I have a confession: I’m a slow cooking novice. I’ve steamed, I’ve baked, I’ve stewed, I’ve boiled and I’ve stir-fried. But until yesterday, I’d never slow cooked before.
I know I’ve been, ahem, slow to jump on the slow cooking bandwagon. People have been telling me for years how they lived by their slow cookers during winter. They raved on about how easy slow cookers were to use: according to them you just chucked some browned meat, vegetables, stock or wine and herbs into the cooker at breakfast time, et voila – you’d return home at night to a beautifully cooked casserole. Working mothers, in particular, sang its virtues as slow cooking meant they could have a home cooked meal on the table a few minutes after they’d walked in the door. Maximum reward for minimal effort.
