The Monotonous Mediocrity of the Mug Meal

This article is part of Epi Loves the Microwave, our exploration—and in some cases (though not this one), vindication—of the appliance everybody loves to hate.

One verity of life in the age of mass production is that, if you hang around long enough, you’ll eventually have collected more coffee mugs than you really need, but that you’re unwilling, for sentimental reasons, to get rid of. Reorganizing the cupboard recently, I considered the fate of a cup I came into possession of 16 years ago, in high school, when I was a foreign exchange student in Japan. The thing itself had absolutely no relationship to the nation of Japan; the mug was from the Wangaratta Jazz Festival, in Australia. It had a message on it: “If you drink, then drive, you’re a bloody idiot.”

I was charmed by the comma placement, I guess. But honestly I can only speculate whom I got the mug from, and why some Japanese friend wanted to give me their Australian anti-drunk-driving mug. Nonetheless, I hung onto it for a long time, despite the fact that, also, I never drank from it; its shape didn’t agree with me.

Insofar as you can cook only one course at a time, microwave mug meals can definitely be thought of as slow food.

So finally, because it was the least painful possible thing around to part with, I did. What was the alternative? Obviously we’re not tossing the mug printed with a photo of my boyfriend’s dad shaking hands with Barack Obama.

In recent years a movement has arisen that puts to use all the spare mugs banging around the cupboards of America: the microwave mug meal, which I’ve spent, oh, gosh, at least a couple days, now, studying.

This all began when my boyfriend left town. I drove him to the airport and, arriving home, whipped up a corn dog mug meal for lunch. I was feeling pretty bachelory about things. Because of the specific strictures of microwave mug cuisine, this was sort of a deconstructed corn dog, very Ferran Adrià Does the Iowa State Fair. Mug partisans—and there are a number of cookbooks on this subject, to say nothing of what goes on on Pinterest—celebrate the fact that you can prepare, cook, and eat your meal right there in the very same vessel. It’s the primary rationale for the microwave mug meal, which is said to appeal to students and busy professionals. Plus: no annoying leftovers!

In the case of the corn dog, you make a batter, fold in a chopped-up hot dog, and nuke it for a minute or two. Actually, there’s an intermediate step where you realize that the batter easily overwhelms the mug you’re trying to mix it in, so you end up making the thing in a bowl. You pick through the resulting cornbread—some parts will be gooey; some will be dry; all will be unpleasantly spongy—for chunks of hot dog, then you put the rest of the concoction in the fridge, “for later,” and eat a salad instead. I guess you get leftovers after all. Or your dog does.

Corn dog in a mug. The mustard helps...kind of...

Photo by Chelsea Kyle, Prop Styling by Alex Brannian, Food Styling by Ali Nardi

So maybe carnival food isn't the best entree into the world of microwave mug meals, which came into being as a continuation of an earlier craze for mug cakes. According to sources aligned with Big Mug, there’s nothing you can’t do in this arena. Shakshuka? Huevos rancheros? Farfalle with garlic and clams? Yes, yes, yes—you’ll find a recipe. And I did better the next night with kung pao chicken and fried rice, prepared consecutively. (Insofar as you can cook only one course at a time, microwave mug meals can definitely be thought of as slow food.)

The rice didn’t fit into its mug, either, but all things considered this meal tasted like one of your finer TV dinners. And I didn’t hate the strata, made with lox and half of an everything bagel, that I had for breakfast the following morning. Some parts came out runny, sure, while other parts caused the roof of my mouth to #FeelTheBurn, while yet other parts exploded all over the microwave as they heated. During the mixing process, half the ingredients ended up on the kitchen counter—I defy you to mix chunky ingredients gracefully in a coffee cup—but they were easy enough to scoop up. And the remaining half bagel was a great snack when I got hungry again an hour later.

Cool tiny meat loaf, bro. Hope you’ve got big plans for the rest of that pound of beef.

Somewhere in the middle of this I called my boyfriend, who was visiting New York, eating whatever fancy stovetop bullshit they eat in Brooklyn. “What’s the thing,” I asked him, “that I’m always complaining about? Like it’s a thing that people say makes things easier for you, but actually it’s just dumb?”

“A garlic press?” he suggested, with not a moment’s hesitation; this is real intimacy. (Then he told me that I shouldn’t publish that opinion, but I maintain: the Venn diagram of people who swear by garlic presses and people who do the dishes afterwards is just two separate circles. They’re impossible to clean!) I’d come to feel similarly about the microwave mug meal, a form whose annoying preparation and mediocre results in no way justify themselves. Let me marshal my case:

• Cool tiny meat loaf, bro. Hope you’ve got big plans for the rest of that pound of beef you had to buy in order to make it.
• Do you own a bowl? Bowls are great for mixing things in, and many bowls are microwaveable.
• The microwave cooks unevenly. If you’re using a bowl, you can stir its contents occasionally. A mug, though? Please see point above.
• Please taste the crust on the chicken pot pie I had for dinner last night. It tastes exactly as you imagine microwaved pot pie crust would.

In conclusion, microwaves are great for many things. Egg sandwiches. Lasagna. Fish. Mugs, though: I suggest coffee.