Second-Stab Saturday: Sorry I didn't like these pizzelles as much as someone else apparently did

I couldn't let go of the pizzelle recipe that covered an entire box. As a reminder:

Est! Est!! Est!!! Pizzelles 6 eggs 1 tsp vanilla 1 tbsp anise extract, or ¼ tsp anise oil 1 tsp orange or lemon extract 1 cup sugar 1 cup butter or oil Pinch of salt 2¼-2½ cups flour 2 tsp baking powder If using butter, melt it and set it aside to cool. Combine flour and baking powder in a sifter, set aside. Beat eggs and flavorings with an electric mixer until very light. Gradually add the sugar, beating the whole time. Beat until very thick. Gradually pour in the butter or oil, beating on high speed the whole time. Then set aside the mixer. Sift in the flour and stir it in by hand. Cook on a hot pizzelle iron until crisp and golden. If desired, take out about a third of the batter. Mix in ¼ cup cocoa powder. Cut this into the rest of the batter for a marbled effect. (Note: Apparently lots of people can make chocolate pizzelles, but the cocoa powder makes them stick horribly to the iron every time I try. So beware!) Source: handwritten recipe on a pizzelle iron box

Whoever wrote this recipe gave it the entire side of a pizzelle iron box, like they were declaring that this was the one and only. You don't do that with a dud. I decided to bring the recipe back to its native iron.

As I mentioned last time, I happen to have the same iron that this recipe came with. This isn't as much a coincidence as you may think. This seems to be one of the most common stovetop pizzelle iron designs, and I can see why. First, it looks really pretty. Second, it lets go of waffles ever-so-easily. With other irons, I often need to get out a fork and gently ease the pizzelles out of the grooves. But they fall right out of this one.

I wanted to give this recipe a fair shake, mostly because apparently someone really liked it. So on a lovely chilly night, I fired up the record player, cleared off the counters, and made pizzelles.

As much as I hate to admit it, it seems like the best pizzelle irons come from Ohio.* Our Pennsylvania iron turned this recipe into bendy wafers, but they were a lot thinner and crisper when cooked on a Cleveland native. But they were still oddly flexible and their texture just wasn't the best. I won't make these again, but I didn't throw the rest out.

They did photograph very well, though.

*Ohio has a large Italian community-- particularly in the greater Cleveland area, which may be why pizzelles are more common among Italian-Americans than still-in-Italy Italians. It is speculated that Cleveland's metalworking industry made it a lot easier to produce specialized waffle irons.
As for why I would have problems with Ohio and the cookware made in that state, it's for (admittedly shallow) personal reasons. For those who missed it, I got into making pizzelles after a bad breakup with someone whose family is from Ohio, which has left me salty about the entire state.↪

Evelyn's Pizzelles

Today, we are making more pizzelle recipes that I could have bought!

Evelyn's Pizzelles 3 cups flour 1 tsp baking powder 6 eggs 1 tsp anise oil or other flavor 1 cup sugar 1 cup cooking oil Combine flour and baking powder in a sifter, set aside. Beat eggs and anise oil (or your flavoring of choice) with an electric mixer until very light. Gradually add the sugar, beating the whole time. Beat until very thick. Gradually pour in the oil, beating on high speed the whole time. Then set aside the mixer. Sift in the flour and stir it in by hand. Cook on a hot pizzelle iron until crisp and golden. Source: handwritten recipe taped onto a pizzelle iron box

Some readers may recall that I was recommended (and then did not buy) the same pizzelle iron I already have, which came in its original box with a lot of recipes pasted onto it. For whatever reason, I loved the idea of making pizzelles that could have been made on the same iron that is perched above the refrigerator (or at least, one that came out of the same molds). And recipes with a name attached always seem extra-special, even if they're all strangers to me.

