5th October 2014, Brick Lane, London
If I possess a single virtue, patience definitely is not it.
Cooking is no exception, in fact, it's probably my main outlet for my general lack of patience. In fact, most of the food I eat for lunch is lukewarm since I can't endure the three minutes wait required for the stupid microwave to just get on with its' job. I don't have all day you know. Or the remaining 45 seconds.
But with the ongoing Paleo Project taking place in our flat, protein rich stew is one of the most manageable staples - seeing as we can't grill whole boars on our balcony. Therefore, I had to make friends with our slow cooker.
The clue is in the name - slow cooker. I was not going to enjoy this. Slow is not my thing.
I get that it's practical, I really do. You pop all your food in a pot and it magically cooks itself overnight. Seems super handy.
It just sounds way too simple and I didn't trust it one bit. But as sceptical as I was, the option was to get up at 5 AM in the mornings to make myself a salad - which sounded way worse seeing as I can hardly muster up the energy to brush my teeth at that hour.
So I chopped up a gazillion vegetables, beef strips (thanks again, Abel and Cole) and about enough garlic to kill Count Dracula and all his children. Come to think of it, did Dracula even have children? I feel like he would have.
Anyway. Although every recipe specifically says just to leave it alone for the 6-8 hours and get on with your life meanwhile, I was still dubious about the idea. So dubious that I left my glitter bomb bath, a Skype session with my nieces and my bed four or five times just to check on it. I finally know what it's like having small children and I did not enjoy it.
The next day, I still ate it lukewarm. Those damn microwaves are far too slow.
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