You and I didn’t grow up in the 70s, but we still inherited the culture of it.
Whenever I talk to friends about their parents’ houses back then, what jumps out isn’t just the avocado-green everything.
It’s the feeling of possibility.
Families were buying tech that felt futuristic, inviting people over, cooking together, and building little rituals around stuff they were proud to own.
As someone who spent his 20s in hospitality, I see the throughline.
Tools shape behavior, spaces nudge us toward connection, and the right gear makes a regular Tuesday feel like a holiday.
Here are seven things that, if your parents had them in the 70s, practically guaranteed you were living the dream:
1) A color TV in the living room
Ask anyone who remembers the first time they watched their favorite show burst into color.
It felt like stepping into another universe.
If your parents had a big console color TV, maybe with a remote that looked like a tiny brick, your living room was the place to be.
However, the TV was a stage for family ritual.
Appointment viewing meant everyone gathered at the same time, snacks appeared, and the room hummed with shared reactions.
No infinite scrolling and no “I’ll watch it later.”
Today, I think about that any time I set up my space for connection.
If I want more dinners with friends, I put the dining table where it begs to be used and keep a board game within arm’s reach.
Environment design beats good intentions; you need to be smarter about your cues.
Do you want to connect more or zone out more? The way your living room is set up will make the decision for you long before you notice you made it.
2) A microwave oven in the kitchen
Early microwave ovens were expensive, heavy, and incredibly cool.
If your parents had one before everyone else did, it meant convenience and status wrapped in a chrome box.
Reheating leftovers in minutes, melting butter without a saucepan, and piping hot cocoa on a school night? That was sorcery.
From a food perspective, the microwave democratized weeknight creativity.
You still needed good ingredients and taste, and you just didn’t have to dirty three pans for a quick lunch.
I learned this lesson in restaurants: Sloppiness is the enemy of quality.
The pro move is to save time on steps that don’t add flavor, so you can spend more time on the steps that do.
At home, that might mean microwaving broccoli to tender-crisp, then finishing with olive oil, lemon, and flaky salt; or softening winter squash before roasting so you get caramelized edges without a 90-minute pre-dinner wait.
People obsess over whether a tool is “authentic.”
I care whether it helps you eat better and live calmer.
3) A hi-fi stereo with serious speakers
If your parents owned a turntable, receiver, and speakers that made the house vibrate during Saturday cleaning, you were spoiled in the best way.
The ritual of listening was half the luxury.
In hospitality, sound is a seasoning.
The right playlist changes how people taste their food as it nudges conversation to a better cadence.
At home, a decent speaker does the same thing.
You cook longer because you’re enjoying yourself, and you plate with more intention because the music makes you feel it matters.
There is a self-development angle here too: Long-form listening sharpens attention.
It asks you to commit to a vibe for 20 minutes, not 20 seconds.
Let a record pull you into one thing at a time.
4) A side-by-side fridge with an ice maker and a little home bar
The 70s cocktail hour was not a myth.
If your parents had a side-by-side fridge with an ice dispenser and a slim bar cart or built-in wet bar, they were ready to entertain on a Tuesday without breaking a sweat.
Cubes on demand, garnishes ready, and a shaker that actually got used? There is something deeply civilized about making it easy to host.
When cold drinks are effortless, people say yes to coming over; when people say yes, life gets better.
That applies to sparkling water with lime as much as it does to negronis.
I keep a “hospitality shelf” in my own fridge: Olives, citrus, a chilled bottle of something bubbly, and a big tray of clear ice.
It takes 10 minutes on a Sunday to set up.
All week it pays me back.
Friends drop by for a quick half hour.
A stressful day softens because pouring a drink becomes a simple ritual, not a production.
If the 70s taught us anything, it’s that abundance is an atmosphere you create.
5) A fondue set and an electric skillet
Remember the fondue pot that matched the drapes? It wasn’t just kitsch.
It was a tool for participation.
Everyone dipped, everyone cooked, and everyone laughed about the person who dropped their bread and owed the table a silly forfeit.
Today, most of us crave that feeling: Phones down, food in the middle, and people doing the same thing at the same time.
It is bonding disguised as dinner.
There is also a nutrition win here: When the main event is slow, social cooking, you naturally pace yourself.
You eat more veg because they are right there in front of you, you stop before you’re stuffed because conversation interrupts autopilot, and you don’t need a vintage pot to recreate the energy.
Try a modern electric skillet with a spread of sliced mushrooms, peppers, zucchini, and thinly sliced steak or tofu.
Add a few dipping sauces you made earlier, or go all-in on cheese fondue with blanched broccoli, roasted potatoes, and crusty bread.
The point is the same.
Food as a shared project turns a normal night into a memory.
6) A backyard gas grill
A gas grill in the 70s was suburban royalty.
Instant heat, no firewood and no waiting for coals to ash over while mosquitoes auditioned for your attention.
If your parents had one, the backyard was an extension of the kitchen and the calendar suddenly had more reasons to celebrate.
Grilling is my happy place because it rewards prep, patience, and great ingredients.
It also turns cooking into a team sport: Someone salts the steak, someone tosses the salad, and someone plays DJ.
The cook gets applause for doing less than people think, because when you control heat and seasoning, everything else becomes easy.
If you’re trying to eat more plants, the grill is a cheat code:
Grilled romaine with lemon and parmesan.
Cauliflower steaks with chimichurri.
Portobellos with balsamic and thyme.
You won’t miss the stuff you are trying to eat less of when the veg slaps.
If you do one thing to make weeknights feel like weekends, make it lighting a flame outside.
7) A waterbed that felt like sleeping on the future
Finally, there was the waterbed.
It looked impractical and felt like luxury.
If your parents had one, you knew they cared about comfort and weren’t afraid of a little experimentation.
I am a sleep maximalist.
In kitchens, I learned that fatigue is the tax you pay on every bad decision; in life, it shows up as short temper, bad cravings, and settling for convenience food because you are too wiped to cook.
The 70s waterbed craze might have been a little extra, but the spirit was right.
Invest in sleep and the rest of your day gets better, upgrade the stuff that touches your skin, get the room cool and dark, and set a tech boundary an hour before bed.
If you want the food angle, here it is: Informed evening eating.
I cut off heavy meals a few hours before sleep and lean on a small snack with protein if I am hungry late.
Think Greek yogurt, a handful of nuts, or a slice of good cheddar with apple.
Simple, satisfying, not a blood sugar rollercoaster.
Sleep well and your morning appetite regulates.
Your energy for workouts returns, while your patience in the kitchen increases.
The takeaway
Looking at these seven items, a pattern jumps out.
None of them were only about owning a thing as they were about unlocking a feeling.
Design your space so the good choices are the easy choices and use tools to remove friction where it doesn’t add flavor.
Put connection on the calendar by making your home welcoming on any random night, and treat sleep like the foundation, not the leftover.
You can create the modern versions now, and you do not need a time machine or a retro shopping spree to feel the same vibe.
Start small, stock the ice, put music on while you cook, or invite someone over with zero fanfare.
That is how ordinary days start to feel like you are living the dream.
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Dining and Cooking