Obviously, I have no idea who the Evelyn in "Evelyn's Pizzelles" was. But we lived up the street from someone named Evelyn, who presumably had a last name but was "Miss Evelyn" to everyone who knew her. (Her husband, "Mister Evelyn," was just quietly in the background.) Every time we came by her house, she treated us like we were there every week. She also always gamely bought overpriced gift wrap and figurines whenever we went door to door selling things from those horrible school fundraiser catalogs.

Anyway, today's pizzelle recipe looks similar to a lot of the other ones we've made, except for one crucial ingredient change: 

Yes, instead of melting shortening or butter, Evelyn uses cooking oil! I've always associated cooking oil with cake mix, which (especially these days) tastes like a placeholder for a real cake. But who am I to dispute someone's written directions? More so than any other time I've made pizzelles, this part felt like making mayonnaise. After getting all the oil into the batter, it was noticeably deflated but still foamy.

Our recipe says "anise oil or other flavor." I was not sure that anise extract (which is not the same as anise oil but it's what I had on hand) and peanut oil would go together. But who am I to argue with a barely-legible recipe? If it's written down, it must have worked for someone.

This seemed like I should have poured it into cake pans instead of spooning onto a waffle iron. I have never made pizzelles from such a runny batter. (Though of course, I am still barely experienced.)

Because I wanted to try these without a stovetop fuss, I made them the modern, electric way.  I use the stovetop irons when I want to have a lovely meditative experience in the kitchen, but the electric one is so fast I almost think I'm cheating. It feels like I'm zapping pizzelles into existence.

Our pizzelles were ready just a few seconds after closing the iron. Evelyn's batter didn't expand as much as I thought it would, so our first pizzelles were sad and runty.

These pizzelles challenged all my previous beliefs about cooking oil and lousy baked goods. They were really good. I can't tell if the oil made a difference or if I was imagining it. They were a lot like the Fante's pizzelles, but lighter and less substantial. It's easier to eat five instead of two of these.

I will say that these weren't bendy like the other ones from this box, but they weren't as fragile as the other pizzelles we've made either. I don't think I could wrangle a stack of Fante's pizzelles into a cramped sandwich bag like this. So Evelyn's pizzelles are perfect for giving away.

Whoever Evelyn was, she had a darn good recipe. I hope whoever actually bought the iron tries it.

Est! Est!! Est!!! Pizzelles

Somebody really liked this recipe.

Est! Est!! Est!!! Pizzelles 6 eggs 1 tsp vanilla 1 tbsp anise extract, or ¼ tsp anise oil 1 tsp orange or lemon extract 1 cup sugar 1 cup butter or oil Pinch of salt 2¼-2½ cups flour 2 tsp baking powder If using butter, melt it and set it aside to cool. Combine flour and baking powder in a sifter, set aside. Beat eggs and flavorings with an electric mixer until very light. Gradually add the sugar, beating the whole time. Beat until very thick. Gradually pour in the butter or oil, beating on high speed the whole time. Then set aside the mixer. Sift in the flour and stir it in by hand. Cook on a hot pizzelle iron until crisp and golden. If desired, take out about a third of the batter. Mix in ¼ cup cocoa powder. Cut this into the rest of the batter for a marbled effect. (Note: Apparently lots of people can make chocolate pizzelles, but the cocoa powder makes them stick horribly to the iron every time I try. So beware!) Source: handwritten recipe on a pizzelle iron box

I've been rehoming unwanted clutter on Ebay, which is kind of fun if you're not in it for the money. It's amusing to see how far across the country your junk--- I mean, your under-cherished treasures--- can go. Every now and then while I'm waiting for my listing photos to upload, I'll look at the suggested merchandise. Because I've already gotten everything I want, I am now immune to ill-advised purchases. (However, I am not above helping myself to interesting things I find on the curb.) This pizzelle iron turned up, and I knew I wouldn't buy it because I already have the same one perched on top of the refrigerator. (Again, I already have everything I want.)

