Slow cooker recipes for feeding the family

I suppose I should probably mention this... regarding descenders. It’s one of those things you don't really think about until you're staring at a layout and everything feels slightly off. You know, those parts of letters like 'p' or 'q' that drop below the baseline. It's funny, in a way. If you don't manage them right, the whole visual rhythm just breaks. Everything looks cluttered, or worse, unbalanced. I guess it's a bit like trying to level a coffee table in an old apartment in Chicago—you think it's fine until you set your mug down and realize there's a wobble somewhere in the foundation. Maybe it's just me being overly particular, but I find that paying attention to those little details makes a massive difference in how readable a piece actually feels. Just a thought, I suppose. kaže:
It’s official, I suppose. We’ve entered a new century, supposedly living in this "modern world," though... well, there's a lot to be said about that. I find myself wondering about the people from the previous century—not just those who were technically alive, but those who actually felt *alive*, if you catch my drift. In this supposedly advanced era, is it even possible for someone like that to hold onto what once gave life meaning? To cling to actual happiness? And how would they even begin to pass that on to a modern child? A kid who, maybe because their parent chose to let go of the past, has absolutely no clue what things used to feel like. They don't recognize the old ways, let alone cherish them. Is it just a generational gap? Or is it something deeper? It feels like the divide grows wider when the very fabric of our values and information seems to mutate faster than we can keep up with. Maybe.

How do you even begin to talk to a kid who doesn't get it? They don't have that sense of "how things used to be," so they just end up whining or making a scene about everything. I suppose there’s a certain human instinct in that discontent—it’s like a catalyst for progress, a constant craving for more, better, faster—but still, it can be exhausting. I guess you could try explaining how much of a blessing modern life actually is through a bit of comparison. Like, on one hand, you have central heating running 24/7. There isn't this whole morning ritual of hauling wood just to get a single stove going to heat the entire house. Or take food, for instance. A decent cut of meat was once a genuine luxury. And meals... well, back then, eating felt tribal, almost primal. You didn't eat because a clock told you it was exactly 8:00 AM or because some calorie-tracking app or dietary fad told you that you needed exactly this many nutrients at this specific hour. You ate when you ate. Even clothes and shoes weren't really about expressing your individual style or fashion sense; they were just practical items passed down from one family member to the next. It’s all just... different. Maybe if they understood that, the complaining might subside, but I don't know.

Then again, there’s a certain perspective belonging to those who were born, raised, and shaped by much leaner, vastly different times. For them, memory serves as a sort of sanctuary—a way to reach back and reclaim small fragments of who they used to be. It’s about that person who lives, struggles, and fights for something (and someone... building a sense of self in the process), including you, I suppose. They stumble, they get back up, and they keep pushing forward, trying to achieve something, to find some kind of fulfillment. To truly realize themselves. But then comes that realization in this modern era, where their own child watches them with visible disgust and confusion. The child watches while the parent indulges in those petty, little dishonesties—the kind of small-scale scavenging one might have done decades ago just to get by. There's this disconnect where the child can't even wrap their head around the parent's basic manners or their lack of consideration for others. It's as if the kid is repulsed by the very essence of who the parent is. It’s a strange paradox, I guess, to live in a world that feels like it’s moving faster and offering less, only to be judged by your own blood for the very survival instincts that once defined you.

Even if I was exaggerating a bit, maybe my earlier "Option B" wasn't actually that extreme. Looking at the century we live in, perhaps the comfort comes from just being blissfully unaware of how much of a grind life becomes when the systems around us fail. When things hit you out of nowhere—like a global pandemic or an economic collapse and everything trailing after that—it doesn't matter what century we're in. If you find yourself in a situation where basic necessities like toilet paper, running water, sewage systems working on the 18th floor, cleaning supplies, or even bread and milk become scarce, then maybe it shows how unprepared modern generations really are. Not to cause panic or hysteria, obviously, but it makes you realize how little people can grasp what life would look like once our current standards of comfort are devalued. It’s hard to imagine surviving, let alone actually living—almost like existing on a purely animalistic level.

