My Fist Time With A Crock-Pot(wait what?)
photo credit: KellyK
We had a rule in my house. For the holidays, everyone brought something. But there was an unspoken rule as well, men brought something easy. All I had to make for Christmas Eve(we were people who celebrated Christmas Eve with one side of the family, Christmas with the other) until 1998 was green bean casserole. And I didn’t put a lot of thought into that either, as evidenced by the year we ate it topped with potato chips.Then I got a girlfriend, and things changed. We were expected to bring a real dish. Presumably one she cooked and I carried from the car. And one year I did my duty hauling in pan after pan of her roasted asparagus from my Honda civic.
Then we broke up and next year my female relatives had a quandary. Without her contribution we would be shy of ‘real’ dishes. We’d have 7 jugs of green bean casserole, but that wasn’t good enough for them.
To solve their problem I volunteered to make potatoes. They snickered. I got a condescending lecture from my cousin on how hard potatoes were, the peeling and the boiling and making sure they take their potato vitamins. I think that’s what she said, I zoned out. From sheer spite I insisted on potatoes. Potatoes I would make with no helm from them because I was determined to prove them wrong.
Unfortunately my enthusiasm waned pretty quickly. In fact I did zero planning for the meal until the morning of Christmas Eve. I had also avoided any gift shopping up to that point, so I had a lot to do that day.
Luckily I found a bag of potatoes under the sink. I don’t know how 
long they had been there, but I think they came with the house. I also found my moms old crock pot under there. In dusting that off I found a recipe book with a simple little 1-2-3 for au gratin potatoes.
It seemed preordained. I sliced them, threw in some milk and cheese and turned the crock pot on. All through the disapproving looks of my mother I might add. Then I went out the door looking for something, anything to get my grandma. What do you get an old lady who smells like cat pee?
I came back from shopping and did my half assed attempt at wrapping all while the potatoes cooked all by their lonesome. They were done around 4, a fact I remembered around 6. But I checked them and nothing was burned or otherwise noticeable, so I decided it would be in everyone else’s best interest to be kept in the dark.
I pulled the crock out and put it on the table at 7:00. I endured the stinging glances of my aunts, the mocking threats of my brothers and the look of genuine fear on my mothers face. They were terrified(I don’t blame them, I’d never made anything fit for humans before) at what my lack of attention had grown in a crock pot.
But then they ate. And ate more. 
And had thirds. The potatoes were great, in spite of the fact that I didn’t know how to cook. And that’s the real secret of crock-pottery. You can’t screw it up. I did everything in my power to ruin that meal and it still went perfect.
Until Mom told me I was cooking the turkey the next day.
Tags: Crockpot, potatoes, slow cooker
April 28th, 2008 at 6:56 am
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