Somewhere over the rainbow...
I admit to going to the occasional cooking demonstration when they offer treats. This past year I've tasted pretzels, small pizzas, cookies with class, and a cheesy appetizer.
So when I received the email announcing a demo of a Spiralizer, I knew that I was up for the experience. Given the state of the weather, the drizzle like snow and the cold temperatures, a demo with the possibility of a taste seemed perfect.
And I never heard of the item being demonstrated. Although at first, the very sound of it brought to mind infomercials. I admit to occasionally -- there's that word again-- listening to them when I was on the treadmill. That was before I switched to DVDs from The Teaching Company.
How often I found myself on the verge of believing that a tummy belt would produce a flat stomach when used only five minutes a day, or desiring a gadget that broiled, baked, steamed, in one tenth of the time usually allotted for a recipe, or blenders that could grind up the toughest vegetable into a juice that provided every mineral and vitamin your body required.
I even got off the treadmill to write down the number to call, within the next ten minutes, to receive not one but two ultimate shredders that provided every conceivable manner of cutting a vegetable. And if I responded within the allotted time I received a set of three bowls, a wood spatula and a recipe book-- to use with all the vegetables I had cut, sliced, diced, shredded.
Something always held me back. It was a memory of saving the code from ten boxes of my favorite cereal and finally sending all the cardboard along with a dollar bill to some square state. I waited patiently for my personal pedometer and book of codes. Every day when I arrived home from elementary school I asked, " Is it here?"
I had just finished the third grade and summer was beginning. My best friend, Annie, thought we could write notes in code and tally the miles we walked while exploring.
When the thin package arrived, I refused to be disappointed by the size of the envelope. The code book was four pages printed on newsprint. The pedometer, a thin plastic gizmo with a plastic strap was to be worn around your calf.
I strapped it on and walked back and forth in our three room apartment. I even volunteered to walk with my mother to the incinerator. Despite wearing it every day for a week my walking never exceeded one mile. My father tried to make the experience a learning experience. He was a school principal and that's what his training taught him to do in similar situations.
So with that in my background I was able to hold off most purchases. I did buy the shredder and it, like the pedometer, didn't live up to the hype.
The Spiralizer demo included making pasta out of veggies, a delectable salad, and a chance to taste three dishes. I held off, but just might go back and purchase the smaller unit. Who can resist zucchini pasta or butternut squash noodles or parsnip latkes baked in a state of the art toaster oven?
So when I received the email announcing a demo of a Spiralizer, I knew that I was up for the experience. Given the state of the weather, the drizzle like snow and the cold temperatures, a demo with the possibility of a taste seemed perfect.
And I never heard of the item being demonstrated. Although at first, the very sound of it brought to mind infomercials. I admit to occasionally -- there's that word again-- listening to them when I was on the treadmill. That was before I switched to DVDs from The Teaching Company.
How often I found myself on the verge of believing that a tummy belt would produce a flat stomach when used only five minutes a day, or desiring a gadget that broiled, baked, steamed, in one tenth of the time usually allotted for a recipe, or blenders that could grind up the toughest vegetable into a juice that provided every mineral and vitamin your body required.
I even got off the treadmill to write down the number to call, within the next ten minutes, to receive not one but two ultimate shredders that provided every conceivable manner of cutting a vegetable. And if I responded within the allotted time I received a set of three bowls, a wood spatula and a recipe book-- to use with all the vegetables I had cut, sliced, diced, shredded.
Something always held me back. It was a memory of saving the code from ten boxes of my favorite cereal and finally sending all the cardboard along with a dollar bill to some square state. I waited patiently for my personal pedometer and book of codes. Every day when I arrived home from elementary school I asked, " Is it here?"
I had just finished the third grade and summer was beginning. My best friend, Annie, thought we could write notes in code and tally the miles we walked while exploring.
When the thin package arrived, I refused to be disappointed by the size of the envelope. The code book was four pages printed on newsprint. The pedometer, a thin plastic gizmo with a plastic strap was to be worn around your calf.
I strapped it on and walked back and forth in our three room apartment. I even volunteered to walk with my mother to the incinerator. Despite wearing it every day for a week my walking never exceeded one mile. My father tried to make the experience a learning experience. He was a school principal and that's what his training taught him to do in similar situations.
So with that in my background I was able to hold off most purchases. I did buy the shredder and it, like the pedometer, didn't live up to the hype.
The Spiralizer demo included making pasta out of veggies, a delectable salad, and a chance to taste three dishes. I held off, but just might go back and purchase the smaller unit. Who can resist zucchini pasta or butternut squash noodles or parsnip latkes baked in a state of the art toaster oven?
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