Depending on how old you are, when you hear the term “Pressure Cooker,” your mind might go to this explosive moment in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Actually, it doesn’t matter how old you are because if you don’t remember this scene, your mother does, and therefore swore off pressure cookers, or maybe your grandmother does, and she’s the one who said, “Not in my house.”
However you shake it, the pressure cooker’s got a bad rep. Blame Audrey Hepburn. And, well, the slightly dysfunctional early models.
The pressure cooker’s good name must be restored! Without it, cooking would be a huge pain. Make rice in 15 minutes. Hard-as-rock vegetables that everyone adores (acorn squash, carrots, sweet potatoes, yams) in 10. Whip up St. Patrick’s Day corned beef and cabbage that will kill your inner vegetarian – in about half an hour. (But don’t forget to rumple your apron and pretend you’ve cooked all day.)
Cooking should be a fun, creative, (fast) experience. Long labor in the kitchen makes a nice person cranky. Don’t think of this as an appliance. Think of it as a resentment-management device. You won’t believe what it can do.
Imagine coming home after a really long day to the smell of something delicious cooking, ready to eat, in fact. The slow cooker never ceases to amaze. Throw in some veggies and chicken and rice, whatever is lingering, ripe with intention in the fridge, some random spices, stock, turn it on and forget about it. Some models are particularly sweet because the insert has handles so you can take the cooker to Mom’s.
Best. Daughter. Ever.