Whoever first owned this iron wrote today's recipe on the box in big enough letters to cover the entire side of it. That is even more commitment than permanently writing a recipe into the blank pages at the end of a cookbook. Maybe they were like "This is the recipe. There are other pizzelle recipes, but I choose this one for now and for always." Naturally, I had make it.

As with so many pizzelles, this recipe starts off with beating the eggs until Miss Leslie would have approved. This is why I really love having a stand mixer in my life. I simply had to turn it on and leave it alone, which freed me to clear off counterspace to make room for the impending cooling racks. Within a minute or two, the egg (just the one, we're cutting down the recipe) looked like this.

This is only one egg.

This really is the kind of recipe that electric mixers were made for. Whipping everything into a beige custard would be an arduous ordeal if we were doing it by hand. Even a handcranked eggbeater would have left our hands a bit sore. But today, our pre-flour mixture formed peaks in less than five minutes. It also tasted insanely good, in large part because I added a truly excessive splash of almond extract.

Our recipe box (literally a recipe box!) tells us to add anise. I've learned that apparently anise is the traditional pizzelle flavoring, but it's not my favorite extract to add to the batter. So I left it out. (However, I love adding powdered star anise to chocolate fudge. As a bonus, everyone else thinks it tastes weird, so I get to eat all of it!)

After adding the flour, I could tell this was supposed to be on the cake-batter end of pizzelles instead of a firm dough. However, it was a little bit curdled. So I added a smidge more flour than the recipe called for. 

Now, if I wanted to make these exactly like the original writer did, I would have made these on the stovetop iron that is identical to the one this recipe came with. But I wanted to get out the electric one and justify having bothered some unsuspecting electricians to fix its wiring. The batter looked unexpectedly pretty when it landed.

The lid put up some resistance when I tried to open it. I was already bracing myself for failure, because that usually means the batter has stuck to both sides of the iron and glued it shut. But after a few moments of gentle prising, the iron opened without tearing the pizzelless. However, they were were firmly attached to the lid of the iron.

I still haven't gotten the hang of putting the right amount of batter onto my electric iron. They're either runty or they ooze.

To my own surprise, I managed to lift them off in a single sheet. I fully expected to destroy them in my attempts to dislodge them from the iron. On a barely-related note, I love imagining generations of people saying that those fluffy bits of hot dough between the pizzelles are for the person working the iron.

These tasted like they wanted to be crisper than they ended up. I know I didn't undercook them because they had turned a lovely golden color. But even after these cooled completely, they were almost soft. On the one hand, I like pizzelles to be really crispy. But on the other hand, these didn't break into messy shards when you bit into them. And of course, I don't know enough about pizzelles to get away with being opinionated about them. These seem like they'd be really good with some sort of custard or cream spread onto them, or maybe clapped together with a filling like stroopwafels. Which I just might do in the near-ish future.

Cabbage rolls: Not bad, but not sure if they're worth the effort

Today, we are risking an explosion!

Cabbage Rolls 1 large head cabbage 2 (10½-oz each) cans tomato soup 1¼ cup water       Filling: 2 pounds lean ground meat 2 tsp salt ½ tsp pepper other seasonings to taste ¼ cup finely chopped onion 2 cups cooked rice 2 eggs Place the whole cabbage in the freezer. Leave it for a day or two, then thaw. This softens the leaves so you can work with them. Carefully peel off the leaves. Cut off any pieces of the cabbage core that stay on them. Mix the filling ingredients, adding other seasonings if desired. Place a portion of the meat on each cabbage leaf. Roll it up like an eggroll or a burrito. Then put the cabbage rolls on a rack in a pressure cooker. (You can stack them on each other- there's no need to separate them in the pot.) Pour the soup and water over them. Set the cooker to 15 PSI. Cook for 8 minutes, starting the time when the pressure is reached. Then instantly release the pressure (check your cooker's instruction manual to see how). Note 1: If desired, you can assemble the cabbage rolls a day ahead and refrigerate them until you're ready to cook them. Note 2: If desired, you can freeze any unused cabbage leaves for later use. When you use them, be sure to cook them thoroughly since they were in such close contact with raw meat. But really, they will be mushy and bitter after getting frozen and thawed twice. So you might just discreetly let the trash collectors take them away instead unless you have chickens in the yard.Carmella Oszterling

This comes from my ex's Italian grandmother's recipes. I'm not sure if it's actually Italian or if she copied it out of a pressure cooker instruction book. I really love the note at the bottom: "Maybe cut this in half." You know a recipe makes a lot when someone's Italian grandmother writes that perhaps you should make less of it. 

