Last night I hosted another Supper For The Promotion of Clericalism™. There were six of us, all told.
The menu was inspired by some good chats I’ve had recently with His Hermeneuticalness, Fr. Tim Finigan, a fine priest in England. We’ve been discussing a regular podcast together. So, I made a “Sunday” meal, on Monday evening.
Beef roast. It is Top Round, on sale at price so absurd that I couldn’t pass it up. I asked them to cut me a 5 pounder.
Since this is a pretty lean sector of the cow, I decided to lard it. You see the larding “needle” below. This is the insertion type, rather than the draw through type. Put your fat into the tube, which is quite sharp, drive it in and then, as you pull it back out, you hold the “plunger”? “blocker”?” in place which leaves the contents of the tool within the roast.
On a lark, I also studded it with garlic.
Having rubbed it down with lard, on go the herbs, generously.
You can seen among the veg that will be the basis of the gravy, that there are some juniper berries.
Batter for the individual Yorkshire puddings
Brought up to an internal temperature of 105ºF, I tented it for a resting phase of about 30 minutes to allow the juices to redistribute through the roast. It continues to cook on its own.
The puddings coming along. The veg from the roasting pan got mashed up a little and then reduced with beef stock for the gray. I also used a little roux.
I haven’t made Yorkshire puddings for a very long time. They turned out fairly well, though I wouldn’t have liked a little more rise.
To the right, more veg roasting. In my neighbors oven (also at the supper) I had the potatoes a’roasting.
With green beans and served with wonderful Norcia monk’s beer, Birra Nursia.
Tools of the trade. For the slicing of the beef. With a cut like this it is best to slice the beef, across the grain and as thin as possible. That means serious sharp.
We lit the customary “Extraordinary Ordinary” candle in his honor. He used to enjoy these meals. I found this in a cupboard. Someone had made it back in 2008.
Before hand, Gins and Tonic and some nibbles.
After the main course, I had several sorts of cheeses, including a really good Vermont cheddar and fine blue made here in Wisconsin. Surprisingly good. Served with Port.
Then, Mini Dove bars and some of my existentially challenging homemade limoncello. I warned them not to pour it near the candle.
And today, leftover roast beef sandwich, beans, and pickles with iced coffee.
I still have a good portion of the roasted veg, though they disappeared the potatoes. I may make soup from them, with some of the beef.
Clericalism was promoted to the max degree and we all had a great time.
A couple of the guys I had short listed couldn’t make it because they were going to butcher a pig yesterday evening. So we might do something on Memorial Day … with pork. There will be more Clericalism.
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A most excellent meal Father Z! I always look forward to seeing what you are cooking up for your clericalism sessions!
Not only do you inform me, entertain me with your humour, but then I discover the wonder of a larding needle! I had given up on beef roasts because they were too dry because of less fat. Thank you Fr Z!
What a feast for you and your brother priests Fr. Z. Now that’s the distinct type of Clericalism one drinks a Birra Nursia to.
“So, I made a “Sunday” meal, on Monday evening.” Excellent, one can never have too much Sunday.
“A couple of the guys I had short listed couldn’t make it…”
Good. Memorial Day will be even more memorable.
“Brought up to an internal temperature of 105ºF” [Roasts continue to cook inwardly.]
Sounds a little low for beef, Padre. Then again, maybe it was 150, or a clever variation of Steak Tartare.
“Then, Mini Dove bars and some of my existentially challenging homemade limoncello. I warned them not to pour it near the candle.” Supervision by the Chef does not end with meal prep (I think Julia Child said that first, or maybe Atilla the Hun, dunno).
p.s. I think I ended a sentence with a preposition. Oh well.
p.p.s. Gins and Tonics…
Mouth watering pictures, you should auction off a seat at one of your dinners, your donations would skyrocket. As for the picture of that roast, it is a thing of beauty.
Looks Devine! I might suggest a fine soda cracker pie with mixed fresh fruits for the Memorial Day porkfest…I can send you my dear departed Mother’s recipe.
You had me until the pickles and iced coffee combo. You have fortitude, good padre.
A good way to honour Queen Victoria. Long live the Queen!
Who ever knew Clericalism was so Yummy !!
tho, I’ve thought so many times I’d love to be a fly on that wall, but if we were there they couldn’t speak freely, which would be frustrating for all.
It’s a terrific looking dinner, Fr. Z!
