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I've started quite a few worlds lately, and talk to quite a few new players. I was wondering if a simpler build on the Crock Pot might aid new players without damaging game difficulty. Plus, early on they are fun to play around with. With spoilage & insanity the 3 refined stone seems like it could be reduced or changed. 6 charcoal is kind of tutorialish in teaching burning & charcoal, & 6 sticks is a no-brainer; but quantities of stone often involve a trip to a new area of the map & push the Crock Pot to "later on". Also with research as it is now, an early science machine--requiring stone--seems appropriate, further pushing back the Crock Pot.People that build a dozen Crock Pots, always will regardless of the build. Just a thought, Martha Stewart would say that more players is: "A Good Thing".

WHY NOT?you can eat them and decreases sanity, and makes your character say something like: YUCKyou can throw them in the crok pot , add some honey(since you can't actually get sugar yet)and get COFFEE :DPROS: 2x speed when doing actions and 1.7x walking speed for half dayCONS: too much can decrease sanity, when the effect dissapears you walk slower and do actions slower for 15% of a day useful when escaping

I don't know when now is. I guess- I guess I can keep telling myself it doesn't matter until the end. But it... it does, in a way. I know I'm going to die, I didn't need to put it on paper. The spiders, the dogs, the pigs. I'm going to die. If there's salvation in knowing when; knowing how long it took. I'd like that salvation. So I'll guess it's around the six hundredth day I have been here. This island, these clumps of islands. Otherworldly places. Trust me, I've tried a boat. I made a frigate, the size of a luxury liner, out of wood and silk. The current doesn't want me to leave. I gave up digging my hole a while back. Maybe fifty feet deep and spanning an entire island. There is nothing left for me. The pigs are indifferent. I know them well but they forget me every day. I guess- ha, it's a side effect of what happened before. What I used to do. I made spears with the rocks I could find. I... I murdered so many of those pigs. Cooked their flesh, created armor from their skin. I shake as I write- I may still have it in me to do it again. So helpless they are, and how experienced I have become. It is how I sustained my hunger for the first weeks. Many, many weeks. Those weeks ended as the first hounds came and burned down everything I cherished. I think that was only a third of a year in. Such a short time to me now. And, well, I don't want to say I've lost all emotion. Some nights I curl up under a tree and weep, scream and relive the happiest times. I remember when it was about revenge, revenge, revenge. The thrill of killing. Now I do feel empty. I don't know what else I can do with my life at this point. I stand motionless most days. Nights are full of wariness before the hounds come. But it isn't adrenaline that fuels that defense. It's exhaustion. I am done with life. The hundredth day was when it all burned. I felt revenge, anger, I felt emotion. I killed them all. I marched across island to island, stabbing and eradicating the spiders as I went. I kept their eggs. Somewhere in there I took off my armor, just the clothes on my back, and kept on fighting. They all died. There was no relief. No reward. I hadn't fulfilled anything. I was still here. I planted the eggs on a coast as far away from my island as possible. They hatched. They lived. I would watch from a mile away as they enjoyed life. Not that I hated life. Not that I had suicidal thoughts. But I was in a limbo between sadness and anger and nothingness. I dressed myself up with the most fanciful clothes and waited and sat and watched. I stripped myself bare naked and waited and sat and watched. I armored myself with rocks and logs and helmets and waited and sat and watched. Watched the pigs, no matter how primitive, enjoy their life. I watched them feel genuine anger. Genuine fear. None of my emotions felt real- I was secluded and alone and nobody cared. I regretted crying which only fueled my fear. I made innovations in science. I created scarecrows that could bring me back from death, built magical amulets that would do the same. I made a calculator that could handle addition and subtraction to the fifth digit out of anything I could find. I don't think this is what kept me going. If anything, I'd see it as a detriment now. All there is to do is live, or die. I can live here for a very long time. I can die any time I wish. Everything else is just a supplement. It is my birthday today. I write this on the edge of a long cliff to the ocean. I will die upon impact. I promised myself to keep my beard from old times, I made that promise so early on, but I destroyed it, I burned the hair that remained. I have nothing left to gain or lose. Dying won't help me. Living won't either. But maybe it would have. My name is still Wilson. If you are reading this, I should have stayed alive. The paper ends here. There is no trace of Wilson on the entire island...

I was thinking and i think it would be amazing if you could grow coffee from a farm or birds drop it when you get the coffee beans you can cook it to make coffee! which gives 5 HP back and a 10 second speed boost ty for your time and i hope you like my idea8-)