of lemongrass; sprigs of thyme; sprigs of Italian parsley; sprigs of Thai Basil – chopped

White curry paste

Creole mustard

Five Spice Powder

Olive Oil

Blue Plate mayonnaise

White wine vinegar

Goddess dressing

 *This is prepared over a low-heat. All must be brought together during the mixing process. It looks buttery, though it does carry a kick of spice with it. As with all dishes, sauces, etc. make sure you taste it first. If you like it, so will everyone else, mostly…except Aunt Lola.  

But that’s OK, I’ll eat hers. So, it’s all good.

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