I just finished my lunch. On the menu today were two pieces of leftover pizza from the weekend. It was yummy.

Lately I’ve been against using the radarange (o.k., microwave) for anything. Earl came home one night last week and noticed that I was heating the brussel sprouts by steaming them on the stove instead of nuking the heck out of them. When I make popcorn I use the latest version of the old-fashioned motorized West Bend popcorn popper, complete with canola oil and dripping butter goodness. Even when I boil water these days I use the stove instead of the radarange.

When I was a kid I thought my grandmother’s radarange was the coolest thing. It was so heavy it took two people to carry it. You needed to lock the door shut before you could turn it on (the rumor about needing lead gloves proved to be unsubstantiated). If you used one of the fancy plates sparks flew around inside while the food cooked. You weren’t suppose to use the fancy plate in the radarange.

While these devices appeal to the geek, today I can’t help but think that using microwaves to cook food is somehow not normal. It’s not that I’m afraid of a microwave oven or think that my head is going to explode by standing near one but with all the radio waves, television signals, satellite signals and cellular chatter in the air today, I feel like I’m contributing to Mother Earth and the welfare of her children a little bit by not adding to the technological mix while I melt butter. So for lunch I heated my two slices of pizza in the oven on our pizza stone. It came out crisp and tasty. If I had used the radarange it probably would have been a mixture of soggy at one end and chewy on the other.