I guess if there’s any love involved, maybe it isn't such a bad thing to indulge in a bit of repetitive practice every now and then—just as an excuse to let the imagination run wild. You can play around with different possibilities, using some kind of mental construction of who someone used to be, or perhaps just leaning into empathy for their past self. It’s not about overdoing it or forcing some "Option B," but rather just... descending to where they are. Just finding a way to enjoy their company in a manner that feels authentic and decent to them, rather than sticking strictly to my own rules. Maybe you have to allow yourself a moment of being less than your usual, rigid self. I tend to be that person who needs everything to be absolutely perfect—someone who is almost pathologically pedantic about things having to go exactly my way without a single error. But sometimes, you have to let go of that stiffness. You allow someone you actually care about to remain exactly who they were, not out of mere tolerance, but by making a genuine effort to build a world around them that fits their way of life instead of yours.

If you don't—or maybe if you just don't quite feel it—it’s possible to look at everyone and everything through a comparative lens against yourself, and find plenty of reasons to just get away from it all as quickly and permanently as possible. We all have this little micro-universe inside us where we surround ourselves with people who fit our specific mold, folks whose patterns of thought and behavior mirror our own. It’s about staying within that bubble of self-comfort, surrounding yourself with like-minded people, and avoiding anything outside that circle unless it becomes absolutely critical. Or necessary. There be Dragons.

That’s a really interesting take, though I think it misses the mark slightly in this specific instance. A few years back, I might have actually agreed—maybe I would have prayed that Satan would let me be one of those modern kids who complains to their elders about living in the wrong era...
The father spent fifteen years following him through outdated jobs and obsolete mindsets (building up some sort of mid-century relic mentality?), all because of this lingering regret over "better days" and seeking solace in... well, drinking. And that sense of regret has been dragging on for thirty years now. 🙄
I could write about rural America and what I see there—about sons who follow their fathers into lives stuck in the past and how they struggle to navigate the world today.
About their attempt at 'fitting in' to this current era...🙄
It would probably turn into a pretty grim subject, but that isn't the point here. No, that wasn't what was intended.
...

Moving out gives you a certain kind of peace, just like someone else mentioned earlier. Personally, I don't see any harm in it at all; it's their house, their rules, and their life.

For years, I spent my time trying to implement my own little set of rules while living under their roof, attempting to tweak things here and there, hoping to somehow make that house a better place to live.

In hindsight, I’ve realized that everything I did was fundamentally wrong, simply because I didn't actually have the authority to do it. It’s an epiphany I’ve only truly reached now that I have my own place, where I handle all the bills and can finally design my own daily rhythm without anyone looking over my shoulder.

Back then, almost everything about the old setup bothered me—and don't even get me started on my mother. Now, I find myself feeling either completely indifferent or, occasionally, finding it somewhat charming, mostly because I'm no longer a part of that dynamic.

I mean, just imagine if someone walked into my apartment right now and had the audacity to tell me, "Hey, it really bothers me when you eat like that." 🤣

I suppose parents are generally quite tolerant by nature; mine certainly put up with a whole spectrum of nonsense from me, much more than I could ever imagine allowing someone else to do to me today.

If I found myself stuck in a situation like that, I’d probably just pick up a mini-fridge—find some corner to tuck it into—and grab a couple of pots or whatever else I needed. I'd just cook my own meals separately, if that's even an option... it doesn't really matter. I suppose there's a chance that might trigger some issues with the landlord changing the locks on my door, though, because who knows how much they'd care about someone "snacking straight from the pot"...

Harold Rogers6 said:

I suppose I should probably mention this... regarding descenders. It’s one of those things you don't really think about until you're staring at a layout and everything feels slightly off. You know, those parts of letters like 'p' or 'q' that drop below the baseline. It's funny, in a way. If you don't manage them right, the whole visual rhythm just breaks. Everything looks cluttered, or worse, unbalanced. I guess it's a bit like trying to level a coffee table in an old apartment in Chicago—you think it's fine until you set your mug down and realize there's a wobble somewhere in the foundation. Maybe it's just me being overly particular, but I find that paying attention to those little details makes a massive difference in how readable a piece actually feels. Just a thought, I suppose. kaže:
It’s official, I suppose. We’ve entered a new century, supposedly living in this "modern world," though... well, there's a lot to be said about that. I find myself wondering about the people from the previous century—not just those who were technically alive, but those who actually felt *alive*, if you catch my drift. In this supposedly advanced era, is it even possible for someone like that to hold onto what once gave life meaning? To cling to actual happiness? And how would they even begin to pass that on to a modern child? A kid who, maybe because their parent chose to let go of the past, has absolutely no clue what things used to feel like. They don't recognize the old ways, let alone cherish them. Is it just a generational gap? Or is it something deeper? It feels like the divide grows wider when the very fabric of our values and information seems to mutate faster than we can keep up with. Maybe.

