Reynolds Slow Cooker Liners versus Stupid

How could I pass up a chance to review the greatest invention of the 21st century? The ultimate testament to mankind's intellect? The one product in the marketplace that will change the way we develop as a society?

Crockpot Liners.

Inventing isn't as mysterious as it's cracked up to be. A friend of ours came up with the time-saving banana slicer. I also chanced upon this handy twirling spagehti fork. In this country, all you need to invent a best seller is a sense of the true laziness of our citizens. Thus we have Reynolds marketing Slow Cooker Liners so that you won't have to scrub your slow cooker after dinner. Simply pull out the liner after the meal, throw it in the trash and stick the pot back in the cabinet. No scrubbing. I took it one step further. Not only would I use the liners, but I'd have someone else make the meal. It don't get more American than that.

My first week back from the hospital after giving birth has been glorious. Both my husband and mother have been hovering at my elbows ensuring I don't do more than yawn. In only seven days I've gotten accustomed to my "Sultan" status and have found I have quite a knack at commanding the slaves. For Sunday dinner I sat on the couch and yelled into the kitchen, instructing my over-worked mother in preparing my royal feast. I bought a roast weeks ago for this purpose, a sumptuous Australian tri-tip. I gave my mom the Slow Cooker liners and set her to work braising the meat. "Don't forget to put the liner in!" I yelled from the couch. Too late. She had already dumped the roast into the un-lined pot. For the sake of an objective review, I demanded she take it out and wash the pot so we could tell if the liners really worked. As my slave, she humbly obliged me.

Six long hours later we were ready to eat. My mother had also prepared cheesy Italian bread and Spike had whipped up a delicious artichoke, tomato salad. I had the grace to rise from the couch for the special meal and we all agreed the roast tasted nothing like plastic despite its bagging. After the meal I followed Spike into the kitchen to see how the liner had held up during cooking. He lifted the bag out and I saw a pool of juice collecting at the bottom of the pot. Apparently, one of my slaves had pierced the bag with a serving fork during dinner. The Sultan was not pleased and made them wash the pot yet again.

Despite Reynolds best efforts to ensure our crock pot would go unsullied, when you factor in the incompetence of the slaves it ended up being twice as much effort with the liner as without. You can't beat stupid. I give the Slow Cooker liners a "10" but have scheduled a public beheading of my staff after church on Sunday. Children welcome to attend.

My mother took it upon herself during one of my many naps to hold a photo shoot with our glamorous crock pot. She has repeatedly declared herself to be one who finds beauty in everything and the crock pot liner proved little challenge. I'll leave you with this fetching picture she snapped which I think captures the inner beauty of the Slow Cooker Liner's delicate soul.