I often make chicken soup the haimische way. I doubt that my Yiddishe forebears used a pressure cooker, but I do. Everything else, including the dumplings is authentic. Recently I was doing everything in the normal way, but the pressure cooker had some kind of mid-life crisis. It blew exaggerated clouds of steam from the top of the lid, and I could not tell why. I rummaged through the drawer where we keep user manuals. I found blender, grinder, food processor, pasta, ice cream, yoghurt and bread making machines, but nothing for the pressure cooker. I took up my iPhone and logged onto the manufacturer’s website, where I found lots of information about pressure cookers – what are they made of; are they safe; what is the basic principle of pressure cooking. What was missing were the basic instructions I needed. A diagnostic tool would have been very helpful; one which asked, “Can you see steam escaping from the valve?” “If so check this.” I began to examine the reasons for my sense of frustration and disappointment. There was a mismatch between what I needed, and what was actually there. I could follow the link to email for an answer to my question, but my kitchen was like a Turkish Bath NOW.

And that is how things are. We have come to require and expect instant and accessible information at the time and place we need it. It is inconceivable to imagine me, or anyone for that matter, going on a Basics of Pressure Cooking course before we use our pans. It does not fit my personal style to study the manual cover to cover before I begin to make soup. I’m a just-in-time, not a just in case learner. In the event, I was fortunate to find the leaflet for my pressure cooker. A diagram on page two clearly showed that some kitchen gremlin had inserted the valve upside down, and once corrected, the cooker behaved impeccably and my soup and sanity were secured.