We’ve had a microwave at 100 Prince Street for a few months now, a loan from one of Oliver’s support workers. I’m pretty sure Catherine is turning over in her grave, as I maintained an unbroken record of steely microwave opposition over our 28 years together.

In the end it took our physicist friends and their patient explanation of how microwaves work (it’s not magic, it’s water molecule vibration!) to give me the push I needed.

I still haven’t fully integrated the microwave into my culinary regime, but I have discovered some very handy uses:

• I bought a Magic Bag (a fabric bag filled with oats, in essence) and warming it up in the microwave is just the ticket for typing-ravaged shoulder muscles. This has been the killer app.
• Blasting hotdog buns for 30 seconds after taking them out of the fridge revivifies them into fluffy like-new condition.
• Cooking potatoes for 5 minutes before grating them results in much-improved potato latkes.
• I can turn frozen berries into compote, ready for the waffles, in 45 seconds.
• Oliver’s been heating up leftovers for lunch; the UX and auto-shutoff of the microwave is much better than using the stove for this.

So far there’s only been one minor explosion: I over-reheated a piece of chickpea and squash pie and the chickpeas exploded. Live and learn.

I truly feel like I’m resident in the Better Living Centre at the Canadian National Exhibition in 1977.