On the afternoon of the dinner, he prepped the meat. He scored the fat, massaged it with coarse sea salt, cracked black pepper, and minced rosemary, just like he remembered Clara doing. He placed it in the oven and sat on a wooden kitchen stool, staring at the oven door as if he could cook it faster with pure willpower.
Every ten minutes, his anxiety spiked. Is the oven too hot? Did I season it enough? What if it's gray and overcooked? buy rib roast
When he picked up the roast from the butcher, it looked intimidating. It was a massive, beautiful, marble-streaked landscape of beef. He drove it home like he was transporting a Faberge egg. On the afternoon of the dinner, he prepped the meat
He pulled out his phone and snapped a quick picture of the perfect slice, texting it to Clara. Every ten minutes, his anxiety spiked