I was a bit slow to get involved with slow-cookers. I may not be as surprised as Hillary, but surprised I am.
I have not had great luck with the slow-cooking crockpot my daughter gave me from among the duplicate quadruplicate gifts she got for her wedding. But I'm not a quitter and, three grandchildren later--she has had three kids since she gave me the pot-- I've tried again. First, I decided to forgo the low settings and now I only cook on high.
Experiment, Second Round, Number 2
I placed cooked chicken and a meatloaf from the freezer into the crockpot.
Then I added some vegetables and red rice. To "speed things up," I poured boiling water. Then I set it on high, covered it and placed a heavy towel on top. Then I went to work.
I imagined myself walking through the door, after dealing with those teenage boys, and drooling over the yummy fragrance of my fully-cooked, ready to eat dinner.
At the same time, I kept trying to repress the nightmare which popped into to my head. I was afraid that I'd come home to a black house, electricity shorted, cold, uncooked food.
Yes, I was in suspense.
When I got home, the electricity worked, but I didn't smell any food awaiting me. So, I gingerly walked into the kitchen, afraid of what I'd find.
I lifted up the towel from my very slow cooker.
It looked cooked. Just to be safe, I took off the cover, and Baruch Hashem, Thank the Good Lord, the crockpot cracked out a good meal.
Yes, it even tasted
