I was going to pawn this off to AI, but thought the better of it.
I'm not going to get an air fryer, although the thought keeps running through my head. To me, this means that I've probably got a touch of the blues and need to do something about it, but that is another blog post for another time.
I am not getting an air fryer.
I've got plenty of pots and pans. I like my pots and pans. I wish I could find my manky old flat-ended wooden spoon that gave everything flavour, having used in for every savoury dish over the last twenty years.
Even a little one, which wouldn't take up too much space, like this one is too much of an airfryer.
It's got a 1.5 litre basket and is only 22 cms x 22 cms x 27 cms, but still there is nowhere to put it and I don't need it.
I compromised during COVID and spent $20 on a sandwich press. And I now have a Nespresso machine with a milk frother. Like I have a grill and a stove top coffee pot and one of the milk wizzers that you get from IKEA for $2. At least they get used.
I'm thinking about putting the Tupperware microwave pressure cooker on Facebook Marketplace - again, because I don't use it - and Tupperware, as a company, is no more.
I like cooking, not that I do it very often, but what can you make in an air fryer.
And I'd be tempted to do things like get potato cakes, or make Caramilk squares wrapped in puff pastry, or get all sorts of really bad food I don't need to eat.
And I have better things to spend $35 on, like a Schengen visa or the one to Britain, even though I'm only going there for three days.
I do not need an air fryer. Repeat. I do not need an air fryer.
After all that, I did ask AI to pen me a quick blog post about no getting an air fryer, in the style of Irvine Welsh. Seems AI doesn't like air fryers either. Irvine Welsh certainly wouldn't - he'd hock his out of the back of a van to buy weed.
Title: “Air Fry This: Why Ye Can Ram Yer Gadget Hype”
Ah, the air fryer. That smug wee bastard sittin’ on kitchen counters across the nation, glintin’ wi’ the false promise of guilt-free chips and a cleaner conscience. Every time I open me phone, there it is—some influencer wank going on about how it “changed their life,” like it’s a revelation from the fryer gods. Let me tell ye something: it’s a glorified hairdryer in a plastic shell, and I’ll no be havin’ it.
I walked into Curry’s last week, pure vulnerable, just after a hangover that made me question everything. The salesman, shiny-faced and dead behind the eyes, gives me the chat: “It cooks things fast, with less oil!” Mate, so does a grill if ye’ve any idea how tae use it. And I don’t need another hulking lump o’ machinery taking up sacred counter space already ruled by me toaster, kettle, and existential dread.
We’ve become slaves tae gadgets—pretending tae cook while watching TikToks about cooking. Ye want crisp chips? Use a pan. Use fire. Learn to love yer own damn grease.
I’m no paying a hundred quid tae join some cult of crunchy courgette freaks. This is how it starts, ken? First it’s the air fryer, next ye’re vacuum-sealing steaks and calling it cuisine.
So no, I’m not buying yer latest miracle box. Stick yer air fryer up yer ergonomically designed backside. I’ll keep my oil, my crusty old pan, and what’s left of my dignity.
Fads fade. But a well-seasoned skillet? That’s fuckin’ heritage.
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