Man-Catching Pot Roast

I have always believed that people need to play to their strengths. MY strength does not lie with my appearance. I mean, I'm fairly ok with how I look (the perks of being arrogant), but I know I'm not in competition with any classically hot ladies, capisce? So I figured out early on to slow my roll on the Miss Universe pageantry and learn a trade that would up my marriageable ante. And so I (unfortunately for my waistline) chose cooking. I don't know if it was because of the 50's propaganda that a way to a man's heart is through his stomach or if I just really, really like to eat. Either way it worked, because that's how I bagged your dad. I just kept inviting myself over and cooking for him until I glutted him into submission.*

*It helps that we were best friends first. I would not advise doing this with a stranger.

The dish that sealed the deal was one I like to call the Man-Catching Pot Roast. Now, I personally find myself to be quite the little kitchenista (thanks again, arrogance!). And while this dish is pretty fab, it's also possible that it snared young Nan because he was subsisting entirely on frozen chicken nuggets and fast food when we got together. It's a little late to question it now, as the ink has dried on our marriage certificate.

The lesson is: when you find that someone you'd like to make your special someone, do like your mom and feed them into a coma so that they are susceptible to your influence. Works every time...unless it doesn't.

Ingredients

• 3-5 pound pot roast (or chuck roast or whatever. I'm not looking at names here, I'm only looking at price. Your mother is nothing if not occasionally a tight-wad)
• 1 package Lipton onion soup mix
• 1/2- 1 cup beef broth, depending on how much sauce (or beefy dregs, as I call it) you want to brew up while cooking this bad boy. These dregs are crucial to making a delicious stew with the leftovers, so don't overlook them because of their unfortunate name.
• 4 medium potatoes, cut into quarters
• 2 carrots, cut into quarters
• 1 large onion, cut into quarters 
• quarter cup flour
• 2 TBS butter

Instructions

•  Melt your butter in a large pan over medium-high eat
• Sift soup mix through a strainer to get out most of the onions because your dad is a weenie. Mix half of the remaining powder in with your flour. "But Mom!," I hear you ask plaintively, "Why sift out the dehydrated onions if we're only going to put a GIANT one in with the roast?" The answer is simple: because your dad can eat around a giant quartered onion. And you need the giant one for flavor. Go do your homework. 
• Dredge the roast with the flour mixture 
• Now SEAR THE SHIT out of that floured roast in your pan. Make sure you get all the sides, and make sure all those sides are deliciously brown looking. This is to keep all the juiciness in your roast. Theoretically, I suppose you don't have to do this since we're popping that fucker in a crockpot, but I like to do it because it makes me seem more chef-like and makes the whole house smell really good immediately, as opposed to waiting around for that roast-scented Glade to permeate. 
• Pop aforementioned roast into a crockpot on low heat for 8-10 hours, or high heat for 4-6 if you're impatient. Guess which one I usually pick? High.
• Pour you broth in the bottom of your crockpot and sprinkle the remaining soup mix.
• Now put the lid on and go watch some episodes on Netflix in lieu of doing other housework
• 2 hours before you want to dive face-first into that roast, put in your veggies. I've found that if you put it all in at the same time, the veggies get hella limpy and that's just gross. 
• You'll know the roast is done when a) the meat shreds to hell with a fork when you're trying to slice it, b) the vegetables are tender but not soggy, and c) you come back to the crockpot to find some meat is missing, forgetting that you accidentally ate some when "testing to make sure it was ok." 

And there you go. This meal is how I tricked your father into dating me. I even fancied it up and made TWO (2) kinds of gravy, which your father didn't even touch because he slops ketchup on everything but breakfast cereal.

So should you think of becoming vegetarian (be my guest-I have several cookbooks you can borrow and they are the shit), remember that the only reason you exist is because of pot roast