Assistive Technology In The Kitchen

Assistive Technology In The Kitchen

Help! I'm Using Assistive Technology

In The Kitchen!

by Chris Cuppett

Reprinted from the Fall, 1995, issue of the Minnesota

Bulletin, the newsletter of the National Federation of the

Blind of Minnesota.

Editor's Note: Chris Cuppett is a blind woman who teaches

blindness skills (cooking, home management, daily living

skills, Braille, and so forth) to newly blinded senior

citizens. She travels from area to area in southern Minnesota

and sets up twelve-week training programs for blind senior

citizens at convenient local sites (such as the church she

mentions in her article). Chris is also a state and local

leader within the NFB of Minnesota, serving as a state board

member and president of her local chapter of the NFB. In this

article Chris uses humorous examples from her own use of low-

tech items in the kitchen to make a point about the human

factor in the use of technology, whether it be a simple

kitchen gadget or a complex talking computer with a voice

synthesizer. Here is Chris Cuppett's amusing look at assistive

technology:

I once attended a technology seminar in which the

facilitator told the audience one of the "granddaddies" of all

computer stories. One of his duties at a company which sold

adaptive hardware and software for people with disabilities

was to troubleshoot for consumers who might be experiencing

difficulty with their new equipment. One afternoon, right

about quittin' time, the phone rang. He was confronted by a

very irate caller who exploded: "My computer keeps telling me

to press any key to continue. Now you tell me, how am I

supposed to do that when there is no such thing as an any key

on my computer?"

That story got an uproarious response from the audience,

partly because the incident was outrageous, but also because

the members could relate on some level to the frustration the

caller was feeling. It seems that we mere mortals are

constantly engaged in a battle with machines, whether complex

or simple. These inanimate objects have been designed to help

us but we sometimes wonder if their real purpose is to drive

us to distraction as they persist in not doing what they are

supposed to do. We would like to blast the maladjusted

machines, but it doesn't often occur to us that maybe some

other cogs need adjusting. Let me elaborate further.

Since it is always healthy to laugh at oneself, I will

start by relating an incident that still makes me blush, and

then giggle, whenever I think of it. Anyone who has seen my

kitchen knows that I like to collect little gadgets that make

food preparation easier. In a discount store I happened upon

such a gadget that had a sturdy handle attached to several

thick, parallel wires. It was called a vegetable slicer, and

it was advertised to be especially good for dividing tomatoes

into nice, uniform slices. Perhaps with the exception of a few

prominent chefs, most of us would agree that a tomato tastes

the same no matter how you slice it. I was getting a bit

weary, however, of wielding a knife and having my tomato

slices turn out portly on one end and puny on the other. I

plunked down a dollar and some odd cents and vowed to have

perfect tomato slices from that moment on.

A few days later a friend with a very large garden gave

me several plump, juicy tomatoes. The next morning as I was

getting ready for work, I decided to pack up my handy, dandy

vegetable slicer and a few of these gorgeous love apples. What

a good idea, I thought, to demonstrate my new toy in front of

my students in my Lakefield class. (I think it must have been

one of those mornings when I hadn't had my second cup of

coffee. At least, I hope it was.)

This class was held in a beautiful, old Methodist church

with a huge kitchen in the basement. My colleague, Monica, and

I arrived at the church very early and we headed straight for

the kitchen. I was determined to do a trial run with my gadget

before demonstrating it for the class.

I got out one of my succulent tomatoes and placed it on

the counter. Picking up my vegetable slicer, I laid it on top

of the tomato and pressed down. (Well, gee, after all, I have

a slicer for hard-cooked eggs and it works something like

that.) When I lifted up the gadget, it didn't take long for me

to realize that I had done something unspeakable to my tomato.

It lay in a bloody heap all over the counter. I hollered,

"This thing doesn't work!" and Monica ran out of the room. (At

the time I thought she fled in disgust. Later she told me that

she had felt a giant laugh coming on and had found it

necessary to vacate the premises.) As I cleaned up the mess,

the whole thing didn't strike me as particularly funny, but

later I had some giant laughs of my own about it. I was

immensely relieved that my students hadn't witnessed "The

Great Tomato Massacre" in the Methodist Church. But I was able

to tell them about it later, and they had some giant laughs,

too.

When I attempted my experiment for the second time I

decided to lay my gadget on top of the tomato and try a gentle

sawing motion. Just as the advertisement promised, it produced

several splendid slices. The tomatoes were abundant and

wonderful this past summer, so I made many gentle sawing

motions with my vegetable slicer. Incidently, although the

gentle sawing takes a little longer, this gadget also produces

lovely orange cartwheels. (All right, already, so an orange

isn't a vegetable. Come to think of it, neither is a tomato.)

