First came to brisket in the outdoor slow cooker.
Today, I borrowed an instant pot from my friend R., and I’m christening it outside on the back steps. I moved the plants out of the way and am staring at it until it’s done.
I should preface all of this by saying that I am not allowed to own a mandolin. When I say not allowed, I mean that every time I buy one, M returns it. I am a clumsy cook. OK, I am a clumsy everything. A mandolin would have me without a finger within a few seconds. The conventional wisdom was that an Instant Pot (pressure cooker) would have me decapitated in the same amount of time. Everybody was sure I would explode it in the kitchen.
Guess what? I don’t have a kitchen! And we just found out that we have to submit plan amendments to the department of building in Yonkers so I’m never going to have a kitchen!
I just have to keep Lois and children away from the machine, because I’m fine decapitating myself, but the cats are a whole different story.