No, it isn’t a recipe this time. I made pot roast today, however, and every time I do it reminds me of mom. Thinking back to my childhood, there is one prominent, consistent thing about our week. A big Sunday dinner. Mom would always wake up and get everything prepared, usually in her robe, curlers and pantyhose, before we went to church. A big favorite was pot roast. In fact, the only Sunday meals I remember really are the pot roasts and the fried chicken. They were always accompanied by mashed potatoes and gravy. Mom would peel the potatoes ahead of time and let them sit in a bowl of water in the fridge. Dad always did the mashing when the potatoes were done. Most often we would have green beans and corn with the pot roast. The pot roast was always slow cooked in the crock pot with onions. Mom liked the outside part of her roast to be a little dry.
Whenever we came home from church, the house smelled like pot roast. It was heaven to divest myself of church clothes and don an apron to help mom with the sunday dinner. Also with the frequent pot roasts were the frequent dinner guests. I cannot tell you how many thousand missionaries ate at our home for Sunday dinner.
So it is a thing of nostalgia to cook pot roast for dinner at my home. The aroma of the baking meat transports me back to a more innocent time.