Holy cow, I made a roast!

And I intended the heck out of that pun.

So, I'm trying to conquer my fear of cooking with raw meat. I suppose the time has come. I'm doing this by committing to cooking some form of meat each month this year. My mom thinks I should do this once a week. Clearly she does not understand the depth of my psychosis.

January's project was roast beef. I'm not going it lie; it was quite a saga for me, beginning with choosing a hunk of meat out of a terrifying case filled with hundreds of hunks of meat, proceeding to breaking this hideous thing out of the plastic and maneuvering it into the roaster, and finally browning each side which involved flipping the hunk over. The horror.

Once it was in the oven, though, I was struck by the awesomeness of how little effort is involved in preparing something so tasty. All the anguish was mental, not physical. And it all turned out like this, which is a good thing:


And what a lovely lunch for a lazy Saturday. There just might be something to this cooking thing.


I'd like to work my way up to something sorta complicated, like boeuf bourguignon. We'll see.