Goodbye Old Friend

Old friend, you've witnessed many phases in my life. I brought you home proudly, an expensive acquisition for a college girl in her sophomore year. I didn't use you much then, but I loved having you around, knowing that if I chose to go out less, you would keep me fed and fulfilled with hearty stews.

I had such faith in your potential that I fought for you in my "divorce" from my live-in boyfriend in the middle of senior year. He got the futon and I got the crock-pot and the U2 CDs. I felt like I won in the exchange: I wanted nothing to do with the futon we'd shared as he cheated.

That first year in New York, as I adjusted to life as a grown-up you welcomed me home many nights with chicken in creamy mushroom sauce. It was reassuring knowing that you were waiting up for me no matter how late I had to work.

Of course I brought you with me when I moved in with Steve. That move actually began our golden period together when we really tested all that you could do. He was even happier than me to lift up your steamed up plastic lid to breathe in redolent Beef Bourguignon or sweet chili.

Once the kids came, we didn't use you as much as we should have. I'm sorry about that. You would have been a lifesaver had we only remembered you instead of burying you at the back of our kitchen cabinet. Was it the dust, or simply old age that killed you in the end? Last night, even on high, you were barely warm.

I feel callous, cruel and bad, but next Tuesday is bulk trash day. You understand, I'm sure, that we need the room in our crowded kitchen? I'd like to tell you that you'll be missed, that we'll remember you always, but I don't like to tell a lie. The truth is that as soon as I get that shiny stainless steel number from Cuisinart with that handy inside that can go in the oven for browning or reheating, you'll only be remembered by the search engines that stumble upon this post. What can I say? Even us housewives are not immune to the charms of a younger, flashier model.

On Wednesdays, pictures get the posts flowing. Happy Wordless Wednesday, Wordful Wednesday, and Way Back Wednesday!

Short Ribs and Crock Pots: a Marriage Made in Heaven

Our driveway is now covered with a treacherous mix of ice, slush, and powdery snow. My pants are constantly wet and stained from dragging in the slushy mix. And our house is becoming an island because of the large pond of semi-melted snow at the end of our driveway. I'm so ready for winter to end, but that little rodent saw his shadow yesterday and that doesn't bode well for my wishes.

The only thing to do is to hunker down and cook. Last weekend I was at a friend's house and was amazed to spot a gorgeous gleaming Cuisinart slow cooker on her counter. This particular friend is always on the cutting edge of cool with both her clothes and her home. She was the last person I would expect to use a 1950s appliance, even remodeled with a modern look, but she raved about how much she loves her crock pot. She inspired me to dust off mine, even though it is definitely not stylish!

I had done short ribs a few times before, but never in the crock pot. I am now convinced that they were made for the crock pot. I just assembled the ingredients and let it all simmer for the afternoon. The meat just fell off the bone and the sauce was caramelized and complex. We finished all the meat that first night, but I kept the leftover sauce to dip bread into for lunch the next day. And one of the best things about short ribs is that they're cheap!

Crock Pot Short Ribs
3 lbs of beef short ribs
juice from one lemon
2 tablespoons of Worcestershire Sauce
1/4 cup of fresh parsley
2 bay leaves
4 tablespoons of brown sugar
2 teaspoons of salt
1 teaspoon of crushed red pepper flakes
1 white onion, chopped coarsely

Put all the ingredients except for the bay leaves and the short ribs in a food processor. Pulse five or six times until all chopped and blended. Pour the contents of the food processor into the crock pot, add the bay leaves and the short ribs. Set to high and walk away. Your short ribs will be ready in 4-5 hours, once the meat is falling off the bone.

We served ours with broccolini sauteed with garlic.