TheMetalChef
Senior Cook
- Joined
- Jul 21, 2009
- Messages
- 252
Between the many years of being subjected to my grandmother's "cooking" (which always featured a big hunk of whatever was on sale at the grocery, large amounts of water, root veggies, and no seasoning) and so many other more recent disasters visited upon me by well-meaning friends and family (which always involved similar treatments), I have become a despiser of these devices.
I hate even more what my grandmother used to do - the ultimate insult, adding a pile of Wondra and some Gravy Master to the liquid in the pot and offering it up as gravy, as though this gluey stuff would somehow be sufficient penance for the sin she committed against the glorious sirloin roast or pork shoulder she brutally murdered in that torture device.
The only thing that remotely resembles a crock pot in our house is one of the ceramic pots I scarfed at a yard sale (for a quarter) that obviously came from one that died. Does great for casseroles and baked beans in the oven, and every time I think of it, I feel a bit of pride, knowing that I rescued this perfectly good cooking vessel from a horrid existence torturing meat products to death.
I hate them. I hate the whole idea of them, that subjecting an unsuspecting piece of meat to hours of flavor, texture, and moisture robbing heat could possibly be perceived as a good thing.
Granted, I'll put a corned beef brisket on the stove for hours, but that's a corned beef brisket. You kind of have to do that to them to make them edible.
Is there any hope for someone as utterly damaged as me?
I hate even more what my grandmother used to do - the ultimate insult, adding a pile of Wondra and some Gravy Master to the liquid in the pot and offering it up as gravy, as though this gluey stuff would somehow be sufficient penance for the sin she committed against the glorious sirloin roast or pork shoulder she brutally murdered in that torture device.
The only thing that remotely resembles a crock pot in our house is one of the ceramic pots I scarfed at a yard sale (for a quarter) that obviously came from one that died. Does great for casseroles and baked beans in the oven, and every time I think of it, I feel a bit of pride, knowing that I rescued this perfectly good cooking vessel from a horrid existence torturing meat products to death.
I hate them. I hate the whole idea of them, that subjecting an unsuspecting piece of meat to hours of flavor, texture, and moisture robbing heat could possibly be perceived as a good thing.
Granted, I'll put a corned beef brisket on the stove for hours, but that's a corned beef brisket. You kind of have to do that to them to make them edible.
Is there any hope for someone as utterly damaged as me?