It’s been a long time. Too long. Life has been busy and ideas have been lacking, but when I suggested this topic to Trevor as we were carrying out our Saturday evening ritual of preparing our Sunday lunch crock-pot, I saw that old HSSSS sparkle in his eye once again.
We are a very traditional family regrading gender-roles in most areas. Trevor fixes things, takes out the trash, mows the lawn. I do most of the kid-related stuff, the cleaning and the overwhelming majority of the food preparation (he’s even a little lost if I don’t pour his bowl of cereal in the morning, bless him.)
But the crock-pot? The crock-pot is firmly in Trevor’s jurisdiction. Maybe he sees it as a tool or a gadget, more akin to a cordless drill than a frying pan. But for whatever reason, each week he meticulously plans his menu for Sunday lunch, and I often don’t even know what it will be until we are preparing the ingredients together on Friday night.
It is primarily for this reason that I say: I *love* my crock-pot. By Sunday lunchtime I have forgotten the hour-plus that it took us to prepare the meal and the ridiculous number of dishes dirtied in the process. I only know that I arrive home from church with hungry children, and the crock-pot fairy has already made our meal.
It is a marvelous change from days of old when I would frantically open every cabinet as well as the freezer several times in search of something that could be made in less than thirty seconds, only to once again serve my family macaroni and cheese with ground beef thrown in. (Trevor has actually lamented recently that I never make this “dish” anymore. Funny how familiarity can trump all semblance of culinary discernment.)
Just to give a sampling of Chez Trevor’s menu offerings, today we had an *amazing* chicken and broccoli pasta bake. He also does a great tomale pie, a yummy pizza crock-pot and, my favorite, birthday beans. Sometimes, just to shake things up, he’ll do a roast chicken and vegetables. Yum. O. Rama. It’s the only way he ever gets such standard fare, since I don’t know how to cook much that can’t be done on my stovetop.
Our crock-pot was a house-warming gift from my best friend Mary, and I must confess it collected a good bit of dust before Trevor finally discovered its potential. I have still hardly used it myself, though I did once totally astound Trevor by making hot dog chowder one day this summer when it was too hot in our house to cook any other way, and we were in grave danger of having cereal for dinner. Someday, when I have the presence of mind to be thinking about dinner by lunchtime again, I may repeat the experiment. For now, I will leave it in his capable hands and enjoy his provision or Sunday lunch and Monday (leftover) dinner. And it’s always better the second time around.
Don’t forget to check out what Trevor says on the subject. I was thinking that this might be the first time ever that he would have more to say on a topic than I do, but as he’s watching me type this, he assures me that’s not the case.