No One Makes a Roast Like Mom

My favorite meal growing up was beef roast with baked potatoes and peas. My mom would put the roast in the oven, letting it stew in it's juices all morning, letting the meaty aroma tantalize our senses. The best way to bake the potatoes was to just leave them au natural, not wrapped in tinfoil, but allowed to cook until the skins were crispy and the insides steaming hot.

Lunchtime couldn't come fast enough.

We would often eat around 1:00 or 2:00 in the afternoon, whenever Dad would come home from the farm. If he was really busy, we'd take lunch to him in the field; usually some kind of cold fruit soup and fried egg sandwiches with mustard and lettuce. Blackberry soup, banana soup, strawberry soup...whatever fruit was on hand or thawed made up the soup along with icy cold milk and bread. (I haven't had any in years, but it sounds good to me now!)

But back to the roast beef. The delicious roast beef. The glorious roast beef.
No one could make a roast as good to me as my mom's. No one.

We'd gather around the table, each in our normal spot because if we sat out of order the food just didn't taste the same. Dad would say a blessing on the food and our day and then we would dig in. Savoring each bite, each tender bite, I would think how blessed we were to have roast or steak so often. Being a farm family, we had to watch our nickels and dimes and meat was expensive. But for us, eating beef wasn't a luxury like it was for so many because we would butcher one of our own cows. Beef may not have been extravagant for us, but my mom made it a feast fit for a king.

It was that good.

Then, after the meal, we'd clean up, saving the broth that the simmering roast had produced. My second favorite meal? Greasy spaghetti.

Yes, you read that right. Greasy spaghetti was what we called it, but to everyone else: Beef Noodle Soup. Not that the broth was greasy, but in comparison to regular tomatoey spaghetti, it had a more slippery texture. Greasy. And I loved it. I still do.

But I have never been able to quite duplicate how my mother made her roasts. There probably was no real secret to it, she just had the knack for it. Oh, did she have the knack.

Mom, if you're reading this, this is definitely a hint that I would like to eat this on my birthday. Just thought I'd mention it. I see no reason to be subtle about roast beef. Hint. Hint.

Now, I have to decide what to make for supper. Hmmm. I see some beef roaming out in the field. I wonder if one would like to jump in the roaster for a while.  Maybe the one that keeps standing in my flower beds.

Love,

Dianne