The Cow And I

What a Crock

Martha Stewart, the stylish Overlord of nouveau-domesticity, has finally fallen from grace. Convicted of lying to federal prosecutors and obstruction of justice in the matter of her Imclone stock sell-off, she awaits sentencing. Her homemaking television show, as a result of her disgrace, has been yanked unceremoniously from the network. And I, for one, am glad.

Why? Because she assumed the air of a brutal dictator with her staff and colleagues? No sir. Because her propaganda machine is no longer churning out pastel-colored drivel to the blinking masses of eager, malleable homemakers everywhere? Not quite. Because she just got too big for her britches? Hardly.

No, I’m glad Martha has been shut down because I know what she would have said about my crock pot. She would look down her thin, Aryan nose at it. She would describe it in such condescending terms as “quaint”, “common”, or even “pedestrian”. Yes, it may be all of those things, but I still love it. Does that make me culturally inferior? Perhaps. Are there more stylish ways of preparing meat? I imagine so. Would its use have made me an obvious target of her Final Solution? Almost certainly.

But she is now in a place where she can do no more harm to me and my kind. We breathe a sigh of relief, those of us who eat while standing up in the kitchen. Those of us who seldom cut fresh flowers from our garden as a table centerpiece. The people who hardly ever take more than 10 minutes to prepare a meal, let alone consider it an artistic endeavor. The kind of folks that cook with a crock pot.

I took some extra time today to stand at the crock pot before dinner and pick out choice hunks of chuck roast with a fork. I double-dipped, as I thought of Martha. In my new-found taste of freedom, I even wiped my greasy lips with the back of my hand. She can’t touch me now.

And so, as I behaved like an absolute glutton at the table, putting away 14 oz of this succulent mess of meat (after sneaking 7 oz for lunch), and unbuckling the top button of my jeans in the process, I recalled its ingredients with malicious glee:

3 lbs of non-organic chuck roast, 1 can of beef broth, 1 teaspoon of granulated beef bouillon, and 1 packet of store-bought French onion soup mix. Martha, I know you wouldn’t approve. That’s why I dedicate this dish to you.

Burp.

Posted by eric at March 9, 2004 08:16 AM