The small crockpot

In the last couple of years, I attempted to institute a rule regarding kitchen appliances and utensils. If a new one comes in, something goes out. It could be an unrelated utensil, but something of roughly the same size must go.

It was a reasonably successful campaign.

Today I was debating making a dish that I hadn't made from scratch before. (Hillary would have enjoyed it as well. This is also a first since she died, making an adult meal for just me.)

So I took out our huge crockpot, imagined a couple of chicken thighs sitting lonely at the bottom and the existential void reached out to grab my chest again.

I sadly looked the recipe and stared.

Then I remembered we had this giant crockpot because the small one wasn't cutting it for two adults and a kid. Really, it wasn't cutting it for two adults who wanted to make enough of a thing to freeze a bunch of leftovers.

But when was this purchase? Before the kitchen appliance rule? After? I could not recall.

I looked in our cupboards. No.

I looked under the stairs. Hidden under a dusty box of computer parts, I saw the old crockpot box. Victory.

Hillary had evidently convinced me to stash it away and keep it 'just in case.' She definitely had this crockpot in her Parkdale apartment. It may have been a housewarming gift. It may have been older.

It may have been a grandparent's. I'll find out eventually.

Maybe she was keeping it to pass to the kids when they got a place of their own eventually. A crockpot doesn't go bad.

But it perfectly fit a dinner and a half worth of butter chicken for me.

Thank you Hillary for winning that debate. I will have a tastier dinner after racing my bike tonight.

Do your thing crockpot, do your thing.