I'm not very domestic. I never have been. Every once in a while I wish I was the type of person who wanted to be a very good cook. Note I do not wish to be a very good cook. I wish to be the type of person who might aspire to being a very good cook. Sometimes. Not very often.
Anyway! I have things that I do with my girls that prevent me from getting home some nights until about 7:00. Normal dinner time is 6:30, so this is a problem. Enter, the crockpot! My husband had the brilliant idea to buy a crockpot cookbook and I currently have ham in dijon mustard glaze and sweet potatoes bubbling away on low. They'll be done right about the time we all roll home. (The spouse gets off work around 6:00, Seattle traffic is a nightmare, so sometimes he's home even later than we are.)
This will probably be the best thing I've ever cooked, if the spoonful of mustard sauce that I licked is any indication.
Screw my work in progress. I'm dropping everything to write a cozy mystery centered around tonight's dinner. I'll call it the Mystery of the Missing Sanity. See ya on the bestseller lists, suckers!
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