Ode to a Dead Crockpot

When asked to name the five things they’d save in a house fire, most people include pictures, people, and pets. But why doesn’t anyone say, “the house”? After all, the question doesn’t imply that the house is ill-fated, just on fire.

But for foodies like me, a more intriguing twist on this thought-provoker would be, “What five things would you save in a kitchen fire?”

Major appliances are out. As are small kitchen tools. (Spatulas are a dime-a-dozen.) Beloved recipe books might make the list. An inherited serving dish perhaps. The KitchenAid mixer, of course.

But what about the crockpot?

Yes, the crockpot. That unwieldy beast that’s taking up far too much room in your cupboard.

I hate lifting my crockpot. I hate programming my crockpot. I hate cleaning my crockpot. Or at least I did until one day its underappreciated programmable panel refused to light.

Suddenly and without warning, my crockpot died. Oh, I tried to resuscitate it. When I grew weary, I called Mr. Starlet in for a consult. We even performed emergency surgery. In the end, my crockpot lay in pieces, the meal inside festered in its salmonella-laden juices.

As Mr. Starlet and I grieved over our now ruined dinner plans and considered taking legal action against whomever had so poorly prepared it for our recent move, I realized that I had not just lost my crockpot. No, I had lost my faithful friend. My sous-chef. My go-to on a busy day. My silent supporter of culinary sloth.

With great reverence, we moved its pieces to our garage and then, a few days later, to the garbage can. All the while, we wondered how we could ever replace this beloved appliance.

By going to Target, of course. Which we did that afternoon.

And while I’ll spare you from drawing comparisons between pulling the new crockpot out of its box to a rebirth of my love for all things crock, I’ll just say that my crockpot is on my list of five thing to save in a house fire.

But only if there’s time to run back in after carrying my KitchenAid mixer to safety.