A Sad Story about Gravy

We had a most delicious meal last night. We made the pot roast from the new Cook's Illustrated. It started with a trip to the butcher and ended with disaster.

Saturday we went to the local butcher. I love shopping for our meat at the butcher's shop rather than at the grocery store. The butcher wears his straw hat and striped dress shirt and very helpfully cuts and ties the meat however we like. The meat comes from Scotland and is delicious and makes me feel smug for buying locally and supporting little shops. (I like shopping at the fishmonger's too but that's too expensive most of the time.)

So we took our happy meat home and on Sunday morning we brined it and in the afternoon we cooked it for hours and hours and after it filled the house with the most delicious smell, we made the gravy by blending the vegetables cooked with the meat and then adding back in the skimmed cooking broth. The gravy turned out really, really good. Steve is a bit of a gravy connoisseur and he has selected this as the best gravy of his life.

We cooked two roasts at once, so after dinner I wrapped up the second roast for the freezer and poured most of the gravy into a freezer bag. And then I turned away from the gravy. And I didn't seal the bag. And I turned back and saw the gravy pouring down the cabinet and onto the floor. And I screamed.

It was so sad--a giant mess for Steve to clean up and the loss of sweet, sweet gravy.