Saturday was a quiet day of chores and home cooking. While the Handsome Husband mulched leaves with our mower, I pottered around tidying up patio plants and putting away outdoor furniture. I am always late doing these things because I live in persistent denial that the warm weather is truly behind us.
Before cleaning out the last of our small vegetable garden, I managed to harvest a few late tomatoes and two small cucumbers. Some of our herbs are still looking good, although the basil was an early victim of the colder nights. The tomatoes and herbs went into the cast iron dutch oven with a pot roast in mid-afternoon for our dinner. Later, coming in from our chores, the scent of the slowly cooking roast was wonderfully comforting.
I posted on Facebook that the roast smelled good and our friend Brian asked for the recipe. The truth is, I rarely do pot roast the same way twice. The key to good pot roast is slow cooking at a low temperature and something liquid in the pot. What you use for the liquid is largely a matter of taste and what's on hand. I've used beef broth, onion soup, wine, diced vegetables, beer, and various combinations of these. The HH is not a tomato fan so I don't think last night's version was his favorite. I liked it, though, all the more for having grown some of the ingredients myself. That feels very satisfying, like being a self-sufficient pioneer woman.
For Brian: one of the best pot roasts I've ever eaten was a Cuban Pot Roast (Ropa Vieja) made by a friend for a dinner party. Try as I might, I can't quite duplicate his recipe. But I am going to keep trying because it was very tasty and satisfying on a cold winter night. The recipe here is a good place to start. Our friend served it with rice and black beans. Yummy.
As I was finishing my chores yesterday, I gathered two small bouquets from the this-es and thats still bravely carrying on in the garden. Some late phlox, purple sage, boxwood, rosemary, ivy, some stalks of red leaves: these I stuck into the little silver plated jug I had bought for a quarter at a garage sale a few years ago. See? I am still refusing to declare the growing season over.