Cy was hoping to start grilling season this week but it just won't happen yet. On Saturday a headline in the Metro section of the Oregonian (our "local" newspaper) read "The Big Bright Ball In The Sky Will Go Away". Sadly, their meteorologist was right, and today dawned cloudy.
The recipe Cy chose has to cook for more than three hours but only needs forty five minutes of work. Right now the short ribs are simmering away in a broth of reduced red wine and shallots.
Cy is now adding onions, tomatoes and potatoes to the meat. Thing is Dad got the wrong kind of tomatoes. Luckily, Dad knows that the right kind of tomatoes are much less juicy than the ones he got (it's his job) and Cy is juicing tomatoes over the sink while Dad slices onion and adds the tomatoes to the pot. In addition to the fragrance of meat and red wine, the other two working burners on our stove are occupied with potatoes (to be mashed) and onions, garlic and greens. The meat is almost done with it's three hour simmer, and everything else is ready for consumption. Just a few minutes until we eat.
The short-ribs were amazing. As we were about to dig in, I saw a dog hair floating across the table on an unseen current of air. As it neared my plate it began to drop and landed on top of my short rib. The chunk of meat was promptly split into two halves. Sally must be shedding. The sauce and veggies were excellent, though they were a little salty. The mashed potatoes were excellent as well. They were imparted a light yellow from the cheddar mashed into them and didn't need additional butter. If mashed potatoes had pores, butter would have been oozing from them. The greens too, were a success, I hear, though my tongue was quickly insensitized. Dad went a little overboard while adding the sri-racha. Dad is making crepes for desert.