My crock pot hates me.
There, I said it. I put stuff in, turn it on and get mush or undercooked vegies out of it.
It’s a plot.
The toaster is in on it. I think they’re related.
I just don’t understand why I can’t master the darn thing. I can bake breads, cakes, pies and tarts. I can grill, saute, boil, deep fry, pressure cook and roast.
Yet, the crock pot and I are still at war after 20 years. I love to cook. I hate the darn green pot. I’m sure it’s possessed by evil spirits. These pitch-forked nar-do-wells spoon out the veggies so they’re undercook and the meat is shoe leather.
Most of the time when I come back, the lid is pulled back in lopsided smirk because it knows the much inside.
I bought a book with 1001 slow cooker recipes with the gift card my daughter gave me. I can deal with the fact that the recipes are naueseatingly bland. I can’t deal with the fact that the food turns out like crap.
So for now, I’m advancing in the opposite direction. The crock pot is being returned to its dark spot in the far corner of the cabinet (see, I told you it’s evil–it likes the dark).
But it has not won the war, just the battle.
I shall return (in about a year) and next time, I’m gonna kick some crockpot booty!
The coffee maker is grinning.