Anyways, this Christmas I got a pressure cooker / slow cooker / steamer from my mom.
It's not that I didn't want it, but I didn't want to disappoint her because I have a hair blanching, skin ripping, wall climbing fear of pressure cookers. Also a little bit afraid of the house burning down capacity of a slow cooker, but that was less of an issue.
So I read the manual, and searched the internet, and did a Facebook and Twitter poll. There's this really fantastic blog called Recipe Rifle manned by the charming and honest Esther Walker that I love to read when the firewall at work lets me (and you should too, so the link is up there). And I thought, if she were in my shoes and had an irrational fear of pressure cookers (which I don't know if she does or doesn't) would she do it? Yes, and then write about how fucking terrified she was. And so that's what I'm doing here right now.
I did it.
and I was fucking terrified.
and we all lived.
and it was good.
I started with the idea that I would do a lamb ragout. Lamb shoulder with garlic and onions and tomatoes and mushrooms. Nothing too finicky, nothing too adventurous. And so I got to this point.
And then I realized I actually have to put food in this machine and turn it on. Paralysis.
You see, you have to understand where the fear comes from. I got another pressure cooker many years ago as a gift and the instruction manual for that one had death and dismemberment warnings in it.
I'm going to let that one sink in for a bit.
DEATH AND DISMEMBERMENT
And then I lost the manual and of course never used the bastard. Oh actually I used it once, but it was so terrifying and traumatic that I've blocked the memory of it almost entirely.
So, after I put my big boy pants on, the food went in and I waited.
Don't be fooled, that's a zoom in. If you think I was getting that close to it for any length of time, you're sorely mistaken.
I think at one point Harlie went within 6 feet of it and I barked at her to get out of the kitchen. But I DID risk life and limb to rescue the iPad that I had left next to it.
And after 35 hand wringing, stomach churning minutes, it was over. I poked at it with a wooden spoon for a bit and then we had food.
It was a little more watery than I wanted, but no one died so essentially it was a success. We served it over tagliatelle and pretended that I wasn't a total maniac for being afraid.
Thanks!
-C.
