James Attempts an “Easy” Roast

Last weekend, I went to visit my parents who live in Kingston. As soon as I walked through the door and collapsed on my mothers bed,  she decided it would be an opportune time to each me how to cook what she refers to as an “Easy Roast.”

I was not particularly interested in cooking on this particular day, for particular reasons. Fortunately, what she showed me how to cook was simple. In fact, I am cooking it at my own home as I am type this up. This is the way she instructed me to cook it.

First, I took a big piece of meat, and generously applied garlic, and rubbed it thoroughly on either side of the roast. I would’ve added some other seasoning of my own, but I stuck with garlic for now. My mother was very impressed that I knew how to break up and mince garlic, even though I didn’t need to mince it for the roast. I neglected to tell her I had read about it while cooking Italian breaded pork chops the night before, and acted like it was one of the many little things I’ve acquired this quarter, when in fact it may be one of five things I’ve actually learned.  

I then plopped it into a deep pan and  seared the steak as one normally would while pan frying. I put some onion soup mix, which is produced by Lipton, who I had assumed only made tea up to this point, on top of the roast. Then I poured a significant amount of Pepsi/Coke into the pan, to about the height of the meat. I do not know what this technique is called, but I do know that the acids in cola, which can cause a rusty pipe to actually deteriorate when poured down it, acts as a meth-like tenderizer on the meat. Then I turned over the piece of meat every 30 minutes or so, for about two and a half hours, refilling the pan with Pepsi/Coke as it descended during the cooking. I even took a nap at one point while cooking. I tossed some canned potatoes and canned carrots in, something I’d likely never do at home. And that’s about it. Cook it until you’re sick of getting up every so often. Or until you get hungry.

Here’s the thing. Since the beginning of this contract, I’ve drilled it into my head, through external and internal influences, that cooking is something that takes knowledge and true ability to do, not just drive and gusto. I’ve believed that good meals are exclusively filled with complicated directions, sophisticated and foreign techniques and a list of ingredients longer than the original manuscript for On The Road (And I make that reference while never have enjoyed reading Kerouac. I’ll expound on this later.) Basically, I have misinformed myself. My ADD convinced me that cooking is something that kids who grew up playing videogames, smoking pot and reading Dave Eggers would never quite get together – kind of like their lives. The things I’ve used to identify myself with never typically involved sentences like “Grown men don’t…” or “You’ll thank me when you’re older…”  because I never imagined myself getting older. Which I really haven’t yet, but nonetheless I am at the age where I can still change my habits without embarassing growing pains and some future significant other laughing on the inside when I admit I can’t cook something as simple as pasta. Because who wants that, except for the respected people who have a stake in the financial interest in Totinos Party Pizza’s? Motherfuckers have the ORIGINAL Crisp Crust!

Tony's

 

Basically I thought that the more complicated something is, the better is. This is very untrue. To quote my homeboy Thoreau “Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity.” The best things in life are simple. Imagine anything in life you enjoy that is relatively simple. Now make it really complicated? Any better. No. It’s not. So stop imagining, you look ridiculous.

ANYWAY, this roast ended up being extremely tender, not dry as I wrongly imagined (this was before I discovered Cokes acidic qualities,) and filled with a robust taste. Sometimes the simplest recipes, built on a foundation of solid ingredients, can create the best meal. It doesn’t need a French name, and a mature cooking method. That is done only in order to impress myself and to convince myself I am a sophisticated and mature cook. Which I am obviously not, because I can’t imagine one complicated or exotic cooking method. Besides braising. But I haven’t learned anything additionally about that besides it’s name, because I’m stuck on how bad-ass the name sounds. A final note: I think this romanticized version of cooking I’ve described, if it is in fact real, is a lot like The Beats writing movement. Overwrought, senselessly excessive and masturbatory- it’s enjoyed solely by the person creating it. The lesson learned:  Good food is simply good food. And my goal is to be a good competent cook, not some fancy sophisticated cook. At least not yet.

P.S. I just burned the Coke because I was working out a sentence, and not because I am kind of drunk. You don’t even want to imagine what burned Coke smells like. It’s like the smell of vomit at a carnival on the Tilt-A-Whirl, but combined with a swampy brackish smell and also combined with burnt enamel at the dentist. Hope you’re hungry!