We're having hairy foot of squid for dinner, dear!
People, I have been too busy crock-potting the shit out of anything that moves to blog. I think we had the postman for dinner last night. If it has meat on it, I throw it in that crockpot, bury it in some sauce and voila! Did the person who invented the crockpot (I'm assuming it's Betty Crocker until someone proves me wrong) win some kind of nobel peace prize? Well, they should have.
To explain to someone who doesn't know me what a true miracle from God it is that I'm cooking is impossible. But if you're truly interested I suppose I could give you my mother's phone number and she could explain how I can't even make a bed so my making a brown-sugar-and-dijon-mustard-smothered pork roast is akin to Moses walking on water (it was Moses, right?). But hang up on her as soon as she starts getting on your nerves. Probably two minutes into the conversation.
The thing is, I'm now truly interested in this cooking thing. I want to try new recipes, I rummage through food magazines and scour online cooking sites. I don't even know who I am anymore. It's entirely possible I may wake up tomorrow, shave my head and join the Hare Krishna*. Because if I can find a love of cooking I can become a bald beggar at airports who helpfully informs people they will be going to hell. Really, it's that bizarre of a life change.
Even though crockpotting (is it a verb? it should be) is easy, per everything in my life, I at first had to make it hard. I would throw all the stuff in, press the button to cook it on "slow" and then sit there and watch it throughout the day. I'd marvel to the girls, "Can you believe this thing is COOKING OUR DINNER FOR US??? Have you EVER SEEN ANYTHING SO AMAZING???" And they would say something like "Caillou has a big red ball. Dora and Boots go night-night." So clearly they understand the importance of our new family member, our chef, our modern incarnation of Alice, The Crockpot. I almost feel guilty not paying it the going rate of $15 an hour for household help in the greater Chicago metro area.
My still one-reservation I have of my new passion is handling raw meat. I like my meat to arrive cooked (medium please) and prefer not to think of its origins on a farm or jungle or side of the road or similar. So I just kind of close my eyes, unwrap it and plunk it into the crockpot really quick while humming a pleasant song to divert my urge to vomit. My technique would probably make a good YouTube video if I was so inclined to let someone film me. Which I'm not.
So now that I've mastered cooking, I feel like I could do anything. Run a marathon. Solve world peace. Write a book. Too bad that damn Julie & Julia bitch took my idea.
*I know nothing about these people. I actually thought it was "Harry" Krishna before I Googled it, and wondered who Harry was and why he wanted bald followers. I'm not even sure they believe in hell. As a matter of fact, I know very little about religion in general, exemplified by the "D" I got in World Religions my junior year of college. If you are a Hare Krishna and I offended you, I will be happy to share a nice crockpot recipe to make amends. Except I don't think you eat meat. And I haven't gotten to the vegetarian section of my new crockpot cookbook yet...