An Ode to My Slow Cooker

The words “cook” or “chef” and “Michael LoRé” don’t belong in the same sentence. They never have. They never will. Well, except just now, but you get the point. Much like my non-existent artistic and musical talents, I lack competent culinary capabilities. I guess all of those skills were maxed out between my writing and sarcasm.

When I first had to fend for myself in life AKA college, my diet would consist of whatever was on the dining hall menu, local bar and restaurant fare, and, if I cooked, pasta or eggs. After graduating and living on my own, I started dabbling with more recipes AKA throwing a bunch of spices on some chicken and cooking it. I was a regular Emeril. BAM!

During the transitional part of my life AKA when I left my newspaper job and moved in with my friend and his wife, I had a ton of free time on my hands. I thought it would be a nice gesture to cook for them once a week. It was the least I could do for people putting a roof over my head. Again, my culinary talents slowly expanded.

Fast forward to the last two years. It wasn’t until moving to New York City and acquiring a crockpot (thanks, mom!) that I’ve really hit my stride in the kitchen. I could always grill food, but that was reserved to outdoor activities like BBQs, football tailgates, and summer at the shore. A grill isn’t really conducive to apartment living — I don’t think my super would appreciate that.

This slow cooker is a gift from the heavens above. I can throw a bunch of stuff into it, set the timer, and come back in a few hours to deliciousness. In the last week alone, I’ve made chicken and rice soup, BBQ pulled chicken, and chili.

Quite the far cry from pasta and eggs.

Sure, it isn’t rocket science, but it’s giving me confidence to actually read and try recipes and expand my cooking palate.

Thanks, slow cooker.

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