Any way you can share the whole recipe with us? In particular the herbs you used on the roast?
[Essentially, herbes de provence.]
Now that’s a manly meal. Nice!
[BTW… I may have the last classic Land-O-Lakes butter wrapper.]
YUM! I’ve been wanting to make Yorkshire puddings for a while, and you might have convinced me to do it ASAP! Love what you did with the beef.
I had to look up what Dove bars were, but a larding needle with plunger thingie has now been added to my Amazon wishlist.
Semper Gumby – Gins and tonic, not gins and tonics, the latter would, surely, entail glasses of gin, and separate glasses of tonic.
Mariana2: Gin and tonics…
No…. GINS and Tonic
“No…GINS and Tonic”
Except on Tolkien’s birthday Padre, when Ginsesss and Tonicsesss are served with raw fish. [Mmmmm…. sushisessss… caviarsses… herringsss… fishessss.]
So, Gins and Tonic… [Correct.]
Maybe Bombay and Gordon and Tonic. [Maybe Sipsmith Navy Strength and Fever Tree.]
Or, Tanqueray and Beefeater and Tonic. [Maybe Hendrick and… Fever Tree.]
How ’bout Gin Joint Gin and Bubba Gump Gin and Tonic.
One time I was unexpectedly in Minnesota (I’m a Southern boy), and this bar had a G&T…..Hendricks with cucumber and fresh mint. It was glorious.
Which it’s quinine Maturin handed Aubrey a glass of, while Aubrey gazed through a spyglass at the sun-baked port and fortress of an incorrigible Bey who supped at just half of the Fides et Ratio pudding.
Preserved Killick materialized on deck behind the pair and cleared his throat. “Which it’s Lobscouse and Spotted Dog in the gunroom first, Sir? Or on with a thorough bombardment? Pray tell, is there danger of peace?”
Stephen gazed upward, momentarily distracted by a rather mediocre exemplar of one of the aviary fauna of the Turkish coast, of the species Halcyon smyrnensis. “Described by Linnaeus in 1758, I believe. Meh, a bit bedraggled.”
Returning to the moment, the ship’s doctor regarded his ruddy friend’s complection and opined, “There’s nothing for it but the bark, dear Jack.”
Jack looked with a measure of anxiety as he anticipated the bitterness of the cup he was now holding, second-best spy glass under his arm. But, as every good seaman knew, the fouler the taste, the greater the medicine.
“You and your bark, Stephen. As a papist and Jesuit trained, you know, of course, that a Jesuit’s bark is worse than his bite! Ho ho!” His eyes disappeared into his flushed cheeks as tears of mirth rolled forth. The neaby midshipmen ventured a cautious grin at his captain’s jocularity.
“Puns, again, Jack? And the same ones over and over. I dare say you should take your medicine and have done with it. Jesuit’s bark is only thing for these agues and their sequelae. Come now. There you are.”
“Which it’s nothing on good ol’ Gregory’s Patented Liquid, I say, for the humors,” Killick mumbled to an able seaman.
The cannons delivered another rolling broadside and smoke and wading wafted across the deck.
“One minute and twenty seconds, Sir, if you please.” Lt. Pullings arrived from below desks, holding the watch.
Which it’s a truth universally acknowledged that a naval officer in possession of a good pistol, must be in want of ammunition.
This truth was vouchsafed to Lt. Pulling on the deck of the HMS Surprise while the roar of the first broadside from the starboard cannon, offered gratis to the Bey as a warning, faded across the water. Lt. Pulling suspected that Capt. Aubrey would decide at any moment to forego maneuvering and make straight for the port. Pulling went for his cartridge box to charge his pistol, a box securely tucked, or so he thought, between two crates on the quarterdeck.
Lt. Puller did not dabble in laudunum, so he was baffled to discover that the cartridge box was moving slowly around the corner of a crate and out of sight. Stepping around the crate he was sorely vexed to discover the strap of the cartridge box firmly between the teeth of a drunken sloth, unsteadily making its way towards an open hatch.
“Impertinent beast,” muttered Lt. Pulling, leaping forward to halt, as Maturin would say between puffs of his pipe, this arboreal neotropical xenathran mammal.
Ammunition retrieved and mammal securely stowed under a tarpaulin to sleep off its debauchery, Lt. Pulling straightened up with the satisfaction of victory. At that moment, a broadside, curiously, thundered forth from the portside cannon.