I will readily admit I'm not the domesticated diva that my pinterest boards might suggest. You don't have to start following me, I said "might". I think for one to be described as a diva their hair and their hairbrush need to have a better working relationship than my bi-annual meetings allow (Yes, I own a blow-dryer and no, I don't use it.) For one to be described as domesticated? Well, lets just say I have made a grand total of one crock pot meal in the entire five years I've been married. This past week. Its the easiest meal to make, you literally chuck ingredients into a deep bowl and flip a switch. I feel like that should have happened before now, except, and I'll get into the details in a minute, after the incident I was reminded why I waited till two weeks ago to even purchase a slow cooker.
I was quite pleased with my purchase. Initially. I did my appropriate research (Real Simple's list of best slow cookers) and the one I picked happened to be on sale at Target. I found the recipe I wanted to try (on a cork board in Whole Foods) and after my husbandito went out to gather the ingredients I was actually excited to start. Are you starting to get an idea of how easily suggestible I am? Lets skip to the part where I was excited.
I planned for it to be ready for a late lunch and since it was going to take seven hours to cook I was going to have to start this experiment before breakfast. When it comes to food I'm not typically a planner. I get hungry, I make something fast. I eat it, meals over. I don't usually think about food until I'm so hungry I'm nearly a puddle of tears (hypoglycemic much?) but now that I'm a mom I'm trying to address this deficiency because until Little Man can open the refrigerator or pantry doors by himself it's up to me to keep him alive. How better to drastically address this issue than by making something you're going to prepare first thing in the day and then not eat till the sun goes down. Its all about deferred gratification. Right?
If you're the mother of an infant or was at one time, you'll understand that they change time frames like nobodies business. So to say I was getting a late start would be an understatement. Lunch was going to be pushed back to 8:30pm. I layered the ingredients not realizing how the very ingredients I was putting in were theoretically going to taste. I mean, you don't have to eat a recipe before having a general idea. I cheerily added the stewed tomatoes to the lentils and onions and vegetable broth. I don't love stewed tomatoes. I can handle all other variations of tomatoes but due to the stewed tomato and okra incident of '97 I am forever scarred. I do not know what I was thinking.
Seven pm rolls around. It was Paul's day off so we had taken turns working out, cleaning the house and watching the Hip Monkey, as we now refer to our offspring. In addition to burned calories the intense aroma rising from the cookery only added to our hunger. Finally its done. Or close enough. We ladle it into our bowls and dig in.
Paul says he loves it and goes for a second bowl. I don't know if he really likes it, is just being nice or is suffering from the insane combination of smells, hunger and waiting seven flipping hours. Did I mention it took seven hours to cook? I however, while first famished and then shoveling the concoction into my mouth, have another epiphany. I suddenly realize why it took me over five years to purchase and use a crock pot, why its prefaced with crock and why I have such, uh, memories of all the meals my mom made in her slow cooker. You make something, your stomach growls while you're forced to suffer from the aroma-coma and then, like it or not, you eat it out of pity for whoever dumped the ingredients into bowl in the first place. In this case, me. I've now decided that possibly other than chili, nothing should cook for more than 90 minutes. And yet, I'll try it again. (Probably not that same recipe.) But with another prolonged stewing episode. Because, that's what moms do. They persevere. They keep their kids alive with food and as I learned from my mom, if its technically edible, you eat it. Plus its actually quite fun to throw things in a pot, flip a switch and try forget about it. For seven bleeping hours.