I actually did have these cabbage rolls at my ex's mother's house. I don't remember if I liked them or not. I was too overwhelmed at being presented to the entire extended family to notice the food, even if it was his mother's cooking. But I think that she skipped the pressure cooker and put them in a Crock Pot. 

However, what should turn up when I was rummaging through the cabinets, but a complete pressure cooker! When I say a complete one, I mean everything. The little rack you're supposed to put in the bottom of it, all the rubber bits, and the weight you're supposed to put on top. And when I flipped it over, I could tell that it had been used a lot.

There were two weights tucked inside it. One of them was worn out.I would love to know how long that took.

I didn't trust the pressure cooker. I've heard too many stories about pressure cookers exploding. Also, I didn't know how the heck to use it. I found the instruction manual online, and also a lot of videos of people. Most of the people showing how to use a pressure cooker talked about canning. It seems like the microwave superseded the pressure cooker (until the Instant Pot arrived) for everything except home canning.

With that in mind, I had to test two things. First, would this thing explode? And if it didn't, would it hold pressure? I don't know how old it is, how worn out it is, or any of that. I decided to take this outside so I wouldn't have to clean the entire kitchen in the event of catastrophic failure.

The grill burner is nearly useless for cooking purposes and leaves horrible soot on every pot, but it came in handy tonight. 

I was afraid to get near the cooker. After all, it could blow at any second. While I paced in the yard at what I hoped was a safe distance, that little weight that's supposed to start wobbling refused to move. The whole apparatus hissed a lot, which might be how it's supposed to work but made me even more afraid to get near it. Was some rubber bit old enough to lose its grip and leak? Was I supposed to give the weight a starting nudge?

Eventually, the little weight started rocking, which apparently means that this thing still holds pressure. Having proven that the cooker worked, I turned off the burner below it and left it for a few hours. I didn't want to touch it until it got completely cold in case it blew up in my hands.

When I brought it in, I removed the foil from below and was so glad I used it. Look at that horrible soot!

And now, it was time to actually make food-- or so I thought. The instructions begin with "Pour boiling water over leaves. Let stand for 5 minutes." But I couldn't even get to that point.  It turns out that cabbage leaves are nearly impossible to peel off intact. The first ones fell right off, giving me false hope.

But after this early success, the rest of them ripped apart as soon as I tried to get them off the cabbage head. This is one of the more intact ones.

 

Also, our leaves (intact or not) were hopelessly rigid. As the directions say, I poured boiling water over them and waited five minutes. That made no difference. I then decided to turn on the burner under the few leaves, at which point I discovered that boiling cabbage smells awful.The whole house reeked, and the leaves were as unrollable as ever.

We've cooked a fair amount of cabbage here at A Book of Cookrye, but I've never boiled it before. Or at least, not for longer than a few brief minutes. I therefore have never deliberately caused such a horrible stink on the stove. The whole house smelled like "You're not getting up from this table until you eat your vegetables."

I've never flunked out of a recipe at the first sentence, but I couldn't handle any more explosive cookers or foul-smelling and uncooperative cabbage. I almost felt someone gently putting their hand on my shoulder and saying "Now is not the time. That's enough for tonight." We had figured out how to get the cooker to pressurize, we had the filling made, and that was enough. We could let all our progress wait in the freezer.

