Sunday Pot Roast

When I ask my parents what they want me to cook for them, pot roast is always the first request. Since Dad is responsible for the meals these days, he goes the easy route with jarred pasta sauce, frozen dinners, and grilled meats. He loves a good roast, but has no desire to cook one.

So I cooked a roast for Father's Day dinner, like every Sunday of my childhood, and it was extremely good. This is something I learned from my mom and it is always a winner.

I'm sorry to say that the only photo I was able to take was prior to going into the oven because I was busy frying squash when it came out.



Here is the way I cook a Sunday Pot Roast

1 2 1/2 to 3 lb boneless chuck roast
1/2 cup Dale's Steak Sauce
3 Tbs Worchestershire Sauce
1 cup Coke
1 extra large or 2 medium onions
6 small or 4 large carrots
6 medium potatoes*
2 Tbs vegetable oil
Salt
Pepper
Flour

Salt & pepper roast and dredge in flour. Pour oil in bottom of cast iron dutch oven and heat to medium high. Brown sides of roast and add vegetables and liquids. Place in 300 degree oven for 2 hours. (We like our roast beef well done, cook it for less if you like it pink).

Serves 6

*If I use red potatoes, I use 2 - 3 per person.

And I would like to share some of the beauty from my Dad's back yard. He has a green thumb, a gene that somehow didn't make it to my sister and I.

I love the hydrangeas that border the deck.





And the gardenias (far enough away so as to not give one a headache).



And these, which thanks to my online buddy Becky (DecoLady), it turns out is Aphrodite Rose of Sharon.



Not shown is the tree that fell during a storm on Saturday.

Father's Day Carrot Cake

I gave my dad a beautiful bird bath for Father's Day and he really liked it. He's still watching for the birds to find it, though. So Saturday morning I asked him what he wanted me to cook for Sunday. His menu: pot roast with potatoes and carrots and onions, green beans and fried squash from the garden, cantaloupe. He pointed to a brownie mix in the pantry and suggested I make it for dessert.

"I could do that," I responded, "but I was thinking about making a carrot cake."

His eyes lit up and he smiled. "Really? Would you do that?"

You see, I know that my dad with the super sweet tooth has an all-time favorite dessert and that is Carrot Cake. And the fact that I was willing to make one for him thrilled him to no end.

So I took Mom to Tuesday Morning and then headed to Publix. She is almost as slow in the motorized cart as she is with her walker. And the basket kept filling up with things at her eye level. Ranch dressing, olive oil, syrup, etc. We got our shopping done and headed home.

I started grating carrots after lunch. If you've never made carrot cake, you have to know that you can't use the food processor to grate your carrots...you have to use a box grater. I used a recipe from Bon Appetite given to me by an online buddy, Diane. And I followed her advice and cut the oil from 1 1/2 cups to 1/2 cup and used 1 cup of applesauce.

I'm not big on cake baking. I'm not really very good. But this cake was quite tasty. It even looked halfway decent.



Just a little lopsided. Not too bad.

Father's Day Memories

Those who know me, know I have placed my father on a very tall pedestal, and I know of nothing in my life he has done to be knocked off. So I wanted to share a few of the memories that are part of the reason he resides in such high altitudes.

Before my sister was born, my parents had a schedule. My mom rode to work in the mornings with some friends and Dad would drop me off at the babysitters (my grandmother and childless aunt). He would pick me up each evening. These short trips were full of wonderful, childish conversation, knock-knock jokes, and songs. When we arrived home each evening, Mom would be preparing dinner. After dinner, Dad would bathe me and get me ready for bed while Mom cleaned the kitchen. Both parents took turns reading to me before bed. Saturdays, Dad and I would curl up in the den to watch cartoons.

During my school years, Dad would sit to hear me read about Dick, Jane, and Sally or help me with my spelling, or my math. And he loved the history. Each evening while Mom did Mom stuff in the kitchen, I would sit on the back of the couch, legs draped over each of his shoulders, and comb his hair while outlining my day. He taught me how to ride a bike and to drive a car and shoot a rifle. He refereed during those horrible teen years when Mom and I couldn't look at each other without either shouting or crying. My Dad always told me he would never judge me as long as he knew I was doing the best I could.

When his older brothers and sisters needed help, he helped. He lent money, gave them places to stay, helped them move, lent them cars. When my cousins were in trouble, they called him instead of their own parents. When my mother's sister's husband had a stroke, my dad would spend nights at the hospital with him so my aunt could rest. When Mom's other sister's husband had DTs and had to be admitted into rehab, my dad took him. When his brother's widow needed medical attention and could not be left to live alone, she came to live with us.

Over the years, my dad has become quite an expert and funeral arrangements. He has helped to plan the funerals of my grandmother, two aunts, and four uncles.

He is physically strong, stronger than men half his age. And emotionally. He is the rock in my life, and the saviour in my mother's life. He is her life these days. He fixes her hair when he has too, helps her bathe and helps her dress, takes her shopping and makes her exercise. He cooks...something he has never wanted to do nor enjoyed. He cleans. He mops and vacuums. He tends his yard and his garden.

And he loves us. So much. He gives great hugs. And even as I approach the half century mark, he is my Daddy!