Day 4: Microwave

When I was thirteen I decided to become a vegetarian. I made the transition gradually. Ribs were the first food to go. Soon after I stopped eating steaks, pork chops, lamb chops, hamburgers, and any other red meat that my parents provided for me. I continued to eat chicken until my early twenties because I had allowed my doctors and other meat-eaters to convince me that plant based protein was somehow inferior. When I moved out of my parents home I eliminated all meat. At eighteen I developed lactose intolerance, so partly by choice and partly from wanting to avoid the doubled-over stomach stabbing pain that accompanies eating milk products, I eventually became vegan.

Until a few years ago, I figured that being vegetarian or vegan meant I was a healthy eater. Then one night I watched Foodmatters and discovered that my predominantly packaged, processed, and corn-syrup filled diet was far from optimal. After Foodmatters I watched every food documentary I could find. I spent months reading books on food and soon after decided to become a raw foodist. I spent a solid year and a half eating 90% raw foods before it felt like the New England cold had permanently settled in my bones and I caved in to the yearning for warmth. Now, I consider myself a high-raw vegan, eating mostly fresh fruits and vegetables from a local farmer's market.

Before watching Foodmatters I used the microwave not just daily, but at almost every meal. I microwaved instant oatmeal in the morning, heated leftovers for lunch, melted (lactose free) cheese between pita pockets for a mid-afternoon snack, and ate a microwaved veggie burger with microwaved vegetables for dinner. While I was researching raw food and the dangers of GMOs, my father (who has been eating meat and sweets, packaged and processed all of his life) sent me an article that explored the dangers of microwaved foods and claimed that microwaves change the DNA or genetic constitution of food. There were pictures of plants watered with microwaved water and their quick progression from being alive, to wilted, to dead. I took the email as a sign and stopped using the microwave completely.

Although I'd stopped using the microwave, it remained in my apartment. My then-husband wasn't willing to give up microwaved popcorn on movie nights and his work schedule meant he lived on re-heated foods. I opened it one afternoon to clean and discovered a layer of something sticky and yellow that resembled butter. Frustrated, I took to scrubbing with a sponge to non avail. As the yellow resisted my attempts I grew more and more annoyed, scrubbed harder and harder, tilted the microwave on its side and somehow dislodged the door. I spent twenty minutes trying to reattach the door. When he returned home, my husband tried and failed to fix it. Annoyed that I had just purchased it a few months prior, I set it back in its place by the coffee pot.

Years later, the microwave has moved from the top to bottom shelf in a kitchen with limited counter space and cabinets. I have no intentions of ever fixing or using it again. Thankfully 24 things has encouraged me to finally let it go.