Being from the southern Appalachian region, roast is cooked in a pot. Ya’ll know it’s true. So when my husband told me this afternoon while we were planning our brave grocery outing on a Friday afternoon during Ramadan, that he wanted a roast for dinner, I was mentally making my grocery list, preparing to put that shit in a pot and to cook it low and slow.
When we got to the store we branched off with me getting everything else I needed and him going to the meat market to find a roast. He caught up with me at the check out and was excited that he found some kind of New Zealand Wagyu, marbled “striploin” hunk of meat that cost $100!? Bahahaha, I remember sitting in the checkout just like:
When we got home he had to pop out to the office for awhile so I went ahead and started dinner. I thought, “well, if this slab of animal flesh is so fabulous I’m not going to add anything fancy to it” so I carmelized some onions, seered the meat and added a few cups of broth and pepper. I brought it to a boil, covered it and lowered the temps.
Meanwhile, two movies, a few glasses of wine and three hours later my husband comes home and I find him cracking up in the kitchen. Bless him, he pulled me in and while laughing he lovingly informed me that I had some grace and was graded on a curve in the meat department since it’s only been a month since my re-entry to the meat world.
Apparently, we don’t “boil” $100 Wagyu striploin. Welllll shit! 😂