It dices! It slices! It induces!

Adventures in Aliyah

Kilometerstone 21: It dices! It slices! It induces!

Wikimedia Commons

Modern Jerusalem kitchen technology meets the Veg-a-Matic

 People who grew up in the US from my generation, sure to be older than your generation, remember the Veg-a-Matic. (Pronounced VEJ-a-MATic.) This was a kitchen item touted on late-night television.

A man with an apron spoke in the urgent and enthusiastic tones of salesmen from time immemorial. He knew you were just not going to believe what the Veg-a-Matic could do for you and your vegetables.

With no effort, you could produce julienned carrots! And endless mounds of French-fried potatoes!

Wikimedia Commons/Pixabay free images

Flick your wrist and watch it dice. Turn the dial and see it slice. Those who remember this marvelous instrument recall the tag line, “It dices! It slices!”

You could of course call the number on the screen to order one. Whatever the time of day or night, operators were standing by. And if you called right now, you would also get–absolutely free!—a 24-foot-long foldable skewer to grill enough shish kabob to feed your whole zip code!

I haven’t thought of the Veg-a-Matic in decades. I certainly did not expect to be reminded of it, in person, by the man who delivered to our Israeli flat a handsome induction cooktop. Cutting-edge cookery meets good old-time flimflam, right here in the Holy City.

*************************

The technology behind induction cooking is more than a century old. Its benefits–cookware that does not heat up and endanger children and oldsters–were clear even then, but induction cooking did not catch on until just a couple of decades ago.

When we were outfitting our kitchen, everyone who mattered told us the wonders of induction cooking. We had never heard of it, much less used it, but they all said we simply had to get with the induction program. And so, after a cooking lifetime, we gave up the gas.

We chose one of the recommended cooktop brands and had it sent to our address. A specialist would be in touch to install it.

When the box arrived, we opened it. Unlike other appliances we bought over the years–laptop computers, microwave ovens–this one seemed to have no electric cord to plug into a power source.

The delivery person, I will call him Itzik, got in touch to set up a time to install the cooktop. We told him that we could not find the power cord.

“You opened the box?!” he cried. “You were not supposed to open it up! Only an Authorized Induction Technician like me is allowed to open it up! The technician brings the power cord when he comes to install it,” he said. “What you did could void your warranty!” We apologized for our ignorance—olim do this often–and threw ourselves on the mercy of the Authorized Technician.

Itzik set a time for delivery. Then he canceled it and set up another appointment. Then he canceled again and set up a third appointment. Meantime, we had nothing but a microwave to cook with.

En route at last, Itzik called. “I must make sure that you have the appropriate third-phase electrical service in your flat,” he said. “If you don’t, I have to cancel the delivery. Cancellation will cost you 300 shekels.” We assured him that our electricity was up to date. Why he had not checked before was unclear.

Itzik arrived. “Has the hole underneath been cut out for ventilation?” he asked.

We had no idea what he was talking about.

“I can’t install this unless you promise to arrange for proper ventilation. Will you promise to have the hole cut?”

We promised.

“I need to take a video of you promising not to use this until it has been properly ventilated,” said Itzik.

We chuckled, certain that he was kidding.  Itzik was not kidding. Using his phone, he videoed us as we solemnly promised to have a ventilation hole cut under the cooktop before cooking on it.

Itzik took the electrical cord out of his bag. “This cord costs 400 shekels,” he said. “It is the best cord, with its own surge protector.”  We nodded happily. “Here is a User’s Guide,” he said. “You must read it.”  We said we would. This time video affirmation was not needed.

“And now,” said Itzik, with gusto, “we have a special today!”

We tried to respond to his enthusiasm, even though all we wanted was for him to install the induction cooktop and go away.

“Induction cooking is wonderful,” he said. “But this cooktop is sensitive. If it breaks, repair could cost 800 shekels.”

We sighed in dismay.

“To guard against this,” said Itzik, “you want an extended warranty. And you can get one!”

We glowed with gratitude.

“The regular extended warranty is for 5 years, 4 years plus 1.”  “1”  was probably the regular warranty. “That would cost 1425 shekels.

“But today only,” he said, “you can get 7 years, 6 plus 1, for 1523 shekels. That’s an extra two years for just 98 shekels!”

We gasped in amazement.

“Plus, there’s more!” said Itzik. Of course there was more. In Veg-a-Matic World, there always is.

“We have another special!  Samsung pots, safe for induction cooking. Aren’t they handsome? Today only, just 50 shekels!” He held up the bag.

We own Samsung phones.  They might get along with the pots.

We already had more induction-safe pots and pans than we could use. But what we really needed was for Itzik to leave. Besides, we had promised not to use induction until the carpenter cut the ventilation hole. Itzik had probably already uploaded our promise to TikTok, so even Xi Jinping knew of our vow.

We took the deal. Itzik gave us the pots and the extended-warranty paperwork, and we sent him—finally—on his way.

As for the cooktop (now ventilated!), what can we say?

It simmers! It boils! It sautees! It induces!

You simply must…..

No, please do what you want.  Operators are no longer standing by. There are no operators any more, just robots with algorithms.

Progress marches on, but salesmanship is forever.

Any takers for a surplus Samsung induction-safe pot? Used only by vegans on Chol Hamoed.

******************