And then I made a Buffalo Roast

There are a few things I never thought I'd ask my mom for help with. Skydiving. Hotel shopping. How to use the internet. And how to cook a buffalo roast.

But this Sunday I called and asked what to do with the Buffalo (which we got from the Egberts because Josh's dad shot it and Meleta and Ben probably aren't really capable of eating an entire deep freezer full of dead buffalo.) so we could serve it to Nate & Wendy for Sunday dinner.

Josh was thrilled that we had an excuse to cook it.

I was thrilled that it would no longer be staring at me every time I opened my freezer. Plus, more room for pretzels! Bonus!

My mom laughed out loud at me when I asked what to do with it. Then she said, "well, how big is it?" because somehow that makes a difference in how you cook it. 

Next she wanted to know what kind of pan I had to cook it in. 1) A pyrex 9x13 which has only ever been used for Relief Society Potatoes, Jello, and brownies. 2) A cookie sheet. 3) A cake pan. 4) Muffin tins. She thought the 9x13 covered with tin foil sounded best. I agreed.

Then her guess (which by the way, WAS as good as mine) was to put salt & pepper on it, stick it in the oven at 350 and smell when it was done. Which I did.

When it smelled done we peeked.
It didn't look done.
When it smelled more done we peeked again.
It did look done.
We googled how hot it should be and took it's temperature.
It was "well done".

We mashed potatoes, made a salad, turned the drippings into gravy, steamed some squash and set the table in record time so it wouldn't be "beyond well done" by the time we ate it.

Josh drowned it in ketchup, A-1 sauce, and gravy. I'd be offended if it weren't for the fact that he drowns everything in ketchup, A-1 sauce and gravy. Then he told me he really liked buffalo and he was glad we had leftovers and he shoved 2 more slices down his throat. I'm taking the compliment.

Nate & Wendy both liked it (or pretended to anyway) and I even had a couple bites of it, just to prove how brave I am. Then I put the rest on my plate and enjoyed my real food.

It felt like Sunday dinner, I don't like any kind of roast  (remember how I'm a sissy about meat?) so really it was the same as Sunday dinner at my mom's house. Except my rolls were gross and hers are NEVER gross.

Who knows, someday maybe I'll call my mom asking for advice about skydiving and she'll say "well...how big are you?" (after she's finished laughing hysterically) and I'll wind up with a wildly successful skydiving experience to blog about.