The roast that went wrong
Posted by Fiona Nevile in Fun | 11 comments
Photo: Sharpener and knife
This happened over 30 years ago when I was living in Chelsea with Smart Wife and Kind Husband.
“Now Fiona I have an old friend coming up from the country for Sunday lunch. She’s a gourmet cook. So the meal has to be excellent.”
Oh fatal words.
Smart Wife opened the fridge door to reveal an enormous joint of beef.
“I went to the expensive butcher in Tite Street. It cost a bomb but I’m sure that it will taste delicious. There’s always a better flavour with a decent sized joint.”
The Sunday dawned. By this stage I’d got into a bit of a flap. I checked the timings and put the joint into the oven after breakfast. Downstairs in my flat I read the recipe again and realised that I’d put the joint in an hour to early. Maths was never my strong point. I shot upstairs and as I was opening the oven door to retrieve the joint Smart Wife drifted past.
“Everything under control?”
“Yes. I’m just sealing the joint.” I had read the term somewhere and it seemed to fit.
Later that morning the ‘sealed’ joint was returned to the oven. At the correct time and the right temperature. It was a galley kitchen with a window overlooking the garden. As I was preparing the vegetables I spotted Smart Wife drift into the garden wearing a floaty dress and marabou feather scarf. She was followed by a short plump lady in country tweeds and sensible shoes.
Kind Husband put his head round the kitchen door.
“Lunch is going to be late, I’m afraid.”
“But the joint is ready.” Back then I didn’t know that a join can happily rest for half and hour somewhere warm.
“Just turn the oven down and hope for the best.”
At that moment I had a sense of impending doom. Would I over cook the cabbage?
When the time came to take the joint out of the oven to rest it was difficult to spot it in the capacious roasting pan. The football sized joint had reduced to something the size of a large scone. It looked ridiculous on the vast serving platter that Smart Wife preferred. Standing on a bar stool I searched through cupboards normally out of reach for me. Eventually I found a dinky little tea plate which balanced the size of the joint well. I notice that it had lost its roast meat softness and clattered when I popped it on the plate. It was like something from Tutenkamen’s tomb.
What on earth had gone wrong?
Smart Wife was not the sort of person that one could whisper,
“I’ve ruined the beef. It might be best to send out for fish and chips.”
I wildly hoped that perhaps the smaller plate would disguise how minute the joint had become. Perhaps it might magically soften during the trip from kitchen to dining room.
She had set up a separate table for carving the joint and was standing with her back to the main table when I stepped in with the horror joint.
I walked with the joint down wind of the Friend from the Country and placed it gingerly on the carving table. Smart Wife was not an easy person at the best of times and was prone to tantrums. With a miniscule flicker she grabbed the knife sharpener and with long sweeping movements slid the sharpener along the knife.
Meanwhile I busied myself with bringing in the vegetables and gravy. When I finally sat down Smart Wife was still struggling like Tom Thumb and Hunca Munca with the dolls house food. The Friend from the Country leant back in her chair and announced,
“Would you like a hand with that. I’m a sey-oup-er carver.”
There was an abrupt pause followed by the doom laden words,
“Well it’s not the knife.”
Smart Wife eventually managed to hack the beef into quarters like a cake. I can’t remember what it tasted like but we sat in silence, politely chomping. I do remember that this was the first time that I enjoyed eating cabbage as it was so much easier to cut and swallow than the dusky little hunk of meat.
The joint was never mentioned but I don’t remember ever cooking beef again.
Leave a reply
Reminds me of the first time my parents were coming to my flat for Sunday supper…
I’d never cooked a roast anything in all of my 23 years.
Well, I bought what I thought was a lovely piece of beef. I bunged it in the oven at about noonish thinking I’d give it a nice long slow roast and it ought to be ready by five o’clock….
Come Five o’clock,I took out the roast and began to carve it up.
Horrors of all horrors it began to bleed and practically mooed at me!
Needless to say I had to ask mum what to do. Nearly thirty years later it still terrifies me.
The horror joint..I burst out laughing.
So sorry for your plight. lol
Hello Kate
Burnt cabbage – yuk!
