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Food Addict
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A couple years ago, I saw a late-night infomercial for a product called the “Magic Bullet.” Petit, and yes, bullet-shaped, the ad boasted that it could do “any job in 10 seconds or less.” Anything related to food preparation, that is.
As I watched the Magic Bullet effortlessly chop onions, grind coffee and whip up a bunch of nifty little dishes like chicken salad and salsa, I couldn’t help but admire it. Here was kitchen magic right before my eyes. I could see myself trading pots, pans, blenders and all those other supposedly-useless kitchen appliances for the Magic Bullet.
The future of cooking could be mine, for just three easy payments of $33.33.
My strange obsession with the Magic Bullet grew and within a few months I viewed the infomercial five times. I marveled at its ability to make decent-looking meals in seconds.
Not to mention the infomercial was hilarious. Who would have thought a house party could turn into a 30-minute ad for a super blender? It featured two jolly individuals named Mick and Mimi (don’t those names sound cute together?) showing off the Magic Bullet’s abilities to about seven of their friends in a cozy, but extremely modern kitchen decked out with every appliance imaginable.
Unskilled “actors” portrayed the friends and it seemed like they had been directed to act as cheesy as possible. I didn’t know the phrase “no way!” could be exaggerated so many ways, nor did I realize the potential that human beings have to make super-wide smiles.
Mimi became the unofficial leader of this super-smiley group. I constantly worried her face would freeze in the shape of her massive, toothy grin.
Then Mick, a perky English gentleman, backed up Mimi’s smile with his never-ending energy and ability to think of different meals to prepare on the spot. I thought he was clever.
After watching this infomercial several times, I wanted the Magic Bullet even more. Mother’s Day lurked just around the corner, so I asked a few of my friends if ordering the Magic Bullet for my mom served as a decent excuse to buy it. Here were their responses:
“That’s a horrible thing to do for Mother’s Day!”
“No, please, don’t waste your money on that.”
“I can see your future apartment now. It’ll have all the crap from the infomercials in it.”
Their dislike for my fetish hurt, but I saw their point. I thought back to the infomercial and all the appliances Mick and Mimi kept around, despite owning the Magic Bullet. Were these bulky, supposedly old-fashioned items back-ups? Maybe the Magic Bullet wasn’t so great after all.
I continued to watch the infomercial whenever it happened to be on and each time I grew more skeptical. How did all those vegetables fit into that tiny blender space? Do the smoothies always turn out so runny? Are blueberry muffins supposed to be blue?
The flashiness of technology and “the future” is tempting, but that’s all. I should have known that anything claiming to be “magic” was really just part of a plot to con me out of $100.
The infomercial asks why food-loving Americans need a blender when they could have the Magic Bullet. I wonder why I need the Magic Bullet when I have a blender. When it comes to food, I now prefer to keep things simple, reliable and classic.
Francy Marcotte