the missionary

Welcome to the food section of Mexpatriate.

It certainly seems that way. I have included food in almost every essay this past week.

Part of that is understandable. Good meals are a uniting force for our family. The family that dines together whines together.

A fellow blogger and I were talking about how our comments sections have changed since we started linking our posts on Facebook. Almost all of the action now takes place over there.

I mentioned yesterday on Facebook that our Christmas was a veritable Mary Poppins day -- practically perfect in every way. With one exception. Mom, Darrel, and Christie decided to violate our long-standing no-gift rule. That left me playing catch-up. Partly.

Christy told me on my last visit that her slow cooker seemed to have decided on its own to become a very slow cooker. She suspected it had met its service date.

Any of you who have read any of my cooking essays know that I am a recent convert to the Instant Pot cult. Sister Jennifer Rose brought me to the altar over a year ago. Like any recent convert, I am a zealot in sharing the good news of the multi-purpose Instant Pot.

Darrel mentioned that they would probably need an 8-quart pot rather than my 6-quart. And that was all I needed to hear.

On Christmas afternoon, I placed an order for an 8-quart Instant Pot. Through the good services of the United States Postal Service, it arrived at the house today.

Well, we actually had to go to the post office because the package was too large to leave in the mail box. I am glad that we had to make the trip. There was a short line of two people ahead of us when we arrived. One of the two clerks helped the first woman. We were then treated to one of those scenes that can only happen in a small town.

The clerk asked the customer if she had seen the movie she was going to see. She responded that she hadn't; the theater was packed on the day after Christmas. Because we had just seen the new Star Wars movie, I asked which movie it was. Ford vs. Ferrari.

My brother then joined in with the other clerk describing the film. The woman in front of us said she knew about the film and that her sister had owned a Shelbey cobra -- which she had wrecked. We were like a Sunday morning discussion program.

What was so small town about the exchange was that everyone felt free to share their experience politely and openly -- without fearing the conversation would devolve into rancor. I have never seen anything similar in a large city.

We grabbed our prize from the Post Office, brought it back to the house, and put it to immediate use. Christy had started a corned beef in the slow cooker. Instead, we transferred it to the Instant Pot. Christy is just now finishing up the cabbage, carrots, shallots, and potatoes.

And I am the only person who can claim to have abided by our no-gifts at Christmas rule. I am a firm believer in gifts. But I give them when I see something that someone might need or like. Waiting until Christmas just seems inefficient.

With that bit of smugness, I am sitting down to eat a plate of corned beef with cabbage prepared by the latest converts to the Instant Pot family.