Carrie L. wrote:Jenise, pot roast is actually one of my favorite dishes in the world. My husband calls it "mushy meat" so I don't make it very often. He can only tolerate it a few times a year...
My favorite pot roast is very similar to yours. It calls for a combination of tawny port and red wine. Makes a delicious sauce. Glad you found one that you like! I think I'll try yours next time, because it actually calls for fewer ingredients than mine. Is Bob a pot roast fan?
Carrie, Bob would tell you that he is definitely not a pot roast fan, but he wouldn't be right. He loves any dish that's well made. But his mother's bland and unskilled Texas cooking damaged him so badly that when I met him 20 years ago, even though he was in his 30's and a long way from home, he turned green at the word 'casserole' and 'stew'. In his experience, pot roast is between the two.
I wasn't much better. My mother made a pot roast by throwing a thick browned 7-bone slice of beef in a large baking dish and surrounding it with peeled potatoes and onions halves. When it was done, she'd pour the accumulated fat in a pan with a lot of flour and water. Nothing more than salt and pepper seasoned it. I can kind of relate to where Len is coming from because back then I hated the stringy-mushy texture of well-done beef, hated onions too, and most of all I hated gravy because mom's were always so dilute and monotonous in flavor. (It was such a revelation to go to restaurants and have sauces--I'll have to start another thread about that) that didn't taste of flour and water.) My mother was actually a very good and adventurous cook for the times, early on before depression changed everything, but I think she made exactly what her mother made--just that way, it was comfort food, and not to be messed with.
It's something both Bob and I had to learn to love, and of course it all started with a newly opened mind after having a brilliant version somewhere along the way. He certainly swooned over this one. That he still doesn't think he likes pot roasts is just something uniquely Bob, once he makes a categorical judgement, it's tough to get him to realize he made it on the exception, not the rule. And it's entirely okay: I call everything a 'braise' and it slips right past him! His mom didn't know the word.
I'd actually started out on Sunday to make a more Italian, red wine and tomato version, a Brasato. It was only upon seeing all the sherry in the fridge as I was accumulating my
mis en place that the idea of striking out in a whole new direction hit. I'm glad it did. And I left in that one little homage to my sad and lovely mother: a bit of flour to thicken. Oh my god--I forgot to list the cream! I finished the sauce with two tablespoons of cream just before serving. It gave it a perfect oomph of richness as well as softening the color with a pretty opacity. I better correct my recipe.