I often cook for Kim’s parents when they’re visiting us in New York or when we visit them at their lake cottage in northern Michigan. They’re usually very appreciative, and I enjoy cooking for them. Once, however, some years ago when I was still green in the ways of polenta cooking, I foolishly attempted to make this Italian dish in a hurry for my hungry in-laws. I had bought coarse-ground polenta, the delicious kind I’d tasted at farm-to-table restaurants, the kind that, it turns out, takes WAY longer to cook than the 60 minutes quoted in most recipes. As I stood there, incessantly stirring the polenta to prevent it from burning while waiting for the mush to turn soft, the minutes turned into hours and I struggled to keep my increasingly impatient eaters from ordering pizza. By the time we finally sat down to eat it was almost midnight. Five years later, the answer to “Hey Lui, when’s dinner?” still always prompts someone in the room to comment: “Okay, as long as it’s not like the midnight polenta…” Always. They are merciless. They just don’t forget.

I swore to never make polenta again. But one day my sister, ever the practical sibling, casually remarked, “Polenta? Oh, I just do that in the microwave.” Ladies and gentlemen, this is revolutionary. 30 minutes tops, a couple of stirs, and you’re done. It turns a rare, labor-intensive treat into an easy, school night staple. There’s no difference in flavor or consistency. It is delicious. I don’t know why anyone other than a restaurant feeding dozens of people would cook polenta on the stove. Join the revolution.