I love my slow cooker. No one cooks for me, and it feels great to walk into the house after a long day and smell dinner. My slow cooker is like a mother to me. There she is, at the end of the day, waiting in the kitchen with something delicious, warm and comforting.
Much like a tortured teenager doesn't always treat her mother as well as she should, I'm not gentle with my slow cooker, and I’ve broken the liner twice.