How do you even begin to talk to a kid who doesn't get it? They don't have that sense of "how things used to be," so they just end up whining or making a scene about everything. I suppose there’s a certain human instinct in that discontent—it’s like a catalyst for progress, a constant craving for more, better, faster—but still, it can be exhausting. I guess you could try explaining how much of a blessing modern life actually is through a bit of comparison. Like, on one hand, you have central heating running 24/7. There isn't this whole morning ritual of hauling wood just to get a single stove going to heat the entire house. Or take food, for instance. A decent cut of meat was once a genuine luxury. And meals... well, back then, eating felt tribal, almost primal. You didn't eat because a clock told you it was exactly 8:00 AM or because some calorie-tracking app or dietary fad told you that you needed exactly this many nutrients at this specific hour. You ate when you ate. Even clothes and shoes weren't really about expressing your individual style or fashion sense; they were just practical items passed down from one family member to the next. It’s all just... different. Maybe if they understood that, the complaining might subside, but I don't know.

Then again, there’s a certain perspective belonging to those who were born, raised, and shaped by much leaner, vastly different times. For them, memory serves as a sort of sanctuary—a way to reach back and reclaim small fragments of who they used to be. It’s about that person who lives, struggles, and fights for something (and someone... building a sense of self in the process), including you, I suppose. They stumble, they get back up, and they keep pushing forward, trying to achieve something, to find some kind of fulfillment. To truly realize themselves. But then comes that realization in this modern era, where their own child watches them with visible disgust and confusion. The child watches while the parent indulges in those petty, little dishonesties—the kind of small-scale scavenging one might have done decades ago just to get by. There's this disconnect where the child can't even wrap their head around the parent's basic manners or their lack of consideration for others. It's as if the kid is repulsed by the very essence of who the parent is. It’s a strange paradox, I guess, to live in a world that feels like it’s moving faster and offering less, only to be judged by your own blood for the very survival instincts that once defined you.

Even if I was exaggerating a bit, maybe my earlier "Option B" wasn't actually that extreme. Looking at the century we live in, perhaps the comfort comes from just being blissfully unaware of how much of a grind life becomes when the systems around us fail. When things hit you out of nowhere—like a global pandemic or an economic collapse and everything trailing after that—it doesn't matter what century we're in. If you find yourself in a situation where basic necessities like toilet paper, running water, sewage systems working on the 18th floor, cleaning supplies, or even bread and milk become scarce, then maybe it shows how unprepared modern generations really are. Not to cause panic or hysteria, obviously, but it makes you realize how little people can grasp what life would look like once our current standards of comfort are devalued. It’s hard to imagine surviving, let alone actually living—almost like existing on a purely animalistic level.

I guess if there’s any love involved, maybe it isn't such a bad thing to indulge in a bit of repetitive practice every now and then—just as an excuse to let the imagination run wild. You can play around with different possibilities, using some kind of mental construction of who someone used to be, or perhaps just leaning into empathy for their past self. It’s not about overdoing it or forcing some "Option B," but rather just... descending to where they are. Just finding a way to enjoy their company in a manner that feels authentic and decent to them, rather than sticking strictly to my own rules. Maybe you have to allow yourself a moment of being less than your usual, rigid self. I tend to be that person who needs everything to be absolutely perfect—someone who is almost pathologically pedantic about things having to go exactly my way without a single error. But sometimes, you have to let go of that stiffness. You allow someone you actually care about to remain exactly who they were, not out of mere tolerance, but by making a genuine effort to build a world around them that fits their way of life instead of yours.

If you don't—or maybe if you just don't quite feel it—it’s possible to look at everyone and everything through a comparative lens against yourself, and find plenty of reasons to just get away from it all as quickly and permanently as possible. We all have this little micro-universe inside us where we surround ourselves with people who fit our specific mold, folks whose patterns of thought and behavior mirror our own. It’s about staying within that bubble of self-comfort, surrounding yourself with like-minded people, and avoiding anything outside that circle unless it becomes absolutely critical. Or necessary. There be Dragons.

