You can have it all: Just get a Crock-Pot
Who knew this beloved kitchen appliance had Midwestern -- and feminist -- roots?
On a recent morning walk with my dog Tango, I was talking on the phone to my friend Nicole, who lives in the Bronx. She observed that her husband seemed to be spending a lot of time in their new garage after a recent move. I chuckled and said, “Well, you better dust off your Crock-Pot so you can have a party out there.”
And get this, fellow Midwesterners – to my shock, she replied: “I don’t own a Crock-Pot.” Wait? WHAT? It was as if she was speaking in an alien tongue. For a moment, I could not even comprehend how an avid cook like Nicole could exist without this kitchen essential.
If you’re from Iowa, chances are if someone says the words “Crock-Pot,” the image of some artery-clogging Midwestern dish comes to mind, the tantalizing, accompanying aroma wafting up in your memory bank: Velveeta cheese dip, meatballs in gravy, chicken wings, Lil’ Smokies in barbeque sauce, pork chops swimming in cream of mushroom soup.
Any Iowan knows that the Crock-Pot is the centerpiece of certain gatherings: no potluck, tailgate, church picnic or garage party is complete without a smorgasbord of these vessels. They spread out across folding tables in multiple sizes and versions ranging from stainless steel and faux crockery to shiny metal types with vines and flower decorations — all connected by a dangerous macrame of extension cords underfoot.
But not everyone knows that the Crock-Pot is, in fact, truly Midwestern. Furthermore, few realize that this trusty kitchen staple was introduced as a feminist statement.
Ease of food preparation and help for busy women are even part of the origin story of the Crock-Pot, the history of which can be traced back to the 19th century to Vilnius, Lithuania. In preparation for the Sabbath, the Jewish families there prepared a stew of meat, beans and vegetables called cholent on Friday nights before sunset and took them to the town bakeries to slow cook overnight in the ovens as they cooled.
Enter Irving Nachumsohn, who was the son of a Jewish immigrant. He was General Electric’s first Jewish engineer and an inventor who was inspired by the Vilnius method of slow cooking as a way to save time and avoid turning the oven on in the summer heat. Nachmuson (a Kansas City resident who changed his name to Naxon during World War II when there was prejudice against Americans with German sounding names) was granted a patent for the slow cooker called the Naxon Beanery in 1940.
But Naxon was an inventor, not a marketer. It wasn’t until 1970, when he sold his device to Kansas City-based Rival Manufacturing, that the slow cooker – renamed the Crock-Pot, was launched in 1971 at the National Housewares Show in Chicago. (Side note, Crock-Pot is the brand; everything else is a legally a slow cooker). An NPR article celebrating the 50th Anniversary of the Rival Crock-Pot says, “Print ads and television commercials flaunted the Crock-Pot as a miraculous, time-saving device, assuring women in no uncertain terms: You can have it all.” That first year, Crock-Pot sales hit $2 million.
Sales of slow cookers keep rising. According to the most recent data by Statistica, Americans purchased 12.7 million slow cookers annually, far beyond the Midwest. The market has expanded and countless companies offer the classic version as well as Instant Pots. One company even has a longstanding partnership with the NFL to brand slower cookers with league logos.
As surprised as I was that Nicole didn’t own a slow cooker, the truth is I didn’t have one either until I returned to Iowa from New York City after decades away to be with my hometown sweetheart. After going to a few of his family’s garage gatherings and cooking for a hungry family, I bought the biggest, slickest, stainless version I could find, complete with temperature settings and a timer. I am pretty sure I bought it for two reasons: 1) To save time cooking, and 2) To fit in back in the midwest.
Sure, I did save time with a Crock-Pot, so we can chalk one up for feminism. As for fitting in — I wasn’t conscious of wanting to belong. But if I was going to go to certain types of parties which happen here in Iowa, I wanted to contribute. I wanted to make a good showing alongside my sister-in-law’s tater tot casserole and my brother-in-law’s bacon-wrapped venison and jalapeño poppers. So I needed a Crock-Pot.
This is how change happens, friends. One day you live in New York City and do not own a Crock-Pot, nor would you dream of making something that includes a can of cream of anything soup. The next day you’re back in the heartland and voila! – not only do you have a top of the line Crock-Pot, but eventually you find yourself ordering a brightly patterned, double-decker casserole tote off the internet. Because, if it doesn’t go in a Crock-Pot or a cake carrier, how else do you carry a dish to a potluck without it spilling all over the floor of your husband’s pickup? Guilty as charged.
Really, you can have it all.
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As a former New Yorker and current Iowan, your story explains a lot. Truth be told, I still can’t stomach the canned cream o’mushroom soup, the fried onion bits or ranch dressing as ingredients. And I am holding out for a vegetarian option at the gatherings you mention. But I hear the desire to fit in, to belong. I am working on a new and improved green bean casserole...(I will let you know how it turns out).