I choose to start with basic French toast, which A) is simple enough to make, and B) contains relatively few ingredients that will actively attempt to murder my colon if (or rather, when) something goes awry and I end up consuming them undercooked. You'll recognize French toast as basically bread soaked in an egg mixture and fried into a delicious combination of moistness and crispiness. Note the word "fried" there, because this is what happens when you replace it with the word "microwaved":

Cue sad trombone.

Never before have I wanted to become a doctor just so I could prescribe Viagra for a slice of bread, but I guess there's a first for everything. Although the recipe attempts to imitate the frying process with a heavily preheated dish and a generous helping of butter, the lack of Maillard reaction leaves that shit more or less exactly like it was before it went in the oven, only a whole lot warmer and somehow even soggier. It doesn't taste bad, per se, just weird -- because you can taste every separate ingredient instead of the final, cooked product, and their sum is a whole bunch smaller than its parts.

There's also a strange, greenish hue, suggesting the slices attempted
to save themselves by turning into Bread Hulk.

Also, the whole microwave process with its preheated platter antics takes roughly twice as much time as it would to just throw the slices in a pan and sear them into deliciousness, which sort of defeats the entire fucking point of using the microwave in the first place.

Wait, what? R-Roast? Really?

Surely there's no fucking way to microwave a roast. It's a roast -- the preparation method is right there in the name. But there the recipe is, and I realize I'm standing at one of life's great crossroads: I will either live the rest of my life as a man who tried microwave roast, or a happy, well-adjusted person with an undamaged digestive tract. Two guesses as to which road I chose.

It's worth mentioning at this point that precisely none of the book's recipes have pictures, which is always a reassuring sign in cookbooks. As such, I take the time to document the world's most unwise method of meat preparation for posterity. First, I slather the meat in marinade and apply bacon to keep it company throughout the ordeal:

"It's dangerous to go alone. Take these."

Then, I microwave the shit out of it for, like, 20 minutes, turning it after 10. The end. Seriously, that's it. What comes out is this:

"Why did you do this to me? Why??"

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but that ... doesn't actually look super bad, now that I see it. I mean, yeah, at first glance it looks like an old softball that someone found in a drainage ditch, but as I cut into it, the rosy color and texture actually looks like meat. "This might not be so bad after all," I say to myself without laughing.

Note that I did let the meat rest, but all the juices still ran like the fucking wind as soon as I cut into it.

Aaaaaaaand of course it's freaking horrible. To simulate the taste, boil a lump of meat in saltless water for a few hours, then dry it out and season it with the screams of the cow's ghost. It's technically edible, but no amount of paprika or garlic can mask its shame. Even the gravy, which I make from the drippings much as I would with an oven-made roast, has that permeating aftertaste of anguish. What's more, the strange not-quite-recognizable steely odor of microwaved raw beef lingers in the house for a couple of days despite the book specifically claiming that its recipes are virtually odorless. I go through the rest of the weekend with a grim nasal reminder that some things aren't meant to be meddled with.

Also, this.

It all starts with a pretty unassuming chocolate cake batter ...

"Just wait until you see my final form."

... which will then be mixed with all the sauerkraut ever! Ahahahahahaha! Hahahaha!! Repent!

WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW?

The whole thing is then microwave-baked to oblivion. If you predicted that the end result will be a burned-looking disk with a strange, oily hue, congratulations! You're absolutely, skull-fuckingly right:

Edible? Barely! Suitable for coating boats? Absolutely!

There are variations of the recipe that involve different frosting, but out of fear for my mortal soul and functional colon, I choose to sample the cake au naturel, if you forgive my blatant misuse of the phrase. It's sticky, moist, and tastes faintly of chocolate-coated pickled cabbage, which is not as bad as you'd assume but definitely bad enough for me to immediately reshape this unholy thing into a Pac-Man and leave it to forever chase the pill that will finally end its suffering.

"Kiillllllll ... meeeee."

... and try to eat it without crying!

It looks so good, but it tastes so bad.

Microwave steak is so bad, you guys. Actually, I'm not even sure I can say that -- it has absolutely no taste at all. This is the last meat-containing meal people who abruptly convert to veganism eat, and the one they remind themselves of whenever it occurs to them that maybe the occasional meatball sub wouldn't be so bad. Meat may be murder, but microwaving the steak is digging up the cow's carcass and pissing on it in front of its still-grieving children.

Fuck you, microwave steak. I need an adult.

Who uses corn starch in a hot drink? Me, apparently, as I warily mix the ingredients of my soon-to-be orange juice-sauce and stick it in the depths of the home appliance that is rapidly becoming my mortal enemy.

My choice of mug indicates the level of my hope to taste something decent during this experiment.

Surprisingly, the end result is a perfectly delightful, if rather mealy drink with a taste reminiscent of summers future and past. Out of all of the recipes in this column, this is the one I'd actually see myself making again.

Though it might be best to keep your eyes closed while drinking it.

I just wish I'd had the foresight to drink it all while it was still warm. Trust me, this particular concoction loses a significant part of its magic once it cools down.

Oh. Oooohhh. NOW I'm starting to comprehend the idea of this book. It's a 1980s equivalent of those annoying folks who insist on wearing Google Glass everywhere. Someone got a new toy and decided: "Fuck you, everything's microwaves now."

As my Exhibit A, here's some fucking microwaved cereal:

This was actually the first recipe in the book, which in retrospect should have tipped me off.

The book doesn't even tell you to blast it until it's actually hot, thus eliminating even the novelty value. You just microwave it until it's lukewarm, which as it turns out is just enough time for the milk to develop that tangy "I'm probably not spoiled -- or am I?" aftertaste. All in all, this is a fairly normal bowl of cereal, just slightly warmer than usual. As such, it was easily the best solid(ish) meal out of this lot.

Don't let its surprisingly delicious smell fool you. Microwave chicken and broccoli tastes like the brains of an anti-vaccination activist; it's bland, empty, and you can never be quite sure whether it's completely cooked. Verdict: Avoid like the various plagues that might be on the menu if it turns out the meat was undercooked after all.