Tag Archives: roast

Balsamic Pot Roast with Blueberries and Thyme

I threatened to make this dish in this post, and make it I did, using up one of the two gigantic arm roasts from my grandfather that had been occupying valuable freezer space for far too long. And was it ever good! I give all credit to the creator of the recipe over at The Noshery, because it never would have occurred to me to add blueberries to a pot roast. They give the final dish a fun kind of tang that complemented the already rich and savory flavors that always come with roasting meat for hours and hours. I have also never tasted such delicious onions. Some heavenly chemistry involving the balsamic vinegar happened, and the onions are both melt-in-your-mouth and chock full of flavor. Chock! Full! And the carrots . . . ooooh! Oh. *fanning self* OK.

I won’t talk about the amazingness of the mushrooms at all, because I might start crying. Plus, you’ve heard me rave about mushrooms far too often by now.

With some (but not many) variations on the original, here it is. Your fall experience won’t be complete without a good pot roast, so you might as well make this one since it will fulfill your taste buds’ every dream and longing.

Ingredients

(Serves 7-8)

1-3 lb  to 4 lb roast (chuck roast or arm roast)

1/2 c flour, optional

1/4 c Olive oil, divided

2 large onions

5 large carrots

6 oz baby portobello mushrooms

10 cloves garlic

1/2 c balsamic vinegar

3/4 c beef broth

1/3 c wine (I used sweet white wine)

16 oz tomato sauce

2 c fresh blueberries

Salt and pepper, to taste

3 TBS fresh thyme leaves plus 3 sprigs to garnish

First, preheat the oven to 275 degrees.

Quarter the onions, chop each carrot into 4-5 pieces, smash the garlic cloves (I leave them whole) and remove the skin, and thickly slice the mushrooms. I like to use nice, meaty mushrooms for this:

Pull the thyme leaves off of their stems:

Heat some of the olive oil in a large Dutch oven over medium high heat. When it’s hot, add the onions and carrots. Sprinkle them with some salt and pepper–you know you want to. And does anyone else adore licking some freshly ground pepper straight out of your palm?

Huh. I could have sworn I wasn’t alone there . . .

Cook them for 6-7 minutes, until they’re nicely browned, and then take them out and set them aside in a bowl.

OK, those weren’t as ‘nicely browned’ as they could have been–but I was huuungry! And dinner was still hours and hours away!

Add a little more olive oil to the pot. Still on medium high heat, add the mushrooms and garlic . . .

. . . and fry 4-5 minutes until golden.

Remove them as well. Try not to eat every single one–it would make your life a wonderful and perfect place in the moment, but it would also really detract from the final dish. Choose the delayed gratification route! Abstinence always! It’s the more mature option.

OK, and sneak a little bite in, too–I mean, what’s the fun in complete mushroom self denial?

Sprinkle generous amounts of salt and pepper all over the roast. This is optional, but you can also give it a light coating of white flour, which will later help to thicken the sauce into something more like a gravy. Add the rest of the olive oil to the pot, and when it’s heated, add the roast.

Sear on all sides so that it’s a dark brown color all over. This should take about 8-10 minutes.

Remove the roast to a plate or bowl.

With the burner still on medium high, add the vinegar, wine, and broth. You can totally use red wine here–that was my first instinct. You know–red meat, red wine. However, all I had was some sweet white wine left over from making Pasta Fresca, and that was also delicious, so don’t be a discriminator. You can’t go wrong with wine when it comes to a roast. I love all the colors!

Stir and bring to a rapid simmer, scraping the bottom to collect all the brown bits that add flavor to the sauce. Add the tomato sauce:

Add the blueberries . . .

. . . and the thyme leaves, too. I love pictures of things falling into pots.

Cook this little concotion for a couple minutes longer.

Add the roast back into the pot, submerging it in the sauce. Add in all the veggies as well.

Stir them around to envelope them in the sauce.

Now cover the pot, and put it in the oven for 3-4 hours. I cooked my 3 lb roast for at least 4 hours and it was perfect. I’ve heard that you should do about an hour per pound of meat . . . is that right, Oh Experienced Cooks? (Mom?)

Those of you who read about my arm roast dilemma know that at this point, a second roast was also going into the oven:

Oh, the terrible and wonderful bounty.

But let’s get back to the dish that has brought us all together here today. Here’s what it looks like when it first comes out:

Your job is to stick a fork in there, pull the meat to the surface, and see if it’s done. You can do that by pulling it gently apart with two forks. If it comes apart easily, it’s dinner time, baby.

