Monday, August 06, 2007
Despite not having eaten meat, chicken, or pork in the last oh, 17 years, I made a traditional Sunday roast for Paul last night. It must be love if I'm willing to cook dead cow and touch bloody pieces of flesh for my boyfriend.
Being a non-eater of meat, chicken, and pork for a long time, I've never actually bought meat before - let alone cook it for another person. While Paul was at the football game (Celtic, of course), i went to buy some meat at the grocery store. I was so confused as to what to buy (brisket, topside, what the fuck?!), I had to ask a wee old lady what she would recommend for a Sunday roast. She picked me out a hunk of meat and suggested it; I opted for the organic version, in addition to her selection.
And so, after 70-minutes, I pulled the meat out of the oven as directed by Delia Smith. The meat, however, was still too red and raw for Paul's liking (I forgot - he's British and needs everything fairly "well-done"). After another 20 minutes and sufficiently burning part of the beef, it was ready. I even made thick rich gravy and Paul, bless his wee cotton socks, ate it all.