That’s a really interesting take, though I think it misses the mark slightly in this specific instance. A few years back, I might have actually agreed—maybe I would have prayed that Satan would let me be one of those modern kids who complains to their elders about living in the wrong era...
The father spent fifteen years following him through outdated jobs and obsolete mindsets (building up some sort of mid-century relic mentality?), all because of this lingering regret over "better days" and seeking solace in... well, drinking. And that sense of regret has been dragging on for thirty years now. 🙄
I could write about rural America and what I see there—about sons who follow their fathers into lives stuck in the past and how they struggle to navigate the world today.
About their attempt at 'fitting in' to this current era...🙄
It would probably turn into a pretty grim subject, but that isn't the point here. No, that wasn't what was intended.
...

When people engage in these little online debates—throwing around opinions and perspectives—they tend to project too much onto things, almost like they're reading comic strips. Someone who’s had one too many might end up overanalyzing everything, seeing ghosts where there aren't any. Not that it matters much, since they're usually just reacting to a fleeting moment anyway...

A person gets stuck in the past, or maybe they just can't let go of how things used to be, and they fail to connect with the present. So what? When you actually look at the big picture, isn't the real question why someone would be stealing food from their own family's pot right in their own house? What kind of "frustration" drives someone to be so selfishly consuming everything and everyone around them without a single thought for anyone else? That’s the real lack of empathy right there...

It's possible to talk about someone "living off someone else's plate"—something you don't see much in those shallow caricatures, though most people ignore the reality of it. You could try to unpack why someone does that and what's actually driving it. If it's necessary. If it doesn't get too heavy or veer too far away from the simple point we were supposed to be making...

I tend to be quite particular about hygiene, so if I have any say in the matter, I’ll go out of my way to avoid eating from a container that looks like it hasn't been properly cleaned.
That said, if I ever found myself in a situation where hunger and sheer desperation truly took over, I suppose even a trash can wouldn't bother me.

Honestly, eating straight out of a pot just strikes me as revolting, and frankly, it looks incredibly awkward too.🤔
I’m much more comfortable sitting at a table with my food on a proper plate; that’s how things should be when you actually have the chance to relax and enjoy a meal in peace. Speaking of which, I actually find myself loving solo dining—which I suppose makes me an outlier compared to most people? Don't get me wrong, I enjoy socializing plenty, but when I sit down to eat by myself, there's this genuine sense of bliss that just washes over me.🤔

Eating straight out of the pot?
Honestly, it all depends on who’s doing the grabbing...
I used to absolutely hate it when my mom, my dad, my ex-husband, or even my mother-in-law would sneak a taste—it just felt wrong—but if I'm the one sneaking a bite when nobody's looking? Well, then I'm totally fine with it. My kids think it's hilarious too...🙂
Fast forward to now, though—I'm with a new partner, and for the first time in my life, I can actually share a bite from the same plate as someone else without it feeling weird at all.☕

darksurfer4 said:Honestly, eating straight out of a pot just strikes me as revolting, and frankly, it looks incredibly awkward too.🤔
I’m much more comfortable sitting at a table with my food on a proper plate; that’s how things should be when you actually have the chance to relax and enjoy a meal in peace. Speaking of which, I actually find myself loving solo dining—which I suppose makes me an outlier compared to most people? Don't get me wrong, I enjoy socializing plenty, but when I sit down to eat by myself, there's this genuine sense of bliss that just washes over me.🤔

I honestly find it mind-blowing that anyone actually enjoys eating in a group. Especially when people won't stop talking while you're trying to eat.🤦

They've probably just been conditioned to think that's the "proper" way to do it.

There’s just something about a big pot of food that feeds everyone—that’s why I think everybody should grab a spoon and eat straight from the pot. 🙂

Morgan White said:I honestly find it mind-blowing that anyone actually enjoys eating in a group. Especially when people won't stop talking while you're trying to eat.🤦

They've probably just been conditioned to think that's the "proper" way to do it.

Exactly, I couldn't agree more; any kind of conversation during a meal just gets under my skin, and all I want to do is focus on the food and nothing else....