This was the most cooking-est cooking I have done, so far this year.  I planned to make some kind of crock-pot meal this week for two reasons: I wanted to try something new, and I wanted to have more time in the evening.

So I settled on something  from one of those mini recipe books they sell at the supermarket, close to the register.  First I skipped all the recipe that took fewer than 10 hours to cook, since I can’t be sure to get home before 8 hours are up.  Then I eliminated any recipe that required browning the meat before putting it in the crock pot. Voila, there was my only option: beef brisket in cranberry sauce.

I had to mix a can of cranberry sauce with a can of tomato sauce, add a dollop of mustard, and some onion.  But before doing that, I had to face the meat.

Meat!  I’m so frightened of it, even if I love to eat it.  Just unwrapping the bloody package was weird for me.  I think about bacteria being flung into the air as the saran-wrap peels away.

The top of the brisket looked so perfect and pristine, but when I lifted it up, the whole underside was a thick layer of fat.  So there I was at 5:30 am trying to hack away at the fat, cutting it, sawing it, and eventually trying the scissors before I was finished.

Ten hours later, home from work and exhausted, I was very pleased with the result. The whole house smelled of pot roast.  And the cranberry sauce didn’t make it overly sweet, after all.   I only wish I had tried a recipe that included potatoes and carrots.  Next time.


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