You've heard the saying "Don't cry over spilt milk." Well last night I was crying over burnt-to-the-crisp pot roast, which is much much scarier. It was bound to happen at some point or another... dinner gone terribly awry. I'm not surprised that my cooking suddenly turned an ugly corner on me; I am, however, amazed at the intensity to which this dinner got out of control. Anyone can mess up a recipe. Anyone can cook a bland meal. But it takes real talent, my friends, to completely murder your food.
I still don't know what happened.
But somewhere in the middle of the Sing Off, I went to check on the pot roast. When I peered into the pot, the carrots and onions were turning this charcoal brown color and the meat seemed to be screaming, "Get me out of here!" I don't know a lot (obviously), but I do know that unless you're making chocolate cake, brown is usually not a good sign.
The three cups of beef stock I poured in earlier had disappeared into this blackened crumbly mess. I couldn't tell if this was pot roast or the remains of a fireplace from last winter.
That darn stove stabbed me in the back, and it stabbed hard. Just when I thought we were getting along... (I was able to light TWO burners at the same time, miracle of miracles.) it pulls this shenanigans.
A few tears were shed. Mostly because I was so mortified and embarrassed. There goes my "wife of the year" award. Drats.
I frantically reread the recipe in my Pioneer Woman cookbook and found that I had done it all right... so why did it look like an abandoned rubber tire? (Later I discovered that roast is supposed to cook for 3-5 hours in the OVEN, not on the stove. In my defense, Pioneer Woman never actually says that. You do a lot of prep work on the stove, so I assumed the rest was on there as well. PW must've missed the memo that you should write for ALL people, even the blondes.)
Grahm was a trooper though. He laughed really hard at the blackened mess, and then hugged me when he realized I wasn't thinking this was even remotely humorous.
Thankfully, there is a Domino's pizza right outside of our neighborhood... which I'm beginning to realize is just another sign of God's sovereignty and His graciousness in feeding his children their daily bread.
Because let's face it, it's hit or miss with me.