Most folks who’ve seen Woody Allen’s latest movie have raved about the cleverness of the time travel and the scintillating conversations between the protagonist, an aspiring 21st century novelist, and literary luminaries like Ernest Hemingway and Gertrude Stein.

“It truly WAS a Golden Age,” sighed a friend enraptured by Midnight in Paris, and rambled on about the romance of returning to a better, more stimulating time.

“You are so right!” I told her. “Some things from the past cannot be improved upon.”

She nodded while I went on.

“Take my food processor, for example.”