As the afternoon reached three, then four, then five o’clock, I loved the feeling of not having to do anything for dinner, it was already done! The crock pot seemed to be working, and life was good. Why did it take me this long to try it anyway? And what was I going to make tomorrow (in the crock pot of course!)
I opened the lid. It didn’t look exactly like the picture. In fact, it didn’t look anything like the picture. The rice was floating in a sea of brown water. The bell peppers had shrunken down so only their skins were floating on top. I called my husband and told him he might need him to pick up dinner through a drive-through. “It can’t be that bad, can it?” he asked.
I was hoping that although it looked bad it would still taste wonderful. We would want to cook this meal all the time. And that Lucas, normally an extremely picky eater, would suddenly decide he liked all the ingredients and eat them all! But better make some new rice just in case. And shoot, the recipe had called for toasted almonds, better read how to do that now. My husband, now home, took care of my son as I finished up the “quick meal.” Another hour later we are ready to eat.
As we tried our first bite, I knew that my over-night conversion had been in haste. The floating bell pepper skins were just that, and the meat was somehow dry, even though it had soaked in water for hours. I picked around, and ate a little, as did my husband. Lucas wisely did not touch his. My husband thanked me for dinner, and I smiled, but he said that I had worked hard. Which, when I thought about it, I had. Tired from the day, I said dejectedly, “I guess I won’t be using the crackpot anytime soon.” We both laughed because I had said crackpot instead of crock pot.
It is now two years later, and my crock pot sits silent and empty in my kitchen cupboard. My cooking-adept friends assure me that I just tried the wrong recipe. Others tell me they now think of me whenever they fail in the kitchen. I’ll accept that honor.
