Crock Pot Tru-isms

There are truisms that I bump into from time to time, like, turn on a light before entering a room.

Tru-isms: Something basic we learn by experience even though others may have told us already when we weren't listening.

I am going through a phase lately, which Jane is thoroughly enjoying, the discovery of the forgiving art of the slow cooker. I know. You're thinking , " it's about time."

If you're male and reading this, you probably discovered Crock Pot Cooking years ago. "As easy as BBQ-ing," you might say.

I wish I discovered the process 31 years ago when living in my lonely city apartment while studying at McGill!

Imagine buying the cheapest cut of tough meat, tossing it into a pot with chopped onions, carrots, potato, celery, a little salt, pepper, garlic or even a dried soup mix and some water, leaving it to cook 8 hours while out and doing your thing. Simple. Now imagine returning home. It smells like mother has sneaked in to cook Sunday meal, old home comfort style.

Anyway, I'm new at this game trying out different recipes.

During my CEGEP days, I was very fortunate to have a Jewish girlfriend and discover her mother's cooking. In my family, Pot Roast was the big deal while hers was Brisket.

If you don't know what a Brisket is, it's the same cut as smoked meat. You like smoked meat? A nicely done 'Brisket' is 'to die' for. Oh gosh- I can feel my 'goi-ish' side falling and the Jew in me emerging. You didn't know that I am part Jewish did you? Surprise! It was a surprise to me too. But that's another story.

Oh yes,- the Crock Pot and 'truisms'.

I ended up marrying one of the finest Shiksas (Non Jewish Girls) I ever met. As a result, it has been some time since my last brisket meal...not including smoked meat sandwiches which don't count.

Since I now know that I am G-d's gift to the kitchen - after all, I created my very first crock pot Stew only last week, I figured I would graduate to something more adventurous.

Yesterday, recipe in hand I made my way out to the supermarket, negotiating between wheeled wire baskets, meandering men eying younger women and wives deciding upon five or ten grain breads. Yes, I strode with purpose through IGA, empowered by my new found sense of culinary prowess, bent on my quest for the perfect Brisket.

You can imagine my distress when the butcher said, "Sorry, we don't sell those cuts of meat here."

"Aha... discrimination!" I thought. But no. Only small butcher shops supply these cuts.

The gentleman with the hair-net gave me directions to where I might find such an establishment. I bet I could get a Brisket faster at the Atwater market or on 'the Main' near Moishe's at Warshaw's if still open,-but never mind, next week for that.

I made my way up the street and around the corner once again imbued with confidence, to present myself to a more powerful wizard of the macabre arts of meat cutting .

"Brisket?" he looked back at me wide eyed. Clearly I had upset some arcane protocol.

"You mean 'fresh' Brisket?" His brow furrowed.

"Yes." I said sincerely holding up my little recipe as one might hold forth a crucifix to the heathen.

"Not 'marinated' or 'smoked'?" He looked hopeful for a moment.

"Oh, uh, no. Fresh please." I crumpled my holy relic and shoved it into the depths of the of my pocket.

"If you order it I'll receive it next day."

I looked down, scratched my head in wonderment as this man waited for my answer.

I recalled this exact feeling, when attempting a move in a game of chess against one who had the good sense to know how to play in the first place.

As I searched for a handy chess board to overturn, I caught sight of a small tag. It was under the glass counter, positioned below a beautiful hunk of meat which had been all tied up so it couldn't run away.
On the tag written in some ancient perhaps Aramaic script was "POT ROAST". I felt a little like Alice in Wonderland.

Remembering having spied a Pot Roast right next to that of my Brisket in the recipe listing at home, I pointed. "Give me that!"

"Ah. The Pot Roast!" exclaimed the butcher now within his realm of cultural expertise, " The perfect meat for the slow cooker. You cannot go wrong with that." He smiled. I had clearly made his day.

A lady to my left seemed to turn away from me, her shoulders making small movements inside her fur coat as if trying desperately to squeeze in a sneeze or some other passing tremor.

I, new proud owner of a five pound bouncing 'Roast Beast' returned home, tucked it snugly into the refrigerator with all the other ingredients, resolved to prep later in the evening.

Jane and I proceeded out to my parent's for a birthday celebration. Later we arrived back exhausted, not in any mood to face off with an onion or meat. "I'll do the prep for the slow cooker in the morning".

The problem when learning something new, without having taken lessons or spending time doing proper research, is the process of finding out later through 'Eureka!' moments, that certain emerging patterns do make sense despite what we may think.

If you were to glance at various Crock Pot cook books, you would notice a pattern. They always say to prepare the night before and only next morning throw everything in the pot. Easy. They do not say in big bold letters why you should not do everything at once.

Morning arrived. I entered the Kitchen re-energized, the rack of dishes dry, a small amount of dirty dishes on the counter awaiting the next wash session. I pulled out the celery, carrots, onions, potatoes.

Chop chop chop. Easy.

Next, I pulled out the clunker eight pound iron frying pan, turned it on high and added the oil, to 'brown the meat'.

I located the recipe for Pot Roast and put aside the one for Brisket. Every thing was ready.

I put the Crock Pot on the counter and took the meat out of the fridge shifting it onto the sizzling pan with a spatula and fork.

"OOOPs."

Quickly opening the window, then running to open the front door, I let the smoke escape. Everything was soon under control, fork and wooden spatula in hand, having turned the heat down, the 'browning' of the pot roast on-going.

"Alright! What a pro!" I congratulated myself.

OK, next..uh - oh yeah- follow the steps in the recipe.

'..put the roast into the pot.' -check.
'..put chopped vegetables in the pot.' -che.... what the hell?
There was no room for the chopped veggies!

I grabbed the spatula and fork, stabbing the carcus, I pried it from the the pot, flinging it onto the cutting board while gaining elbow room on the counter by employing an elegant 'foot-ball straight-arm' gesture, sweeping the dirty dishes with minimal application of force to the wall .
"Jane would be getting up soon." I thought.

"Eureka!" It was one of those revelations. A five pound pot roast is just 'not' the same shape as a five pound Brisket. Therefore, as per the Brisket recipe it cannot be 'folded' into the pot let alone allow room for 3 cups of water and veggies. "

So lessons for the day, as I take refuge in my office downstairs safely behind my computer, are...

1) KISS rules to apply, (Keep It Simple Stupid!)
2) Don't mix metaphors or recipes.
3) Make sure your kitchen area is clean and ready for you. No lagging dishes!
4) Envision and think through the process a few times before doing!
5) Keep preparation 'grunt work' to the night before. This keeps the 'day after' stage, nice and easy.
6) Look at the size of the pot and compare to the size of the roast before all else.
7) Run the process by Jane first.

I suspect, I would have been much better off, if back in high-school, I had opted for Miss. Green's Home Ec. class, rather than the Agriculture class with H.Gordon Green. But in his class we heard stories of bulls testicles 'this big', being hung above the barn door and he would casually refer to dangling parts on cows while hinting at the female anatomy of our species, all without sounding salacious.

But what of the Crock-Pot and the Pot Roast?
Oh that. Well It's upstairs bubbling away.
One of the hints the cook book says- Do not to lift the lid to smell the progress.
I don't know...maybe just a little...