Wednesday, Jan. 13, 2010 | 1:41 p.m.
My name is Joe, and I’m a crock addict. Hi, Joe.
I live alone, and I’ve been existing on a bachelor’s diet of takeout and prepared foods. Whole Foods is basically my mama now. But on New Year’s Day, I rediscovered my all-but-forgotten slow cooker (designed by Michael Graves) and threw together a split-pea soup (with bacon) with things I already had around the house. The homey aromas of spices and cooking filled my condo; the soup was better than Whole Foods’ and fed me for two days. Hooked on crock.
When I posted “crockhead” as a Facebook status update, I instantly learned that lots of my friends are closet crockpot queens, too. On deck: chicken chili, and onion-smothered pork chops.
(Recommended reading: Not Your Mother’s Slow Cooker Cookbook by Beth Hensperger.) –Joe Brown
His name is Crockpotamous, and he’s a metal-and-stoneware vessel for slow-cooked deliciousness. My New Year’s resolution wasn’t to lose weight or walk old ladies across the street; it was to cook more. Slowly. I didn’t need a housewife in order to come home to a freshly cooked dinner or a house fragrant with Guinness beef stew, curried-lentil soup or chili for days. All I needed was one really badass crockpot, the Hamilton Beach 6-quart Programmable Slow Cooker, to be exact. That’s Crockpotamous. The Mighty Crockpotamous, to you. -Sarah Feldberg
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