The night we ate pizza

On Saturday I decided to use my new le creuset dutch oven with a roast that I had in the freezer and some of my own canned tomatoes along with various over veggies. I browned the roast in olive oil sauteed garlic and onions and it made the whole house smell like I knew what I was doing. I put it in the oven and shut the door. I was truly expecting a Julia Child’s moment when I got home after shopping, the kind where I open the oven and birds fly out and the music swells…perhaps some aroma waves actually come off the thing as I pull it, smiling, from the oven. I’m wearing some sort of french apron and my face is not contorted in nausea but instead I look blissfully domestic and not at all bloated. A camera zooms in as I take the lid off to show the simmering contents and the audience can’t help but sigh “mmmmmmm”.

Um, not exactly. Turns out when the recipe says wrap the pot in foil, they  mean it and it’s not just a kindly suggestion. It looked like a piece of shoe leather surrounded by black bits of what I can only imagine used to be tomatoes. Or onions, but I really think those must have turned to dust hours before I opened the oven door. I added water quickly and I could hear the thing that used to be a roast literally suck the liquid in and sigh with relief. An hour later and it looked semi-normal and the flavor was great, but there was no way to convince T to eat it because he’d walked by when it was still a shoe sole and could not erase the memory. The extra cheese pizza was fine but a poor consolation prize.


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