Moving on to a hotter topic, there is another inexpensive

gizmo on the market known as a flame tamer or a heat diffuser.

(To add to the confusion, some distributors of this product

now refer to it as a "simmer ring.") It's a flat metal device

with a wooden handle, and it doesn't look as if it would be

particularly functional. The purpose of the flame tamer is to

sit peacefully on the burner of any gas or electric stove and

to turn any kettle into a double boiler when the heat setting

is at medium or low. In other words, "Don't set your stove on

high, honey, or the thing won't tame your flame." It works

especially well for melting chocolate, for cooking hot cereal,

or for heating milk. It is also handy for keeping a casserole

warm if the casserole is removed from the oven and placed on

top of the flame tamer with the heat setting on low. The flame

tamer can be purchased at most hardware stores and it only

costs about two dollars. If the thing begins to look dull and

dingy after limited use, don't despair. This time you didn't

screw up. Your flame tamer isn't getting back at you for using

it incorrectly. The reaction of the metal with the heat

produces its lackluster appearance and no amount of scouring

or scrubbing will make it look shiny again. You can tell

anyone who really needs to know that your flame tamer has

served you well, and that is why it looks the way it does.

Another popular low-tech item with multiple names is the pot

watcher, boil master, or boil mate. (In this article I will

refer to it as the pot watcher.) It looks like a miniature

ashtray or a caster on the bottom of a chair leg. (Now doesn't

that description make you want to rush right out and get one?)

This sturdy little Pyrex disk slips comfortably into a kettle

of water and breaks up the little bubbles as the water begins

to boil. While it rattles merrily in the bottom of a kettle,

it keeps pasta and potatoes from boiling all over the place.

(One of my students tried out her new toy in a kettle of fresh

beets. She was happy to report that for the first time in

years she didn't need to scrub red stains off her kitchen

wall.) The pot watcher is sold in many specialty catalogs, in

kitchen gadget stores, and in a few department stores. Many of

my students have purchased this inexpensive and grief-saving

device.

But sales of pot watchers could have plummeted to an all-

time low after an incident that occurred in one of my classes

a few months ago. One of the counselors from State Services

for the Blind stopped by our classroom to see how things were

going. After chatting briefly with the students, she summoned

me into the hallway. It was soon very clear that our

discussion was not going to be about the progress of the

students but rather about the dangers of our precious pot

watcher. The previous evening she had used one to prepare

spaghetti when suddenly she heard a loud crack. Rushing to the

stove, she retrieved a badly cracked pot watcher from her

kettle of pasta. For some reason she lightly tapped the gadget

on the countertop and watched in disbelief as it disintegrated

into a million pieces. "What if that pot watcher had shattered

when it was still in the pot?" she said with obvious concern

in her voice. "That could have been really dangerous. Maybe

these things are defective. I wonder if we should be

recommending them."

"Maybe not," I replied sadly. "I guess I'll have to tell

our students not to buy them after all."

"Do you remember any former students who have already

bought these things?"

"Well, yes, I remember some of them."

"Maybe it wouldn't hurt to get on the phone and tell them

to throw these pieces of junk in the garbage."

I sighed and headed slowly back to the classroom. Those

of us who had purchased them had grown to love our little pot

watchers. Now I would have to deliver the bad news.

The counselor's voice broke into my thoughts. "Wait a minute,"

she said, "I just thought of something. I dropped the pot

watcher into the water after it was already boiling. I bet

that wasn't right. Maybe it always has to start out in cold

water."

"That's the way I've always used it," I said. I had never

bothered to check the directions on the package, though.

Somehow I had lucked out in managing to use my pot watcher

correctly. Not long after the near demise of many pot

watchers, I asked someone to read the directions on the

package. Sure enough, the instructions went something like

this: "Place the pot watcher into a kettle of cold water."

My original intent was to attach a moral to this tangled

web. You know, something like: "The computer is only as good

as its programmer," or "If at first you don't succeed, read

the instructions." But you've heard all that stuff before,

haven't you?

I have just finished proofreading the material I have

written so far on my Braille 'n Speak, my little computerized

word processor with a male voice. I don't suppose it was

really his fault that there were several typographical errors

that I had to correct, but it was great fun bawling him out

anyway. In his obnoxiously controlled voice he promptly

informed me that if I were ever to behave in such a manner

again, he would quietly delete all my files; and how did I

like them apples? All right. I'll be good. I promise.