Crockpots, that is.
Little bits of cooking perfection, as I like to call them.
I think I’ve covered, in detail, that I don’t cook. But, what I can and do partake of, at least lately, is the crock pot meal. There is something absolutely brilliant in the idea that you can throw a few ingredients into a pot and hours later they will somehow be a meal. Less than five minutes prep, in most cases, produces a lovely meal.
Have you ever noticed that you don’t smell a meal while you’re cooking it? Obviously, there are smells associated with cooking, but it isn’t at all the same as walking into a house and getting the whole cacophony of smells amalgamated perfectly.
It’s like living with my mom again. Those glorious days when I’d come home from work and the house would smell the delicious smells of a well-prepared meal. Or, better yet, I’d arrive home to a cooked meal. No waiting, no work, just good food. I’ve missed that, living alone. I eat terribly as a single gal, because after I get home, the last thing I want to do is figure out what I can throw together to give my body sustenance. It isn’t appealing. I usually go with the “easiest” option, which is often, coincidentally, the fastest.
Now, I come home, my house smells like good food and it is DONE when I get there. I scoop it onto a plate and I can be eating within five minutes of walking in the door, if I wish. Or I can eat an hour later. It’s up to me!
The crock pot is like my wife. She’s, evidently, a 50s housewife who cooks hearty meals and has them on the table the second I walk in the door after a hard day’s work. She also never complains and never goes against my wishes. If she could give me children, I’d never leave her.
Here’s the problem.
I don’t think I’m cut out for monogamy. Back at Christmas, after moving in to my new house, I received my wife as a present from my mother. (There’s a sentence I never thought I’d type!) I also received a different, larger, shinier crock pot from my sister.
I took my sister’s back, because it was larger and who on earth needs two crock pots?
Turns out, I do.
In the past seven days, I’ve made three meals in the crock pot and am angling toward another tomorrow. It gets annoying to have to wash it, practically daily, just to keep up with the demand. (After reading the link above, turns out, this is NOT the first time I’ve had these thoughts…guess I’m not original.)
If, however, I had a second wife, my problems would be solved. I could rotate them, always have one working while the other one is being cleaned. Of course, two wives is not without its problems. Where do I keep them? Do I have to choose a favorite? Can I divide the duties? One does beef dishes and one does chicken, perhaps?
And, of course, the greatest question of all, do I have to move to Utah?
I’m just one girl, I shouldn’t need two crock pots, and I don’t, not really. But, suddenly I love mine so much, I may actually cry and carry on with histrionics of epic proportions, should anything happen to my one true love.
Maybe the greatest question of all should be, when did I become this nutty over kitchen equipment?