Can we still be friends if I tell you I’ve never made a roast?
I’ve lived in this kitchen for three years and many other kitchens before that…..and none of them had ever seen a roast.
I’m not sure what started it. Maybe one too many nights of gas station pizza or macaroni and cheese or hot dog pot pie. Maybe I was inspired by Southern Living or those delicious pictures on Foodgawker or maybe I’ve always wanted to apply to be a contestant on the Next Food Network Star.
Whatever it was….whatever the reason…..I decided that the day had come…..
…..for my kitchen to meet its first roast.
So I began my roast making journey where all people head when they want to buy a cut of meat or paint a room or buy a garden hose or purchase a new set of all-weather tires.
I went to the mecca for all things roast related.
And there my journey almost ended.
I stood staring at the Wal-Mart meat counter in absolute consternation. The roast selection was overwhelming. There were chuck roasts and round roasts and rib roasts and rump roasts.
It was too much.
I’m just a simple hot-dog pot pie girl…..trying to make dinner for my family.
A random Wal-Mart customer voted “most likely to cook a roast” saved the day and came to my aid. She was wonderful. She not only picked out a roast for me….she walked me over to the baby carrots and the onion soup mix and gave me specific instructions that included a crock pot and water and potatoes and sent me on my way.
And so I brought my roast and my onion soup mix and my baby carrots…..here.
Home to the kitchen that had never seen a roast before.
I faithfully followed the Wal-Mart roast guru’s instructions to the letter.
Then I turned the crock pot on and waited.
I was so excited. Every now and then I would open up the lid and the water would bubble and the carrots would steam and the most delicious smells would waft out into the kitchen.
It was amazing.
After 5 hours of crock pot cooking…..I opened the lid and peered inside to see if it was done.
It didn’t look done.
It looked pink.
Was pink good?
Was it cooked?
Was it done?
I was stymied and stifled and confused and clueless.
And left with the question: “How is a person with absolutely no roast experience expected to tell if a roast is done?
So of course I did what anyone would do when faced with a cooking dilemma. I did what anyone would do with a possibly under cooked roast.
I placed it on a plate and covered it with foil and drove it to…..
Maybe not the brightest of ideas.
Maybe not my finest hour.
I’m not really sure why I thought the garden club members would have the answers. I don’t even know why I even thought that driving a roast to garden club would be a good idea. I just knew that I knew there were people at garden club. People who pruned hydrangea and grew azaleas and cross-pollinated day lilies and who I was pretty sure had a least once in their lifetimes……
…..cooked a roast.
And so my roast and I hightailed it to gardening club.
I walked in late to the meeting….harried and windblown and disjointedly lugging my foil-covered roast.
I sat down gingerly at the table and waited.
I waited for a lull in conversation and then I quickly raised my hand.
Nervously I cleared my throat.
“Ummmm……excuse me. I am really excited about making a container garden and all that and I can’t wait to learn all about it…
…..but I really need your help.”
Nonchalantly….I slowly removed the foil from the plate and pointed to the large hunk of meat with a random piece of carrot still clinging to it.
Silence and blank stares met my gesture.
You could have heard a pin drop in the room.
What had seemed like the most brilliant of plans back in my kitchen was sinking like the Titanic.
I braced myself and continued, “Can….can….umm….can you all tell me if this roast is done?”
No one spoke.
They just stared at me in disbelief.
As if the mere act of bringing a roast to garden club defied all reasonable thought and explanation.
As if this was going to be the talk of the county on Monday.
And then from the back of the room I heard a voice.
At last….I thought…..finally…..someone is going to help.
Some one would guide me and explain the unknown mysteries of the intricate task of cooking a roast until it was done.
Expectantly I turned to the elderly lady in the back of the room as she spoke again.
“How nice of you to bring a roast” she said with a sigh and an air of resignation.
“But dear…..cooking class is next week.”
My kitchen never saw that roast again.
It never even made it out of garden club.
We snacked on the well-done roast as we discussed our container gardens.
And then I left with my empty plate and stopped for gas station pizza on the way home.
PS My hutch and I are partying over at Miss Mustard Seed today. I’m the one with the earrings