How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love my Crockpot

I know what you’re thinking, if you’re reading this at all. They go away with no notice, and they come back with this? Hey man, the internet’s free. You don’t like our content creation schedule, you can go read one of a million other food blogs.

Unless you know us. Then you’re trapped.

So shortly before the holidays, I acquired a slow-cooker. It is a beast of a thing – not the twelve-inch footprint with the country kitchen style I remember from my youth, but this bad boy, in the five quart model.

Look at this thing!

Acquiring the device has made me think a bit, not so similar to Hillary’s slow-cooker musing on the nature of aging, but more about the types of things one would cook in it.

I made chili. That wasn’t hard. (Though I did learn that you really want to sear your meat before having it sit for 6 hours.)

I made a Cajun-inspired chicken stew. It warmed me up.

But then I realized I had only used the massive appliance on Sundays. Sundays when I was home, watching football, able to spring to the rescue if the DeLonghi masterminds had accidentally installed a fuse that didn’t agree with the 70s era electrical in my apartment. It was time to let something cook all day.

So I made a Moroccan inspired chicken, chickpea, and tomato stew. I made up a recipe after some googling, both for the stew and some Ras al-Hanout. I seared the chicken, thickened the sauce (I did learn from those early experiences), threw everything in the pot and stuck it in the refrigerator. Then, the next morning before work, I put it on low, and … I went to work.

I even worked late that night! And you know what? The house didn’t burn down! (This is a real concern of mine.) Perhaps I can work full days and still feed myself healthy meals with more than one food group represented. Hillary, you were right. Surprisingly, this thing does make you more mature!

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