Now, I don't remember where I read this, but apparently you can soften vegetables by freezing them. I think it was some listicle of cooking hacks. It seemed obvious enough-- frozen vegetables are always mushy when you thaw them. So I dropped the entire cabbage into the chest freezer until I was mentally ready for cabbage rolls.

A while later, I decided the time was right to load the pressure cooker with cabbage. Also, everyone else was away from the house. I wouldn't have to field any complaints about the stink. 

In utter ignorance of the smell to come, I put the frozen cabbage in a bowl and left it uncovered in the refrigerator. (We don't have any cabbage-sized containers anyway.) The cabbage started to smell overcooked as soon as it thawed. Seriously, my nose thought I had boiled it all day. I thought that cabbage only smelled bad if you cooked it too long, but apparently freezing it releases the stench too.  The refrigerator reeked within a few hours. Shortly thereafter, the cabbage smell seeped out of the fridge and into the kitchen. It then crept over the entire house. By nightfall, a faint yet persistent odor greeted me every time I came in from outside. I began to dread the others getting home a day early.

The next day, the cabbage had finished thawing and the whole house smelled like it. Nevertheless, I could peel the leaves off perfectly intact as long as I was careful about it. Look at this lovely pile of leaf skins, ready to receive the meat!

Now, each of these leaves had a big, fibrous vein in the center. I didn't know if it would cook soft or not, but I didn't want to eat extra-fibrous almost-woody cabbage rolls. So I carefully shaved off the excess vein. (Once again, let me remind everyone to keep your kitchen knives sharp!)

And now, it was time to make the cabbage rolls! After all our long preparation, this was almost insultingly fast.

Soon, we had a whole container of cabbage rolls ready for the pressure cooker. This seemed like a lot of fuss, but keep in mind that we have stretched the heck out of our beef. There's only one pound of meat in this whole container. Perhaps the extra effort makes sense when you have to feed a whole family with no budget. 

As suppertime approached, I had to face the pressure cooker. This time I had to do it indoors and with a lot of grocery money in it waiting to blow up. 

The recipe calls for two 10½ ounce cans of tomato soup. I was absolutely astonished to find that tomato soup cans haven't shrunk at all in the decades since this recipe was written down.

Well, this is the moment that took so long to get to!

Reminder: this is only one pound of meat.

Actually, I didn't want to cook a massive pot of cabbage in canned tomato soup. So, I went off-book and added a can of blenderized tomatoes. It didn't make much of a difference, but at the time it seemed like it might. 

Thar she blows!

Now, the recipe claims that we should only cook these for eight minutes. At first I thought that was preposterously short for how much raw meat and everything else was in the pot. But the cooker's handle has a handy guide which had some insanely short cooking times. You can allegedly cook rice in five minutes. Even microwaves aren't that fast.  

Eight minutes after the top started to gently rock back and forth, I turned off the stove and prepared to unveil our dinner. This brings me to something I didn't realize about pressure cookers until too late: You can't take a peek at your food. Nor can you give it a quick stir to prevent anything from burning at the bottom. You have to stop the cooking entirely, depressurize the pot, and then reseal and repressurize it if you need to cook things a bit longer.

Grievances aside, the cooker worked exactly as advertised. By the time eight minutes had elapsed, these looked like they'd been cooking all day.

All right, so they're limp and nearly gray. And the semi-congealed tomato on top is not helping. But they actually didn't look so bad once we got them onto a plate.

I honestly don't get the point of wrapping these in cabbage leaves. You can't just eat them like you would egg rolls or burritos. No matter how skilled you are with cutlery, you end up with a slimy heap of leaves on the plate and a brown log of meat.

Maybe I'm not very traditional but I would sooner make a casserole of all of this. But with that said, I do like getting meat, rice, and greens in one easy portion that you can lift out of the pot with a pair of tongs. And the meat itself was incredibly tender, like it had been simmering all day.

I do think these needed more seasoning though. I saw a few variations where you add cheese and other things to the meat, which I think would improve it. But even though these were a bit bland, I was very glad the leftovers were waiting for me.

