The roast had been marked down because it had not sold by a certain date, and so I immediately put it into the slow cooker with potatoes, carrots, and onions and a few other things – just like my mom used to do.
The meal was wonderful, and there was enough meat left over for two more meals and enough broth left to be frozen to cook the vegetables for a second go-round.
Now I have to interrupt the pot roast story to discuss the chest freezer. I know that the freezer bags we put in there do not breed and reproduce litters of freezer bags, but it is rather shocking how fast they seem to accumulate, and it is a bit of a mess. To make some order out of the chaos, he has decided everything must be labeled, which is a very good idea, because on many occasions he has found bags filled with mysterious freeze-mummified stuff, with no idea what it might have been.
So, I dutifully wrote a note
Make label beff pot roast
I knew I had spelled it wrong. This is not a big deal, sometimes I spell my own name wrong when I am scribbling and in a hurry. My writing is barely legible even when I take my time. I didn’t correct it. I assumed he could figure it out and that he might not even notice it was spelled wrong.
He came in later, laughing, “What is this? What’s beff?”
So we laughed about it and off he went.
And then he came back a couple of hours later and handed me the label.
Looking forward to those leftovers. Yes I am. Nothing quite like a nice bit of beff.