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When it comes to love I want a slow cooker
on 18 May 2013
My 'friends' clubbed together (contributing not very much at all each, I notice) to buy me this slow cooker just after my divorce. A nice gesture, to show they were thinking of me in my hour of need? Or a veiled hint for me to pick myself up, dust myself off and stop turning up at their houses unannounced hoping to cadge a free meal?
At a capacity of one and a half litres, it wasn't even as if they were sending a message that they might all like to pop round to my house instead. Fine. All the more for me then. A can of chopped tomatoes, some random form of alchemy with the dried mixed herbs, the nearest vegetables I can find and maybe a few chunks of something that is hopefully not horsemeat in disguise and then it's all systems go.
If I'm at work, I can set this baby up to greet me in the evening with the most wonderful smells you can imagine. Then, when I've eaten that, I can rinse the pot out and perform a similar culinary manoeuvre in order to have a little something wonderful ready in the morning to take with me for lunch. There is nothing quite like that self-satisfied feeling just after the alarm's gone off, when the smell of my slow-cooking concoction meets my olfactory passages... followed by the adrenaline rush as I leap out of bed and then take the stairs four at a time in a panic, hoping that I remembered to put enough water in with all the other ingredients. This time.
This is an invaluable weapon in my cooking arsenal (alongside my microwave and a cupboard full of Pot Noodles) and I cannot recommend it highly enough.