Roast beef for beginners, part I: 1950s style.

I am a good cook, but for some reason I am absurdly bad at a few easy things.  One of these is roasting whole birds or big chunks of meat.

Up till now I have dealt with this by buying birds already reduced to a pile of parts, and meat already reduced to steaks, chops, cubes, and ribs.

Occasionally we would order a quarter-beef for the freezer, and I would gaily tell the processor on the phone, "No roasts please, just steaks and stew beef," and out of the corner of my eye I would see Mark's face fall a bit.  

+ + + 

I have decided that to celebrate 20 years of marriage to my uncomplaining husband, and my acquisition of an Instant Pot two Christmases ago, and also because I have been tired and suspect I could use a little more iton in my diet, I am going to learn how to make roast beef without screwing it up.

I will do this in my usual systematic way, like the time I decided to learn how to be a beer drinker, by experimentation many times.

Today, despite being a decent cook for 35 years, I made the first one.  Come along with me...

+ + +

As soon as I made up my mind to work my way through the world of roast beef, I knew exactly which recipe I was going to start with:  the "Forgotten Roast" from this article which is one of my favorite local foodie articles ever.  In this article, six local uber-hipster food writers get together to cook a dinner-party menu from a 1969 socialite cookbook.  The roast beef in the recipe features onion soup mix and condensed cream of celery soup.  In other words, it is roast beef like Grandma used to make.   

The writers don't know what to make of the roast, about which it is written, "Before serving, you will find it has made its own gravy:"  

I keep referring to this as the “autogenerating gravy.” Everyone was skeptical about the dehydrated soup and cream of celery. These are the key ingredients in the sorts of mediocre casseroles and hot dishes that are said to autogenerate in church basements.

I'm not sure, but I think something very similar also made an appearance in Peg Bracken's I Hate To Cook Book, profiled here by Bon Appétit a few years ago.  (I have a copy of the 50th anniversary edition around here somewhere.)

 + + +

H. was over for the day, so she got to watch me assemble this monstrosity right after lunch.

This is a three-and-a-half pound chuck roast.  You dry it off and place it on a piece of heavy-duty aluminum foil.  You do not brown it.  Instead you sprinkle it all over with a packet of onion soup mix.  

I thought maybe Mark might go all exotic and get the Knorr, but knope, it's Lipton.

Then you open a can of cream of celery soup.  The recipe says "pour," but you can't exactly pour condensed cream of celery soup.  I spooned blobs of soup globs onto the roast.  I couldn't stop myself from saying "Blob" every time I added a spoonful, which made H. laugh.   Then I sort of frosted the roast with it.

I texted a picture of the roast to Mark.

 

"I remember liking roasts" amused both H and me.

Anyway, then you wrap the roast up tightly in the foil and put it inside a roaster, or in my case an enameled cast iron Dutch oven, in which it just barely fit.  I snapped this picture before I put the lid on.

Then it goes in the oven at 275° F for four to five hours.  A convenient recipe for Thursdays, when I am home all day but very busy.

+ + +

After schoolwork was over I made mashed potatoes and added an oiled tray of asparagus to the oven to roast for 30-40 minutes alongside.  When it was time for dinner I pulled the Dutch oven out and called to H., who was getting her coat on, "Do you want to see the big reveal before you go?"

She came over and first I fiddled with my fingertips trying to unfold the foil, then gave up and cut it open with a knife.  Inside was a mottled, soft, brown mass of gravy-pooled beef, here and there dotted with a residual dab of pale from the cream of celery soup.

It did not really look very appetizing.  I put the knife in it to cut it—and discovered that the knife went right into it and sliced it with nearly no resistance.

How do I serve this?  I had expected to turn it out onto a cutting board for slicing.  I burned my fingers trying to lift the foil package out of the pot.  Eventually I just sliced it by poking the knife (like buttah) down into the foil over and over, and then used tongs to extract the slices, which fell apart into tender shreds as I transferred them into a serving dish.  The pale globs melted away and left behind a beautiful brown gravy.  I strained the gravy through a colander (because of the chunks of celery), and poured it, glossy and thick, over the roast beef.

