Ode to the crockpot

I get it. The Insta-pot is everyone’s new favorite thing. Air fryers are all the rage. It’s grilling season (honey it’s always grilling season in Florida). To quote Sinead O’Connor, when it comes to my crockpot, there are two of her lyrics that ring especially true. Of course there is “Nothing compares 2 U”. But also “It’s been seven hours and fifteen days…” referring to first, how long it takes to cook something and second, how many days I try to avoid using the oven when its ninety degrees outside.

Crockpots have gotten a bum rap about its heavy reliance on cream of fill in the blank soups, packet o’seasonings and two cans of whatever. Mix that with two chicken breasts and voila, dinner. Today we have a pork roast going with shaved peppers and onions in a homemade mojo glaze. Our house smells amazing and for a little over nine dollars (including the rice and beans I will serve alongside it) we will have dinner and two lunches besides that.

I can be a little set in my ways in the kitchen – just like current rap stars I am on a #nonewfriends period of my life with respect to kitchen gadgetry. There is something that stirs up ‘the little house on the prairie’ in me when I start a pot of root vegetables and nightshades and combine them with a cut of meat before the sun rises only to serve them hours later as tender morsels ensconced in a savory and layered sauce. It makes me want to darn socks and whittle chess pieces out of fallen wood I collected outside the cabin. Of course, I hate to leave the “cabin’s” air conditioning right now and the wood I could collect would be limited to sea grape branches and palm tree fronds so maybe it wouldn’t have worked out after all. I get carried away sometimes when my vision clashes with my reality (like the time I made piping hot savory beef stew poured into hallowed sourdough bread bowls in the middle of June and everyone practically melted).The good thing is of course, there are always more recipes to be discovered…

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