Slow Cooker Romance

My less than stellar cooking career covers lame penne bolognese, not-so-great scrambled eggs that make the kids frown and meatballs that do double duty as hockey pucks. Most of my repertoire is mediocre except for my magnificent salads (but really, anyone can make a salad). That all changed when I was at my girlfriend Joanna's house two weeks ago, and I was set up on a blind date with a crock-pot.

It was instant love. I mean fairies dancing, bubble hearts bursting, gumdrops sparkling kind of love. It also happens that an unopened slow cooker had been quietly laying-in-wait in my pantry for at least a year and a half. Originally bought for Todd, who scorned it as a cooking short cut, it lay silently idle in its box. And then we met.

All it took was Joanna's gorgeous aromatic Apricot glazed pork tenderloin over onions served with Cuban black beans and rice to inspire a romance between my Cuisinart Crock-o-Love and me.

With my slow cooker, it’s move over, Martha. Meats and sauces that initially caused every panic button to screech in my brain became liquid poured from my soul. Beef stew, easy. Mexican pulled pork tenderloin, natch. Sticky peanut chicken, sweet and spicy chicken, sesame chicken - done, done and done. Chile, a slow cooker gift that keeps on giving.

My kitchen hunk, Crock-o-Love

Better yet, leftovers. Crock-pot cooking feeds family and friends and neighbors and family again. My kitchen finally smelled gourmet and it was because of my boyfriend Mr. Crock-Pot and me. Cooking became so easy, chopping a cinch, putting a flawless meal on the table a picinic. Joanna was so shocked by my ambition and determination that she was sure I was touched by a mania. I have never shown much interest in cooking.

Hardly the first suburban housewife to discover the joy of slow cooking, I am sure, this reformed kitchen-hater has a rising kitchen confidence quotient. Todd has dinner waiting for him each night when he arrives back from the city. We eat as a family and we eat what is served from the crock-pot, or in Chad's case, barely taste it (refer to Cheerio blog for further explanation). I feel proud to produce quality food that isn't in the form of a Perdue Chicken nugget. 

Last week, Chad's play date pick-up arrived while my kitchen was at Mach 7. Pots were boiling on the stove. Our red Les Creuset was stewing a savory sauce. The crock-pot was emanating a rich spicy aroma and the rice was fluffing. All the children, play date included were fed from the Pot-o-Heaven. "Are you hungry Olana?" I purred, Queen of the kitchen that I am. "Please, let me send you home with a homemade meal and some of these delightful sprinkle cookies that are fresh out of the oven." And with that I twirled around and proceeded to pack her a gourmet meal to go.

At the door, her charge Sean at her side Olana turned to me and said, "I didn’t know you cooked!" I chuckled and replied, "Oh, you mean all this?" gesturing towards the kitchen, eyelashes batting, "It's nothing, just a little something I whipped up!"

And it's true; the best way to someone's heart is through his or her stomach or in my case - one burning hunk of crock-pot love!