Once our mother arrived in southern Indiana, she quickly became acquainted with crock pot cooking. This kind of cooking was right up her alley, so to speak: throw something in and wait all day for it to cook. Then you serve whatever it was for dinner. Needless to say, this was a recipe for disaster because of all the opportunities she had to screw it up.
More than one time, after the main course had been sitting in the crock pot for hours, we heard Mother loudly proclaiming from the kitchen:
For the love of God! The damn thing isn’t even plugged in!
Of course it was never her mistake. She always found a way to blame someone else. Husband Number Three Tom must have been lurking around the corner, throwing her off
Other times her “rationale” was
It’s because I am expected to take care of everything and everybody!
She always had an excuse and she was never at fault.
Mother never liked to follow directions. Something about not being told what to do. She would put some sort of big slab of meat in the pot. Perhaps she would add some liquid but just as likely not, especially if the recipe suggested that it was necessary. The meat would cook for ten to twelve hours at which time she would remove the carcass from the pot.
If it was overdone, it was the pot’s fault.
If it was dry, it was the fault of the meat, the grocery store, the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker!
No matter; Tom and whatever other poor souls may be there were expected to eat every last bite of it.
The willing and not so willing diners would try to choke down whatever dish it was and would usually ask for several refills on their drinks. No doubt they would have preferred to join in with Mother, drinking something with high alcohol content so they could anesthetize themselves or at the very least forget all about this experience.
- We are on diets
- We already ate
- We only eat at restaurants
- We are allergic to southern cooking
- We only eat on even days and since this day is odd, so to speak, no thank you
We were always polite, no matter the circumstance.
Mother never bought our ready made excuses. She always said that
You girls are just too big for our britches!
Truly, if that was the case, we should not have been eating anyway!