left a joint of meat in my slow cooker for 10+ hours or -20 hours

You’re an adult. Go eat a whole birthday cake. Get rid of all your cups and drink every beverage from plastic bags. Pay a crackhead to redecorate your home. No one can stop you.

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Doofindork@reddit

Honestly, I realized this way too late in life. Not saying I'd pay a crackhead to redecorate my home, but I really needed to hear I can just do and eat whatever I damn please within the law.

I have since just baked myself a birthday cake because I felt down, decorated my home the way I want to, never use a glass and drink from the package, and saunter around my place dressed as I please. It rocks!

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TheeArgonaut@reddit

What his mum?

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Mypopsecrets@reddit

I have this vivid memory as a kid in a playground picking up a piece of mulch and showing my dad and saying "look, it's like mom's pot roast" and my dad laughing and saying "do not tell your mom this" lol

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Talk-O-Boy@reddit

Kids say the wildest shit without even intending to 😭

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Nightbird88@reddit

Was there liquid in there with it?

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Ananakoya@reddit (OP)

I mean… for the first couple of hours there was?

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rawr_Im_a_duck@reddit

Was it on high or low?

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Ananakoya@reddit (OP)

High. The fire alarm went off earlier in the day but there was only a small puff of smoke when I lifted the lid in the evening 🙂‍↕️

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thefoodiedentist@reddit

U fast cooked w ur slowcooker

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Sar0333@reddit

Horrible mouth feel just imagining it makes me dehydrated

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Jetstream-Sam@reddit

It looks like when my Granddad ruined the steaks I'd bought, and yeah, dehydrated is an understatement. I'd gone and picked up two ribeyes from the butcher intending to make me and him one when I got back from work. He had 4 carers a day visit for half an hour to do stuff like help him to the bathroom when I was at work, and so he'd given the carer orders on how to make the steaks, as he didn't want to wait another 30 minutes for me to get back, apparently

Now my granddad was not the one who cooked. That was my Grandma's job. But my granddad insisted he was an expert on absolutely everything. I mean everything. Apparently, he decided that the optimum way to cook a steak is to marinade it in salt, wine, chopped raw onion, and balsamic vinegar for four hours, then fried at max heat for 10 minutes a side. Apparently this would have made it perfect medium rare

It did not. I got back, anticipating a delightful steak dinner I was about to prepare. I'd gotten everything ready, I'd bought tallow to fry the chips, I'd gotten corn on the cob, and the ingredients for a peppercorn sauce, and I was excited. I opened the door to the smell of burnt onion. The carer looked apologetic but said my granddad insisted.

It looked a lot like the picture. Way past Well done, into "This barely qualifies as food" tier. I was distraught. It had been a long 12 hour shift, and thinking of the tasty rare ribeye that I'd spent £10 each on awaiting me is what got me through. I tried a bite and it was like eating sand. All moisture from my mouth was sapped out. The taste was awful too, burnt wine and onion with charcoal hints.

What's worse is my Granddad insisted that he was still right, that it would have been great, but the carer messed up somehow. Obviously it wasn't his fault. He wouldn't eat his charred meat puck either because he liked his medium rare.

I sent a picture to the family group chat in disbelief, and everyone chimed in with times my Granddad had cooked from their childhood. Once he decided to cook a chicken, and thought it needed four hours at 220 celsius. There was the time he decided he was an expert on chinese cooking and made burnt fried rice. He also decided he was a baker once and decided to bake a cake, which spent a solid hour in the oven. All of these weren't his fault of course, the oven or hob was broken and ruined it, or the ingredients were just bad.

Worst part was I couldn't even give it to the dog because it was soaked in wine, onions, and enough salt to preserve a pig

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LaqOfInterest@reddit

I'm really glad you told this story. I have zero clue why I feel so strongly about it, but I appreciate this weird unfortunate snippet of your life and your granddad's. It resonated with me, somehow.

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ThanksContent28@reddit

There’s a weird thing with men and cooking, especially from a certain era.

Ever notice how BBQs/grill ups (for Americans), are always a manned by a bunch of guys who can’t cook?

Every other time, the wife or girlfriend does the cooking. The bloke even acknowledges he can’t cook, but once that BBQ comes out, he whips out his silly apron, and he and his mates stand round there for hours, whilst telling each other they cooked the perfect burgers. And the motherfuckers don’t even season the patties.

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Jetstream-Sam@reddit

Oh yeah when I was younger he would absolutely do that. I even remember when it was a barbeque at my house he demanded to be in charge of the grill. My dad is actually pretty good at cooking and he had this garlic and sweet soy sauce marinade for steaks and chicken that's absolutely delicious and honestly got me into cooking and for some reason, he relented and let my granddad grill some sausages and burgers.

They were charred and horrible, naturally. Everyone was struggling to eat them so much we got through a big bottle of ketchup. 7 year old me looked forward to the steaks as a summer thing since it was one of the only times we'd get them as kids and I begged him to not let my granddad ruin them. Fortunately he listened and it caused a big argument, whereupon my granddad went "well everyone here loved the burgers, didn't they?" And everyone disagreed. He got super angry, got my grandma and went to leave in a huff. My dad started grilling and they came back after a few minutes so presumably my grandma got him to calm down

He was like that with pretty much everything. He was perfectly skilled in anything he put his hand to, in his own mind. His poetry and paintings are amazing and worth thousands according to him. He sold one once, but decided he liked it too much and bought it back for twice the price, much to my grandma's annoyance because she actually was good at painting but the only ones on the walls were his. Honestly I think he only started because he was jealous of the praise she got for her paintings and photos. I kind of wish I had that level of self confidence sometimes, but I'd probably end up getting punched a lot

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Ananakoya@reddit (OP)

Dead cow. Named him Lemmy. RIP hun x

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Of chocolate cake.

- suicidemenot

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