Why the Ninja CRISPi Is the Air Fryer for Flexible Weeknight Cooking | Vol. 23

Air fryers have become the kitchen equivalent of a flat-pack ottoman: everyone has one, nobody quite remembers where it is meant to live, and leftovers still end up in a random plastic box with a missing lid. The Ninja CRISPi FN101UKSG attempts to tidy up that particularly modern bit of domestic nonsense by making its cooking vessels glass containers that also come with storage lids.

The set includes a 1.4L container for smaller jobs and a 3.8L container for the more ambitious version of dinner, plus two non-stick crisper plates. Above them sits Ninja’s 1,700W PowerPod, which provides Air Fry, Roast, ReCrisp and Keep Warm functions. The point is not culinary wizardry; it is a more coherent route from cooking to storing than decanting everything into the Tupperware drawer of broken promises.

We think that makes it one of the more persuasive compact-air-fryer concepts. The glass containers are borosilicate glass with BPA-free plastic handles, while the crisper plates have a PFAS- and PTFE-free nano-ceramic coating. Ninja describes the containers as designed for non-toxic cooking and storing, which is refreshingly specific in a category often content to shout “crispy” until everyone gives up asking questions.

There is a little ceremony involved. The larger 3.8L container requires the supplied adaptor, while the adaptor must not be used with the 1.4L container. Still, this is a clear choice for people whose kitchen ambition is not a banquet, but a decent hot meal and leftovers that do not emerge from the fridge looking like an apology.

Kitchen counters attract clutter with the quiet determination of a railway station lost-property office. Bread bags slump about, tea boxes multiply, and condiments insist on remaining visible as though they are part of the décor. The YAMAZAKI Tosca 4376 Bread Box gives this domestic nonsense a white steel cupboard and a wooden handle.

This is a 27-litre countertop box measuring 43 cm wide, 36.5 cm deep and 24 cm high, so it is not a coy little bread bin. The manufacturer positions it as storage for bread, condiments and tea, with a door to conceal the visual crimes within. We think that makes it particularly useful for a kitchen that lacks cupboards but has plenty of packaging shouting for attention.

The clever extra is the 10 kg-rated top surface, which the manufacturer says can hold items such as a toaster. That lets the Tosca combine hidden storage with a usable appliance perch, rather than demanding precious counter space purely for looking orderly. Its powder-coated steel construction also accepts magnets, because apparently even bread storage now has a noticeboard function.

There is a practical limit to all this tidiness: the box itself weighs 5.1 kg and occupies a substantial rectangle of counter. This is not the answer for a kitchen surface already running a full appliance festival. But where there is room, we reckon the YAMAZAKI Tosca is an unusually sensible way to make bread and pantry clutter look as though someone planned the kitchen on purpose.

The Hepper Nest Cat Bed addresses one of domestic life’s quieter absurdities: cats can sleep in a cardboard box with the conviction of a Victorian duke, yet we still want to provide them with something less likely to embarrass the room. We think that is reasonable. The box has had a good run.

This is a small, round cat bed with a herringbone finish and a removable washable fleece liner. The useful bit is not an elaborate claim about decoding feline psychology; it is the liner. Cat beds collect fur with the speed and commitment of a minor weather system, so a part that can be removed for washing earns more attention from us than another breathless promise of cosiness.

The Nest also makes sense as a tidier indoor option for a small cat. Its design-led presentation gives it a clearer place in a living room or beside a desk than the usual flattened cushion that appears to have been rescued from a motorway services forecourt. The product’s stated small sizing matters, though: this is a deliberate little nest, not a generously sized communal lounge.

Our view is that the Hepper Nest is for people who accept that the cat’s furniture will be visible, and would prefer it not to look like an accident. It offers a practical washable element and a more composed appearance, provided the intended occupant is genuinely on the smaller side.

There are two kinds of kettle owner: the person who wants hot water with minimal ceremony, and the person who has decided that tea deserves a soundtrack. The SMEG WKF01CR is firmly for the latter, delivering its announcement of boiling water through a fixed whistle rather than another electronic beep trying to join the household choir.

We think its appeal is sensible as well as decorative. This is a 2.3-litre stovetop kettle, equivalent to 10 cups at maximum capacity, and it works on induction, gas, ceramic and electric hobs. That broad compatibility matters in kitchens where a hob change should not force a small museum of obsolete cookware into a cupboard.

The cream finish and 50’s Style design are the obvious bit, and deliberately so. A kettle spends an unreasonable amount of time sitting in public, often beside a fruit bowl and the unopened post. The glossy cream body and lid, plus laser-etched logo, allow this one to look intentional rather than merely left out after breakfast.

There is still an old-school bargain involved. The lid opens manually, the kettle weighs 1.3 kg before water goes in, and boiling water remains boiling water, despite the handsome spout cap. We selected it for people who regard those rituals as part of the point, not a bureaucratic obstacle between them and a mug of tea.

There are few kitchen jobs more disproportionately messy than extracting a bit of lemon juice. A halved lemon slides off the board, pips make a break for freedom, and the final result is a damp hand hovering above a glass as though one has lost an argument with a small yellow ball. We chose the Dreamfarm Original Lemon Fluicer because it treats this minor domestic nuisance with the seriousness of a folding piece of equipment.

Rather than pressing citrus down from above, this juicer uses a hinged sideways action that pushes a halved fruit inward from both sides. The cut side faces towards the user, the integrated pip catcher strains the juice, and its funnel directs that juice towards a glass or small bowl. It is an unusually choreographed approach to making a dressing, but the choreography has a point.

The interesting flourish is that the whole thing folds completely flat. Most citrus juicers occupy drawers like awkward plastic helmets, apparently convinced their day will come. At 25 cm long and 10.4 cm wide, the Lemon Fluicer can be stored without requiring a cabinet reshuffle or a stern talk with the garlic press.

This is not a general-purpose fruit demolition device. The Lemon variant is designed for lemons and limes, and it is not the manufacturer’s stated size for oranges. That limitation is precisely why it is a slightly mischievous pick: a dedicated little tool for people who put lemon in enough things to notice how annoying the usual methods are.