Thursday, November 18, 2004

Slow burn.

Last night after the movie, Edmondson came over to my apartment for the first time ever. He immediately called the apartment "spotless" compared to his own house, which I have never seen, and he also called it surprisingly small.

"Gosh, man," he said. "How much are you paying for this?"

Edmondson lives in Stockbridge and commutes. He owns a three-bedroom house, even though he lives with two cats. Apparently our space needs differ.

Edmondson also proclaimed that he cannot cook. He proclaimed this at the point where I pulled the lid off the slow cooker to show him the pork roast that I'd started preparing, oh, about a day before.

Getting it out of the slow cooker was fun because the roast kept falling apart on the fork we used. Edmondson, impressed by that and impressed by the smell of my cooking, waited for the food while I quickly made some spinach on the stovetop.

The only things I had to drink in my refrigerator were grape juice and tea, so we had the juice.

The roast came out great. Really tender - and only a little bit greasy. Even though it had been in the cooker for about 18 hours or so.

Next time I make it, I should put vegetables with it, for that really adds to it - and provides an immediate side dish.

Edmondson ate more of the roast than I did, saying that it was awesome and proving once again that the slow cooker, a gift from my stepmother, may be the best, most practical gift I've ever, ever received for my kitchen. (Wow, I really qualified that praise, didn't I?)

So I made dinner for a friend. And it wasn't even a holiday.

I'm thinking Thanksgiving, whatever I end up doing, is going to be awesome.

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