Last year, my husband overheard a friend excitedly telling me about her favorite slow cooker recipes, to which I replied, “I should try that.”
In response, he bought me a Crock-Pot for the holidays, which he thought I would love. The Crock-Pot remained unopened in its giant box in a corner of our kitchen until last month, when my husband finally opened it himself and cooked up a hearty stew. Now he loves the Crock-Pot.
But I hate it.
Before all of you enthusiasts start falling over yourselves with shock, thinking I can’t possibly know the joys of a slow cooker without having used one or without having tried your super-easy and delicious recipes or without having tasted your slow-cooked balsamic chicken, just stop it right now. I know your chicken “literally falls off the bone” but I hate the Crock-Pot, OK? And here’s why:
It makes me feel lazy: The more I hear about how simple it is to cook a healthy, delicious meal for my whole family, the lazier it makes me feel.
“It’s so easy,” everyone keeps telling me. But anything that adds work to my morning isn’t easy for me. It requires chopping and washing and recipe-following, and by the time I’m done making four breakfasts, untying knotted shoelaces, wiping little faces, finding missing gloves and breaking up the morning fights, I don’t want any part of that. You know what’s easy? Nuggets.
It makes me feel selfish: Once I get all my kids ready for school I have about five minutes of free time before we all have to start piling into the minivan. If we bring the slow cooker into the mix, I’d have to choose between using those few minutes to start the food prep or have a cup of coffee. And if those are my options, I’m choosing hot coffee. Every. Time.
It makes me feel anxious: I spend a fair amount of time feeling under-appreciated, and call me a pessimist, but I’m pretty sure the Crock-Pot experience would only add to that.
I can see it already: I’d spend my morning measuring, preparing and then cooking up this hearty meal only for my kids to walk in the door after school and proclaim, “Ewww, it smells disgusting in here.”
At least one or two of them would ask me if they have to eat it, which would fill me with sadness and resentment, and then I’d probably have to beg them to eat their dinner. And after all that I’d have to clean the darn thing.
So I know a few of you are probably annoyed by my ignorance of the joys of slow cooking, but to anyone who is tempted to come over and show me the error of my ways, don’t bother. I’m a lost cause.
But, if anyone wants to come over and loudly discuss how much they love their new jewelry, my husband will be home at 6:00.