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"I know it's April, but it's still colder than a text-message breakup in my house."

This is my thought about six weeks ago. And it


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I Love This Pot Roast Like It Was My First Born

But I hate that kid at Lowes.

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"I know it's April, but it's still colder than a text-message breakup in my house."

This is my thought about six weeks ago. And it was as true then as it is today. Even thought it's "spring" I'm still shivering in the morning, wearing slippers in the evening, and enjoying a few other winter predicaments.

Usually I'm a stickler about seasonal indulgences, like winter beer, my bbq, and Christmas. I try not to let any of them spill beyond their welcome. But, I have to make two major exceptions: pot roast, and pellet stoves.

First, the pot roast. Yeah, it's a winter item, great during football season. But, here it is, the 23rd day of May, and I've had one in the slow cooker since 9 a.m. A couple nights ago I was rooting around in my freezer for something to help inflate the tire around my waist when I happened upon a roast (this was actually pork, but, same rules apply for pot roast), from October. And I knew it wasn't going to sit there for a full year. So, I decided it was time for one more run at my uncle Ben's recipe. For the best time you've ever had between a roast and a slow cooker, do this:

— Lay roast in cooker
— Sprinkle one packed of dried French onion soup on top
— Add  one can of Coke (not diet!)

Leave it there on low for 6-10 hours. It will melt in your mouth. I've seen this done w/pork, beef, and ham. It's all deadly.

OK, but, I'm still shivering through this May weather. So, six weeks ago, I'm at the Spa & Stove store looking for that weird gel that I light to start my pellet stove. Their out. In fact, everyone's out. But it didn't really piss me off till I got to Lowe's.

I asked this kid working there if they had what I was looking for, and this little prick laughed in my face. He didn't even have the courtesy to laugh behind my back, he just let it go. And I'm like "What?" and he's like, "We have it during the season." And continues laughing while I walk off, too much of a pussy to respond.

The season? Who's he kidding. I'll crank my living room up to 90, and fill my gut with slow-cooked chow any day I please. 

 
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