Mari really loves beef, which I can do without. I like a steak now & again, more frequently I am likely to fall for a great burger, but the slow-cooked category of beef just has this bloody, intractable unctuousness in my mouth.
I am also philosophically disturbed by the consumption of beef: whose idea was it to eat the first cow? For one, they are gigantic! Easily the size of a small car! Second, what ever did they do to that individual?
"Goddamn beast! I've had it with all this lowing & the big, brown eyes, the fucking milk!"
Then, just go back to: Huge! So it must have been at least two dozen people because the size of those things!
Maybe they were just trying to get a nice Tauti handbag & then didn't want to waste. So that means beef is just a salvage meat. I'm just saying. I'm always full of thoughts to think.
Aside from what's inside of my head, I am mystified by how to prepare. Before Becky posted Betty's recipe on her blog, I had asked her a different time to give me a pot-roast hint. I surely forgot it before I managed to be in a situation where I could procure a roast. I know where the best lamb comes from & they appreciate my dedication. I can't just go in there, switching meats!
Adding to the compendium of the only red meat's confusion, I was about 35, growing weary from more than 10 years of turning out roasts for Mari which never seemed quite right, when I realized my (s)mother's pot roast was, in fact, an off-label use for the cut of meat called a brisket.
Anyhow, I made it. It was fine. I drifted from the recipe in that I used twice as much wine in the rehydrating service of the dried porcini mushrooms I pulled from the back of the cabinet. Also, about two hours from the finish, I added three pinches of thyme & a big bay leaf.
I don't know that the bleu-cheese dressing packet added anymore than the butter would have alone. It did have a custard-stand, butter-burger's finish. Butter: another reason to leave the cow alive.
I wish I had thought to add some tiny, brined, Israeli pickles to the open-faced-sandwich treatment of Mari's leftovers. There is always next time.
I'm going to a thing tonight where there is a good chance people will interpret my attendance as a great deal more sociable than I actually feel. My pre-emptive anxiety regarding this crowd is pretty silly. Black bean soup for dinner. Wish me luck! xoxox