January 6, 2013 by kitcac
I am 32 years old. Today was the first time I’ve ever cooked a Sunday Roast. Or an Anydayoftheweek Roast.
It was rather delicious but a bit of a faff.
I told my mum I’d done a roast and she said “An Aunt Bessie’s roast?”
Nope, done from scratch, yes indeedio. What a faff though.
I looked on the packaging and it said something like 55 minutes per kilo plus 45 minutes. How loooooong?! I think Jamie Oliver spends far too long waving his arms about and shredding stuff on his FIFTEEN Minute Meals programme so when my calculator told me it would take NINETY THREE minutes to cook some meat I did a great big breath. It went like this:
Ninety three English minutes. Do people really spend all of Sunday doing that? Get a life!
It was an eye-opener, I’ll admit.
To start off, I didn’t know what pan thing to use, which was a faff. Stavros didn’t know either. We carefully considered whether to use the slow cooker or a big metal tray that came with the oven (that we’ve never used) or a pyrex dish or a pizza tray or the grill pan. By a process of elimination, we decided that if we’d never done a roast and we’d never used the big metal thing, then there was a medium to high possibility that the big metal tray was for a roast.
We think it was the right one. Nothing broke or spontaneously combusted.
When I put the meat on it, I felt I had to do something to it. Like put some herbs or something on it. I couldn’t leave it there all naked. That’s not very chef-fy (made that word up just now).
So I wedged it in places with four cloves of garlic, like chocks on the wheels of a biplane. I actually said “chocks away” when I put them in place, which doesn’t make sense because I was doing the opposite, but strange things happen in your mind when you are in the unchartered territory that is a Sunday Roast.
Then I got Sargeant Pepper out of the cupboard. He is filed under P for Pepper. Have I mentioned that my herbs and spices are stored alphabetically? I will tell you more on another day.
And I felt that I really should add some salt, even though it is verging on being contraband in our house. I only add it when a recipe tells me to and even then I can’t bear to add the full amount that it says. Its one of my things.
As a result, we have never purchased salt in seven years. How do you add salt then, dear Kitcac? (That was you asking that).
Well dear Reader, I must admit to a wicked secret. You must tell no-one. Its an illness.
I compulsively keep the tiny packets of salt that they give you in KFC. I don’t know why. I can’t explain it. They used to live in a jar but now they take over a whole shelf in the kitchen. Its a disease!
If we ever got snowed in, we could safely leave the house having sprinkled KFC salt over our front steps. We have a ton of the stuff!
So after all this palaver, the meat went in for what seemed a lifetime, the potatoes were parboiled and roasted, the carrots were prepped and roasted, gravy was made (I invented a gravy dance which was a hit with JWop) and suddenly I had lost 93 minutes of my life standing in the kitchen. And that’s without doing Yorkshire puddings which would have caused me great confusion just deciding which receptacle to use. Who has the time or inclination to do this meal every week?! What a faff!
I cook 90% of our meals from scratch but this was the height of drudgery. I felt like I was trapped in the 1950s but was inexplicably wearing an Adidas tracksuit top instead of a pinny (I am a secret chav).
I wanted to grab that meat out of the oven, hack it to pieces and make a quick stir-fry. Alas dear Reader, Stavros loved it and thinks we (I?) should cook a roast every month. That would be 1,116 minutes every year. Can you imagine?!