Ground Beef

Many years ago, three sisters and their mother, would come together during a special weekend in the autumn part of the year.  This weekend was spent traveling all over the county, in the Land of Pike, to see the wares of local artisans.  On the last day of this special time, their mother would have sandwiches ready for their late afternoon meal.  The sandwich filling was beef spread.  It was made with a can of cooked beef and boiled eggs, that were pushed through one of those old grinders that clamped on the table......the old fashioned food processor... mayo and a bit of pickle relish.  It was the only time of the year the three sisters would have such a delightful and tasty sandwich because no one could make it quite like their mother..........

As I was working on a future work of art, I heard the timer on the stove beep.  It always beeps one minute before the time is up.  It was at this same time the Voice, that lives in my head, walked past the door in full fireman gear.  I rolled my eyes and headed for the stove, proving to the Voice that I had everything under control.  I had purchased a lovely cut of beef, a managers special,with a lovely price,  to have for supper that evening.  We do not eat a lot of beef, except for hamburger.  The main reason for that is not the cost.  It's the fact that my husband only likes it fixed the way his mother fixed it, which was always marinated with her special blend of soy sauce and spices.  I know the blend, but I tend to not think that far ahead.  I usually think about what we will have for supper somewhere about 2 in the afternoon.  Marinated beef needs to soak at least overnight.

I had an excellent idea for this cut of meat.  Instead of marinating it, I cut it into large chunks, rubbed each piece with the blend of spices and soy sauce, seared each side in a large cast iron skillet and poured in some broth.  I then reduced the heat to simmer, put a lid on the skillet and set the timer......for an hour.  

As I approached the stove, I could see a faint trail of what was not steam, escaping from beneath the edge of the lid.  I picked the lid up just enough to see that I could not see the meat for the smoke.  Knowing how this works from past experiences, I slammed the lid back down and went into high speed, super woman mode.  As I raced through the front room, the Voice put the oxygen mask on and turned on the tank.  

My first mission was to get the fan and point it at the smoke alarm.  Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, goes berserk when the smoke alarm goes off and I didn't need him in the mix of cooking madness.  Then I raced around the apartment opening patio doors at each end.  Once that was accomplished, I ran back to the stove, turned on the range hood fan and removed the lid.  Yep, my broth was all gone and my lovely pieces of beef were welded to the bottom of the skillet.  So, I poured some beef broth in the skillet.  The thought of 'liquid smoke' wafted through my brain, but in reality, it was liquid cremation.  Realizing this was a really bad idea, I grabbed a spatula and began to chisel the beef parts off the skillet.  

Not to be completely outdone, I tossed the pieces onto a cutting board.  From there I cut all the burnt bottoms off each chunk, put them in a crock pot, covered them with broth and hoped for the best.

We had pork steak for supper that evening.  I later made beef spread with the lovely managers' special, delightfully priced and extremely dry chunks of beef.  But, like I mentioned earlier, no one can make it quite like Mother and the Voice wanted no part of it.