It was... amazing?  I don't know if I would say that exactly, but the children all used that word.  Mark was happy, and extolled the virtues of Midwestern midcentury cooking.  "Not to disparage the wonders of living in the city where we can walk to upscale modern restaurants any time we want," he said, but 
I like roast beef.  I like pancakes.  I like good ordinary food."  

"This is the best," said my daughter.  "Never make any other kind of beef again."  She wrinkled her nose.  "Short ribs are not as good as this."

Here is what the hipsters at The Heavy Table had to say about their own dinner-party roast:

The star of the evening to that point, though, was unquestionably the Forgotten Roast and its autogenerative gravy. True to Mrs. Randolph’s promise, we opened the foil, and there it was – a tender, juicy and altogether perfect roast, lying in a pool of gravy. It is the simplest, most foolproof recipe imaginable. And yet it’s so perfect. A few weeks later, in fact, I tried it again with reverse-engineered fresh ingredients – a cream soup made from scratch with fresh celery in a food processor, and a homemade dry onion soup mix. It was OK, but nowhere near as good as what I got from pouring stuff out of a can and a paper packet. Our grandparents my have been onto something with this one.

Yes, I think so.  

We ate well over half of the three-and-a-half pound roast for dinner.  I will definitely make this again—after I have tried some other techniques for comparison.  Next up... something with (non-dehydrated) onions and carrots in it.  But not until we've finished digesting this one, i.e., sometime in the middle of next week at least.

Comments

[Colette]

I'm turned off to roasts and beef stew because my parents made it midcentury style a la my grandmother -- who abhors garlic and pretty much only seasons with salt and pepper. Occasionally, she'll go wild with some seasoned salt. I wish they would have discovered the tin foil method, because our roasts were always dry as can be. After a few days of avoiding it as a leftover, it usually got ground. Add some relish and mayo, throw it between some bread, and you've got yourself a little lunch.

(You've seen or read "How to Talk Minnesotan", right? http://video.tpt.org/video/2365042610/)

[Tabitha]

I grew up with roasts--every Sunday before church my mom would put either a roast, a ham, or Chicken and rice (dry rice, chicken parts on top, covered in reconstituted cream of mushroom) in the oven for Sunday dinner when we got home. I don't think my mom ever did this particular thing, so I may have to try it--but roast with carrots and mashed potatoes is my all-time favorite comfort food. I definitely grew up with the midwest food--my parents met and married in the Dakotas.
I'm going to enjoy reading this series! I have always made a good roast, but maybe I'll mix it up!

[Erin]

This is going to be a fun series. I make a roast nearly every Sunday. Historically it included gravy and mashed potatoes, but since children I've mastered the art of perfect potatoes, carrots and onions in with it for a one pot meal. It does require some fiddling though and adding the vegetables at different times, rotating them, etc. Our other very easy standby is a roast in the crockpot with Au Jus packet over the top and then serve it as french dips. I'd love to change it up with some variety though!

[bearing]

Next will be a French pot roast. Next week!

[Rachel Williams]

Oh my goodness, the memories! A variant of this was one of the first things I learned to cook as an 8 year old(in my cookbook prowling I've found this category was EVERYWHERE in the 70's). My version came from a Better Homes and Gardens cookbook and involved placing the chuck roast in a pan with carrots and potatoes around the edges. You then mixed an envelope of onion soup mix and a can of cream of mushroom, which you dabbed on everything , then covered the lot in foil. I did not believe I had ever tasted anything better; the seasonings permeated the veggies and the meat was juicy and fall apart tender. My mother (an immigrant who did not understand and had no affection for the holiday) allowed me to make it for Thanksgiving dinner and I was over the moon. I have not eaten it since somewhere around the Bicentennial but I may have to try it again. Thanks for the reminder.

[Stephanie]

I loved Peg Bracken's I hate to cook book and its sequel and learned to cook using it. I loved the humour. In New Zealand we didn't have many convenience foods in the 70s- at least not the ones mentioned in the book- but the Cockeyed Cake was a favourite:http://honestcooking.com/the-worlds-easiest-chocolate-cake-recipe/
I would count it as one of the all time most valuable recipes. I can make a plate of mini chocolate cup-cakes in 15 minutes from scratch.I don't ice them (frost) but sprinkle chocolate morsels on before baking. It has saved me a million times when I need nice food fast- a potluck, hungry children, unexpected guests, a loved one in need of a treat...