I suspect it’s the cook’s revenge on a family not willing to help. I didn’t know that it was possible to burn cabbage. Even I didn’t manage to do that in Chelsea.
Hi Chris
I’m sorry but I don’t have any tips as D cooks all our roasts. I do know that his beef recipes have had rave reviews on the blog.
Hello Dee
I loved your story! Thanks for sharing.
Hi Tamar
It was so ghastly that I can still see snapshots of the scene all these years later.
I must check out the meat thermometer route – thanks for the tip.
Thank goodness D is roast chef at the cottage.
Fiona, Fiona, I feel your pain.
I seldom cook large cuts of meat, and can’t forge ahead with the confidence I have with other types of cooking. A meat thermometer — the kind with the long lead and the remote read-out — changes everything.
Nevertheless, there was the leg-of-lamb incident. In involved take-out pizza. Sigh.
Ah, I have a story. I never thought I was a good cook and had/have no confidence at all. I’m the type who likes the idea of a dinner party two weeks in advance of the date but upon the guests arrival I wish they would immediately leave. Do you think this is really odd ?
My story goes back 35 years when I was young and when we had brown, oven to table, concrete dinner services and handmade napkins which matched the orange and yellow curtains.
My fella and I were invited to Tony and Rosemary’s for dinner (not their real names). We had beef bourgiewatsit which presented itself as chewy kernals of black bits and globular button mushrooms floating in a thin black gravy, accompanied by huge dry, powdery roast potatoes and some whole carrots. Although the company was sweet, the meal was hard to get through but we managed it and Rosemary beamed as we told those little white lies.
Then came the tour de force ! A gateau of pancake ! Six layers of chewy pancakes spread with lemon curd, and placed thoughtfully, one top the other. It was the hardest thing (so early on in our lives) we had ever had to swallow. It was so dry, so dreadful to dispose of – horrible memories of secreting most parts of school dinners into my gymslip pocket rendered me almost conversationless as I concentrated on getting the pancakes down. Finally, as we put down our forks Tony turned to Rosemary and took her hand
“Darling…” he said “Darling…yet another culinary masterpiece.” Rosemary was beaming again.
They were so in love, Rosemary and Tony, they had two lovely children and fell off the dinner party circuit as did I, but Tony died young and Rosemary has been a widow for 20 years now. Oh, isn’t life sad sometimes !
Sorry about my little story, it did vaguely have something to do with beef didn’t it ?!
I regularly cook rib of beef, but I always have one problem – the outer strip of meat, which carries the fat, always overcooks and becomes much tougher than the central “eye” of flesh. Do you have any tips, please?
The people who live at the end of my garden cook family Sunday lunches once a month or so,their kitchen door is very close to the fence which in turn is quite close to the greenhouse,so the lunch cooking smells waft over the fence to me in the greenhouse. I’ve learned to leave the greenhouse as soon as the vegetable cooking smells start. The roast cooking smell is lovely, but the veg…I’m very,very glad I do not eat Sunday lunch there, burnt cabbage EVERY time. I can only assume she has never checked up how to cook cabbage properly or they like it that way or it is the cook’s revenge on her family. Whatever the motivation, is smells VILE and boy, does it linger…
Veronica, I agree. I squirm at each retelling of these true stories. It seems incredible, looking back, that Fiona was not fired after three days! I think that couple were very kind to her but there was another agenda afoot – a very kind one.
Oh, Barney, what a shame.
I do not believe that you cannot cook roast beef. I think that, like me, you were never shown how to do it. That’s all.
Do not lose faith and remember that it is all in the temperature and timings. Fiona never cooks Sunday lunch if we have guests, only because she can get distracted by conversations.
As the cook, you have to concentrate. It’s just like cooking veggies. But it’s not a secret or a black art.
my late mother cooked the most amazing beef her trick was to rarely clean the roasting pan, i on the other hand cannot cook beef in any way, shape or form. it does’nt seem to matter how much i spend on the joint it is always inedible. my youngest daughter who can barely boil water can cook beef just like her nan. obviously a generation once removed thing!!
ooh, I was cringing for you as I neared the end! How embarrassing. I love your stories of Smart wife and Kind Husband though, and you must have learned such a lot while you were there.