Electric Pizzelles: or, Stepping away from the stovetop for the first time

I let modernity seduce me.

Pizzelles 1 cup margarine 1 cup sugar 4 eggs 2 cups flour 1 tsp. baking powder 1 tsp. vanilla* Pinch of salt Beat margarine until soft. Gradually add sugar, then beat until light. Add eggs and vanilla, beat well. Sift in the flour, baking powder, and salt. Dough should be soft and sticky. Cook until golden on a hot pizzelle iron. Pizzelles will harden and become crisp as they cool. *If desired, you can substitute 1 teaspoon lemon extract or anise oil. Source:Black Angus pizzelle iron instructions

The recipe title says it's "Authentic Italian." I don't know if it came directly from Italy, nor do I care. If I was an authenticity snob about Italian food, I would have missed out on garlic bread.

Black Angus pizzelle iron instructions

My Italian friends (of which I have surprisingly many) have given me semi-slackjawed looks for making pizzelles on the stovetop. So, I decided to try the modern, electrical way. This turned up at a price so low that I barely felt it. Also, you can take the metal plates out for washing, which is a maddeningly rare feature in waffle irons. It's nice to know that if I have a horrible, burnt-on mess, I can soak the waffle grids overnight.

First, I had to ask "What is a company with a name like 'Black Angus' doing making Italian specialty items?" You'd think they'd make grilling accessories or meat smokers or something. I did some trawling online, and found various Black Angus-branded countertop cooking devices like toaster ovens, electric rotisseries, and waffle irons. But I couldn't find any information, not even a vintage ad. I then sent an email to the library in the town that Black Angus was apparently based in, asking for anything they could tell me. Three days later, one of the librarians sent me this note:

I received your inquiry about the Black Angus company and I have been looking into it, but I am sorry to say I have not found much. I have been able to determine that it was located at 41 Meadow Street and that it operated there from around 1970 until sometime between 1988 and 1996. I have been asking some of the folks who have lived in town awhile if they know anything, but they either don’t remember it or can only recall that it made countertop kitchen appliances.
I’m sorry I don’t have more to give you, but it seems the company did not leave much for us to reconstruct its history. If I come across anything more I will pass it along to you.

I was really appreciative that this person went out of their way to ask people on my behalf.

Setting aside historical inquiry, I was amused that our new impulse purchase proudly proclaims on its nameplate that it is a combination pizzelle iron and sandwich grill. I can't tell you how many times I've said "I really want a grilled cheese but all I have is this specialty waffle iron!"

From the look of this thing, at least one previous owner made a lot of pizzelles on it. This was part of why I decided to let myself risk purchasing it.

I had to make grilled cheese on it before committing any pizzelle batter. 

I can't ever get a grilled cheese to cook right on a frying pan. No matter how low I set the stove, the cheese never melts before the bread burns. I know that grilled cheese is so easy that kids can do it, but for some reason I cannot. And so, I flipped the metal plates over and found that apparently no one has ever toasted a sandwich in this thing.

I plugged the iron in, and the little status light soon glowed bright orange. I should note that they didn't tuck a little light bulb in there. It's just a clear piece of plastic, lit from behind by the heating elements. So if you like, you can say that it is a wildly inefficient 1100-watt night light that also makes pizzelles.

And so, it was time to modernize my sandwiches! 

Because I underestimated how hot this thing gets, I burned my first grilled cheese. I like knowing that I can fail at grilled cheese whether I use a griddle or an electric sandwich press. It's a sign that the universe isn't breaking its own laws.

The next time, I made sure to watch it more closely. Our resulting grilled cheese was perfectly golden, beautifully melted, and very flat.

Anyway, I didn't buy this for the production of grilled cheese. (However, if the grocery store ever puts corned beef on discount we will feast on Reubens.) I wanted to make pizzelles the modern, electrified way.

This didn't come with instructions, but I found the sheet online. I decided to make the recipe that originally came with this iron. After all, the people at Black Angus theoretically chose one that would show their products to their best advantage.

