I did not grow up with much of an appreciation for food. Don’t get me wrong, I was (and still am) one of those kids who loves to eat—I just never paid that much attention to what I was eating. This was probably for the best, as growing up in eastern Kansas I didn’t get much exposure to fine cuisine. Almost all of my mom’s recipes somehow involved cream of mushroom soup, and the late hours necessitated by my dad’s two jobs usually kept him from helping much with dinner. For a long time, it looked as though I had inherited my mother’s lack of patience and talent in the kitchen.
     Then I went to college. Suddenly I was no longer constrained by canned-soup-based casseroles. I was free to experiment with things like garlic, which I discovered came in forms other than salt or powder. However, with an extremely full schedule, and a very empty stomach, my first few months of college dining relied heavily on Top Ramen and Easy Mac.
And then I was given the kitchen gadget that would change my gastronomic habits forever: the crock pot. I had dim recollections of dinners created from the crock pot, usually dried-out roasts that needed lots of ketchup to be edible. To say I was skeptical would be an understatement.
     But after too many nights of coming home to a dark kitchen devoid of food, I decided to give the ol’ slow cooker another shot. Now, years later, I am a crock pot guru. I confidently serve friends and family steaming bowls of French onion soup complete with cheesy bread. I bring mac and cheese with cream and bacon to potlucks. I make mouth-watering, ass-burning chili for parties.
     And best of all, my dinner parties feature melt-in-your-mouth roasts with garlic potatoes and onions, no ketchup required.

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