If not, slap her back into the oven for another hour while shouting “Now don’t you come back out until you’re done, you hear me?” That usually puts some sense into that pot roast. Plus it shows it who’s boss around here. Once it’s done, you can remove the meat to a platter for easy serving (the pieces of fat usually detach themselves and are easy to spot, fish out, and throw away). Just make sure to pour plentiful juice all over the meat as you serve it.

The onions are TO DIE FOR. Seriously, these onions need to be on the forefront of your thoughts as you walk away from this post.

The meat is so tender that there is no need for a knife at all. 

Serve over rice, noodles, or potatoes. Please forgive me for the slight blurriness in the below pictures. And please–don’t punish the roast for my personal and photographic failures! Make the roast! Love the roast!

Click here for printer-friendly version: Balsamic Pot Roast with Blueberries and Thyme

And the one shall become two

My grandfather Big Jake has been sending us large quantities of random groceries since the year 2004. Big Jake takes great pride in being resourceful and finding a ‘great deal,’ so frequently he will ship us marinades and dressings that have just passed their expiration date, cans and cans of food with dents in them that were sold for a few cents each after getting damaged in transit in some truck, and bulk quantities of flour, sugar, and oats. Big Jake also loves buying gigantic pieces of meat, and saves them in his own freezer until the time comes to provide for one of his grandchildren. And when it’s our turn, you never know what kind of bounty will spring forth. A duck. 10 million pounds of ground beef. A huge frozen mass of pink which upon further investigation ended up being 20-some odd chicken breasts. I call it ‘the pink plank,’ and I’m terrified of defrosting the monster. You can’t receive a Big Jake grocery shipment without having to pick your jaw up off the floor. And fill up your coat closet with the overflow that doesn’t fit in the pantry.

There have been joys and challenges, laughter and tears, butter sent through the postal service, and spaghetti sauce to last a lifetime, which I always need on hand to throw together my topmost go-to meal.

All this said, about 4 months ago Big Jake sent us two gigantic (almost 5 lb) cuts of meat called “arm roast.” The name of this slab of animal flesh made me pause to ponder some of the deeper questions of the universe. I mean, what the heck is an arm roast? Is there any situation in which you would say “that cow has a nice fat arm”? Aren’t they . . . legs? Any ranchers out there who can clarify this point?

I apologize for this illustration. It seemed a necessity at the time I made it.

Considering the package said “Content: beef,” I chose to move on and ask no further questions. Ignorance can be bliss, as long as it doesn’t kill you via food poisoning–and I’m happy to report that it didn’t.

Our freezer situation was in emergency status. With the 2 arm roasts, the duck he sent us, the tablet of chicken breasts, plus other sundry large items, it hadn’t been able to house ice cream for about a year. It was getting ridiculous, and it was time to clear some space out and cook that dang arm roast. The first arm roast, that is.

Things looked promising. The meat smelled great as it browned, the oven was preheating, and I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into the tender, falling-apart pieces of beef that the next few hours held in store for us. However, when it became obvious that the arm roast would never in any dimension of space or time be able to fit into the Dutch oven along with the carrots, onions, mushrooms, and sauce, I was forced to reconfigure my plans.

I tallied up the facts:

Fact #1: There was no way I was refreezing any part of that roast. The whole point was ice-cream space in the freezer, and we were not jeopardizing that in any scenario.

Fact #2: Forcing all the meat into the one pot would have resulted in an oven explosion that may well have brought about the end of the USA as we know it.

The simple answer to all my problems came to me in a flash:

And the one shall become two.

It was the only solution. Plus, it sounded biblical, so that pretty much sealed the deal. One roast became two roasts. I broke out my other cast iron pot (also from Big Jake’s basement) and made a second roast, improvising with some onion, some apples, some ginger, and some Asian seasonings. And that, my friends, is how I came to have two big roasts in the oven this past Sunday afternoon. Two whole roasts–for a household of two. One for me, one for my husband.

I would like to report that we will be eating roast for the next month, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Amen and amen.

I will be sharing the recipe for Roast #1 next Thursday, and it is de-licious. I can further vouch for it because it has stood the test of time as I have eaten it over and over again this week. In fact, I will probably be eating it tonight as well, and I’m actually . . . *honest self examination in process* . . . looking forward to it. And that says a lot about a recipe.

Have a great weekend everyone! Sleep in a little, drink a delicious coffee, and work a gigantic bowl of popcorn into your Saturday night. Or whatever floats your boat, really. This weekend, a wine tasting at our friend Cassia‘s house is going to float my boat. This weekend, a good douse of Baileys in my coffee is going to float my boat. And I may even con my husband into giving me a foot massage (conning husband=putting on a cute little alien face and smacking his butt until he agrees to whatever you’re asking) (marital advice at no extra charge).