Like most cake recipes, Black Angus' pizzelles start off with creaming the butter and sugar. I even followed the direction to separately beat the margarine until smooth, so that if the recipe came out badly I could say I followed every step. (Also, it only took like twenty seconds with an electric mixer.)

This recipe went together as easily as any yellow cake. I ended up adding a lot more flour after it looked hopelessly runny, but I attribute that to the ongoing butter moisture crisis. After one taste of the finished batter, I knew that the immediate future would be delicious.

And so, with great happiness and a preheated iron, we prepared to make our first electric pizzelles! I didn't know if I needed to and preheat the iron for fifteen minutes to season it (like the instructions said), or if you only need to do that when the iron is brand new. Just to make very sure I was doing this right, I plugged it in and gave it a hot, well-greased quarter of an hour. When I opened the iron, it put out a huge puff of smoke. I had to hastily take down the kitchen's smoke detector.

As directed, I cooked these for three seconds only. I then opened the iron to find that the pizzelles were fully cooked and slightly golden, just as promised. They also looked quite bad.

I'm not saying these pizzelles were hopeless, but they definitely looked like it.

I managed to remove the pizzelles off intact and lay them flat before they cooled off. I thought that perhaps the next ones would come out more easily, but I had to gently pry out every pizzelle out of this iron. No matter how well I greased it, I always opened it to find something like this.

I really this iron to work because the design looked unexpectedly pretty when the waffles came out. But no matter how hard I squeezed the handles, the pizzelles just weren't thin enough to be nice and crisp. (Or are they supposed to look like this, and mine have been wrong all this time? I still don't know.) 

Anyway, if I managed to grip the handles tight enough to make these crispy on one side, the batter pushed up the iron on the back. At best, they were nearly burnt at one end and Eggos on the other.

And so, I unplugged the iron and cooked the rest of the pizzelles on the stove. They came out so delicate that light passed right through them. And when they cooled off, they tasted like I had put cake batter on a waffle iron. They were so good that I quickly mixed another batch of batter before the iron could cool off. 

I didn't want my new, non-returnable electric iron to be a waste of money and counterspace. After giving it some thought, I decided that various parts of the iron must have loosened over the years. And so, I got out a screwdriver and tightened every single wobbly bit I could find. The iron felt a lot better after making all of its parts snug again, but it didn't make a bit of difference. Eventually I realized: this really isn't made for pizzelles.

If we look at the other pizzelle irons, they all have really sturdy hinges.

However, this thing only has stamped sheet metal joining it at the back.

Moving to the front, the handles are also attached with sheet metal. When I squeezed them as firmly as I could, I could I could actually see bending as the hot pizzelle batter expanded. 

And so, I had to reluctantly admit that this brief foray into modernity gave me nothing but an interesting recipe.

But even though this can't live up to its own pizzelle hype, I don't think it was a complete waste of money. For one thing, it does a perfect job of toasting the heels from a loaf of bread. You know how whenever you put bread heels in a toaster, they always curl up and blacken at the edges? Well, take a look at this!

Golden. Perfect. I'm still deciding if it's worth every penny.

And so, instead of reluctantly using the bread heels for sandwiches, they can become really good avocado toast!

I never even thought of putting avocado on toast until that one rich guy claimed that $19 avocado toast was keeping me from buying a house. I read that and thought "What an economical snack! Avocados are less than a dollar each!"

And when I was in the mood for baked potatoes but didn't want to heat up the oven or wait half an hour, this iron made crisp golden spud slices in about three minutes. By the time I had the dishwasher loaded, the countertop wiped, and the tea poured, they were ready.

Granted, they were very unevenly cooked on top. I can't slice potatoes with robotic precision, so the thicker ones got toasted and the others stayed pale. But if you flipped them over, they were all perfect.

 I'm not saying I needed a sandwich press. But I'm not in a rush to get rid of it either.