Here in the Grumpyberry household we usually roast our meats on the Weber (when I say "we" I'm referring to the Grumpy half of the equation. Bloody Ern believed his Baby Girl could do anything but he strongly advised respecting the barbecue as the man's domain.). The Weber does a nice roast and it's healthier too. Not that I'll go on too much, lest I start sounding like an advertisement for a George Foreman Grill. Except for Webers.
Anyway, the last couple of days have been a trifle grouchy chez nous. The Grumpy and the berry have been hyphenated rather than joined as one.
Watch in amazement as I bring these disparate threads together.
When I got home this evening I saw that we had a lump of beef sitting in the fridge waiting to be cooked. I didn't know what time Grumpy would be home so I turned on the oven, bunged the cow in there with some veggies and about an hour and a half later I dished it up to a most pleased and appreciative husband, who showed his gratitude by even eating his greens.
"Well, old girl, that was the best roast this house has ever seen. You've pretty much put the kibosh on any future Weber activity."
He's a crazy romantic at heart. Looks like we'll stick it out for a while longer. Yes, where tears, raised voices and recriminations fail, potato skins cooked until they're crisp in bubbling animal fat well and truly save the day.