Set materializer to “golden brown”

The fall colors have been a little disappointing this year. Of course we all knew in advance that they would be. Whatever dark, brooding mood possessed the weather gods toward the end of the summer virtually guaranteed our trees and bushes would have little chance at bright foliage when the time came for the annual change.

But autumn is hands-down my favorite time of year, and I refuse to let a little lack of cooperation from the elements dampen my mood. So rather than give in to the dingy spirit of lackluster leaves, I’m going to put my best marketing spin on them Hey, I ought to be getting some value out of that Master’s in Journalism with an emphasis in advertising I completed many years ago and for which I will still be paying for years to come.

Thus I choose not to see the leaves this year as “dusty grey” or even “unenthusiastic taupe.” Instead I choose to regard them as “golden brown.”

You’re probably already familiar with golden brown. It’s the color all food turns when it’s spent just enough time in the oven to pass “too frozen to eat” without making it all the way to “too burned to eat.” Everything from tater tots to fish sticks to pot pies all seek this Nirvana-esque hue. Indeed, golden brown is such an exalted condition that its subjective majesty even trumps otherwise cold, hard, objective cooking instructions. If you don’t believe me, check the bags and boxes in your freezer and see how many instruct you to “cook for [however many] minutes or until golden brown.”
The only food in our society that doesn’t seek golden brown status are those odd meals we occasionally find time to prepare from scratch or things that we microwave. And over the years I’ve become distrustful of microwaves. Again, it’s all in the marketing.

When we were young – at least those of us who were wee tykes in the late 60s and early 70s – we were fairly certain that by the time we reached adulthood all the stuff we saw on Star Trek would turn out to be real. It wasn’t an unreasonable belief at the time. After all, we made it to the moon in a fraction of the time most sci fi authors thought it would take us. Could miracles like the Starship Enterprise really be that far behind?

Of course it was not to be. More than 40 years after the original series’ three-year run, we’re still not scooting around the galaxy at nine times the speed of light. We aren’t dissolving in our living rooms and then re-integrating at the office, thus saving hours of annoying commuting every day. We don’t even have cool weapons that allow us to either knock opponents unconscious or make them disappear in a no-fuss-no-muss sort of way. Even if they have been invented, the Pentagon isn’t sharing them with the rest of us.

The one Star Trek gizmo that we actually got – or at least this was the hype at the time – was the Food Materializer. Remember when someone on the show wanted something to eat? All she or he had to do was press a couple of buttons and zzzzap, there was dinner. Anything from tomato soup to London broil just popped into existence right there in a handy little hole in the wall.

Microwaves were supposed to do this for us. Or to be a little more realistic, we were supposed to be able to buy wonderful meals pre-made in boxes. We’d pick them up at the grocery store, drop them in our magic microwave, and zzzzap, there would be dinner.

Of course microwave meals don’t work that way. Naturally the new TV dinners don’t taste any better than their toaster oven predecessors. Nobody with an ounce of sense expected anything else. But really, honestly, nuclear meals aren’t any more convenient than their conventional counterparts.

Just look at the directions on the back of your average nuke meal. They usually read something along the lines of: “Open box. Remove tray. Discard box. Dig box back out of trash when you realize cook times are printed on it. Pull plastic film away from apple crisp. Stare at apple crisp. Put plastic film back over apple crisp. [Apple crisp just likes to be admired, I guess] Poke holes in plastic film over vegetables. Poke more holes in plastic film over vegetables. No, that’s too many holes. Cover some of the holes with Scotch Brand Magic Transparent Tape. Place in microwave and heat on low for two minutes six seconds. Microwave on high for one minute 30 seconds. Microwave on low for three minutes four seconds. Remove and let cool. Remove film from mashed potatoes. If potatoes still resemble cold, soggy paper towels, microwave on high for an additional 15 minutes. Let cool. Serve.” That last instruction’s my personal favorite. It’s bad enough that I’m eating this slop myself. What makes them think I’m going to serve it to someone else?

Clearly this isn’t the Star Trek Food Materializer. If I wanted to spend that much effort on dinner, I’d probably just go ahead and cook. At least then I could guarantee all my food would come out golden brown.

Most of this entry was originally printed as a column in the Kansas City Kansan.