Now that I've dropped my basket so to speak. I will pick myself up, dust myself off and start again.
I mentioned my over-done crock pot dinner last time. Well, it wasn't my first and thanks to one of my friends, it was FAR from the best. My experience was simple. I put chicken breasts in but didn't have enough weight and they were boneless. Experience has taught me that crock pots don't like boneless. I was supposed to create a wonderful all-day pot of chicken cacciatore. The sauce was to be delicious, hearty and robust.
Ummmm. It wasn't. When I waltzed in the door, there was this...SMELL and a crinkling sound. It was as if someone was trying to eat Rice Krispies out of a tin bowl. The air in my kitchen was sweet and pungent, almost cloying and smokey but not quite. Bad bbq? Nope. When I opened that lid, Bejezus Bejoot there were four tiny chicken mummies lying there. My carrots had curled and shrunk and looked like teensy taco shells and the tomatoes? They were simply gone. I had officially cooked them into oblivion. The celery and onions resembled that black sticky goo they patch the roads with in summer.
Pizza was king.
Well, I was confessing my culinary sin and my girlfriend says: "That's it? That's all you did? You sissy...." and this is what gem she left me:
Her husband and sons were going fishing for the day. She lingered back to fix ballpark style dogs, kraut..the whole nine yards and they were going to watch the Eagles (or NASCAR, I can't remember which) She lugged out her trusty crock and got it all ready. It was about 9am. In goes the kraut and since she's "been around the block a time or two" so do the dogs. Her logic was simple: I see hot dogs sitting in that stuff ALL DAY at the baseball park, so that must be how it's done. She fired up that bad boy and let em go....alllll day. She didn't peek. She didn't fuss. She went about her day, as any good crock pot will allow.
Her anglers arrived home; starved and happy. The beer was a'flowin but she checked her pot and saw that she still had thirty to go. She made them wait and proceeded to set the table.
The moment of truth arrived and those hungry men sat down for a real treat. When she pulled that lid back, the music stopped.
The hot dogs had tripled in size. They barely fit in the pot and appeared to be "fluffly". Their skins had expanded and taken on all the moisture from the kraut quivering to the point of popping. My girlfriend had created hot bologna pate'. They were almost gelatinous. Her son tried to eat but couldn't get past the fact he had to spread his hot dog. Why? Because the crock pot had done its job. It was melt in your mouth....And let's not forget there was kraut. Beautiful saur kraut. She said the smell made your eyes water it was so strong. No one could speak.
I don't get my crock out without snickering. I just LOVE that story.
I know I'm wound pretty tight, so I try not to take myself too seriously all the time. I can laugh at myself first and foremost. It justifies my giggling and pointing at others.
I hope you did the same or remember one of your own. Until we meet again, be safe and happy.
