The lazy, lazy days—of November?

 

Those lazy, hazy days belong to summer. It’s November, and we’re all supposed to be busy with work and school and elections and holiday preparations—and even keeping dry and warm. But I have had two delicious, lazy days in a row, and I relished them.

Yesterday I woke up with the sure sense that if I didn’t do a thing, nothing in the world would stop or crash and crater, not even anything in my own small world. It was a hazy, rainy day—a slow, gentle rain, the kind of day to inspire laziness. There was not a thing on my calendar. My family was to be gone for supper. I had hard-boiled eggs for quick egg salad for lunch and the gift of split pea soup for supper, from a friend who knows how I love it. Sure, I had a Gourmet on the Hot Plate blog to write and another scene in my Irene book I wanted to get done, but really, what bad thing would happen if I didn’t do those things.

(That reminds me of a story—when Colin, my oldest, was about three, he said, “Ann says if you don’t eat breakfast, something bad will happen. What?” Ann was a friend who lived with us for a while. I absolutely had no answer for his question.)

Today was not quite so lazy, but close. We got to talking the other night about pot roast, specifically one I’ve done for years with cream of mushroom soup, red wine, and dry onion soup. (I am not one of those cooks who gets self-righteous about not cooking with prepared soups—I love them in lots of recipes!) Jordan said she was hungry for it, Mary offered to shop for the roast, and I found myself committed to making it for Friday night supper. Just to check the cooking time, I looked up a recipe and found some changes. Besides, I’m not sure I had ever done a pot roast in my tiny kitchen. Not a problem, I thought.

Turns out the problem, like so many, was not in the actual doing but in the anticipation. Sophie woke me from a sound sleep a bit after two in the morning. By the time I got her out and in and went back to bed, I couldn’t sleep. I swear I cooked that pot roast twenty times in my head. And I kept worrying about being tired because I hadn’t slept—surely a familiar worry to many of us. (My mom used to reassure me that I had really slept and didn’t realize it, and to this day I tend to believe Mom.) I even got up earlier than usual to get the darn thing cooking.

I browned the meat in a heavy pan first, and there began my problems. A three-pound chuck roast can be pretty unwieldy when you’ve lost strength in your arms (torn rotator cuffs) and hands (age). Besides between my seated walker and the hot plate on the counter, the angle is awkward. I splashed grease all over myself just getting it into the pan. Fortunately, I had the bright idea to move the pan to my work surface to transfer the meat to a plate, add the veggies and sauce and herbs, and put the meat on top. But between fighting with the meat and chopping the vegetables, it took me well over an hour to get the silly thing cooking on the hot plate.

Problem: the hot plate cooks for an hour and then turns off automatically—a safety measure, I know, to ensure you don’t walk away and forget it. So, every hour I heard it beep, got up, turned it back on, and reset the cooking temperature. Even during my nap—Mom’s theory again: I would tell you I didn’t sleep but I sure dozed. I put the roast on at ten; at five, it was not done. But by seven, it was fork tender and delicious. My favorite part? The carrots. Do not talk to me about InstaPots. My good friend Mary is always telling me how easy it would be to do in an InstaPot, but I like the old-fashioned long cooking, and I have time to do it.

But once the roast was cooking, my day was free. It was another drizzly, dark day, which didn’t make me feel ambitious. I read emails, explored social media, wrote about 500 words—and napped of course.

Jordan’s friend, Chandry, came for happy hour, stayed for pot roast supper, and we had a delightful time. Chandry and her husband have become very active in University Christian Church, so we had a lot of church talk, family talk, food talk. And bonus: everyone loved the pot roast.

So now, it’s late, and Sophie and I are getting ready to wrap up the day. Tomorrow brings light cooking—Jean is coming for supper, and I had promised her salmon but have changed the menu. Hope she doesn’t mind. And maybe Colin will help me figure out why I still can’t get on to the Central Market website. I have solved a couple of smaller computer problems myself (makes me so proud!) and Christian solved an annoying one for me tonight.

I’m ready for some sunshine tomorrow. How about you? Chandry reported that her husband is hunting in West Texas and it’s snowing. He loves it. I’m glad it’s in West Texas and not Fort Worth.