Hey, baby, how you doin'? Good? Because you sure are lookin' good, with that brushed-metal finish, and that sassy little cord poking out from behind, a treasure trail to electric pleasures, and those dials smack dab in the center of your dress, teasing me with their simplicity, begging me to turn them from low to high heat.
I hope you're ready, baby, because tonight you and me are gonna be cookin' reeeeeaaaal slow.
I'm gonna take a cut of meat that no one would look at twice -- maybe a pork shoulder, or a mix of turkey wings and thighs, or if I'm feeling really crazy, a flank steak, that's right, some rough, raw red meat known for its toughness - and I'm gonna stick it in you and cover it with sauce till you're almost bursting.
Bursting with flavor that is.
I'll take a fork and just give a little poke here, a little poke there, let my secret recipe spice rub work its way deep down inside, get all mixed up with the juices until you can't even tell what's meat and what's a mix of garlic powder, Worcestershire, and Lawry's seasoning salt. Maybe I'll even brine things overnight before we get started. Who knows? Things might get real nasty up in here.
But don't worry, that's why I have antibacterial spray, and separate 'meat' and 'non-meat' cutting boards. Girl, there is no strain of salmonella out there that can get between me and you. When I tenderly remove your ceramic interior -- oops! Look at you all exposed! -- and dunk you in a sensual bath of hot water blended with the finest Palmolive, it might feel dirty, but you'll come out very, very clean, and ready to go again, you little minx.
I might run you through the dishwasher after that just in case, though. Not because I don't trust you baby -- I know you'd never run around on me with the other food items that are dying to take a ride on your long, slow cook-train -- but just because I don't want any silly little worries to get in the way of the night I have planned for us. I want to be focused on me and you and occasional stirring, not on me and the possibility that I might need to find a bucket, since the toilet isn't built for things to come out of both ends at once.
Once you're all dried off, I'm gonna turn you on in ways you have never been turned on before.
Not literally. There's really only the one way to switch you from off to on, namely "to the right" -- but you know I love how nice and easy you keep things, baby. Anyway, the point is it will feel different, special, because this time it will just be me, you, and the pulled-meat I'm cooking up.
That's gonna be dinner tonight and a week's worth of spectacular sandwiches which I can pack and bring to work, saving myself both time and money. All thanks to you, baby. Just thinking about it convinces me you must be stuck on the "fire" setting, that's how you are lighting me up.
I'm just joking, honey, I know you don't have a fire setting. A fine lady like you, who takes her time about breaking down the connective tissues lacing through the cuts of meat that go into her, doesn't need fire - she's got something much better, a sloooooow burn.
I'm pretty sure that's what the "warm" setting is for. Though it could just be meant to keep food from going cold, not to cook it to any real degree. Anyway, that doesn't matter, the point is I don't care if I'm right or wrong, girl - we've got all night to figure it out. And if things get a little too hot, we'll just dial it down until you're ready. There's no rushing flavor this good, not when you're doing it right, and tonight, baby, we will be doing it right.
Mmmmm... now that is tender.