Saturday, January 16, 2016

the roast, a true story

I drizzled a roast with olive oil, surrounded it with baby red potatoes, carrots, and onions.  Sprinkled seasonings all over and covered the pan with foil.  I baked it at 325 for about 2 hours.  It smelled divine. 

The roast came out of the oven to rest while I cooked up some frozen mixed vegetables in a pan on the stovetop.  And I went and watched some Jeopardy. 

When I came back to the kitchen to check the vegetables I realized I had turned on the wrong burner, the front burner glowed red hot, with a corner of the glass pan that held the roast resting on the burner.  I turned off the burner and carefully slid the pan off the glowing red element. 

I began carving the roast on a cutting board just to the right of the stove.  It was juicy.  I could tell it would be flavorful but I didn't nibble.  I wanted to save that first bite till when everything was ready and I could savor it.

With a crack the glass pan exploded into bits, I screamed, my arm stung from the glass bits, a piece of the roast now sat on the floor amid shards of glass.  The stovetop was covered in hot pan drippings and broken glass. 

Amazingly, I didn't get cut or burned.  But the roast was ruined.  The vegetables were ruined.  I wanted to cry over my stupidity the waste of all that food.  So my husband did what only the greatest husband would do.  He went to Dairy Queen and got us Blizzards for dinner.

The end.

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