Southern Sunday Roast

“After a good dinner one can forgive anybody, even one’s own relatives,” wrote Oscar Wilde.

When I think of food, family, and the drama both mended and created in that atmosphere, my mind goes straight to one place: the American South.

My family comes mostly from the Mid-Atlantic South. The records painstakingly compiled by my grandmother detail roots in North Carolina and Virginia. Her work traced our family back to the American Revolution.

This means my ancestry is in an area of the country where Sunday Morning is an event. A family like mine would wake up at dawn, put on their best outfits, and drag their kids to church. Then, they would return home for a filling and savory Sunday Brunch. The matriarch of the house would cook a meal so large it would leave the rest slain on the couch for the rest of the day. 

A special event - a science fair win, a sister's engagement, a cousin's acquittal on all charges - might even call for a Sunday Roast.

As our family dispersed throughout the world, so did these Sunday gatherings. My own branch of the family tree - a military household - brought it particularly far. In Italy, we acquired a taste for olive oil and fresh lemons. In Colorado, we discovered local beef, bought straight from the farm in a half-cow share.

My roast has always felt special and traditional. Now, it's ethical and economical as well.

Next time you have company coming over, show off a little with this classic dish. It feels special without trying too hard. Also, it will make your house smell amazing.

This is how I cook it:

Ingredients 

Meat

3-4 lb. Top Round Roast

Sauce

1/2 cup Olive Oil, or enough to lightly coat your meat and veggies

2 large (or 3 small) Lemons - zest and juice

1/4 cup White Wine Vinegar

1 tablespoon Salt

1/2 tablespoon Black Pepper

1 tablespoon Garlic

1 tablespoon Parsley

Note: These measurements are only suggestions. Follow your heart, friend.

Vegetables

Use whatever fresh vegetables you have on hand. Choose hearty items that stand up well to extended heat. Root vegetables work best. Our favorites include potatoes, carrots, beets, parsnips, brussels sprouts, celery, and onions.

Lazy mom tip: If you want to avoid the work of peeling and chopping, find vegetables you don't need to prep. These include fingerling potatoes, baby carrots, cocktail onions, and many others.

Directions

1. Remove your roast from the refrigerator. Let it rest (uncovered) at room temperature while you prep the vegetables.

2. Preheat your oven to 450.

3. Use a whisk or a fork to mix the sauce ingredients together in a large mixing bowl. Here I used parsley, but feel free to substitute whatever fresh herbs you have on hand. Rosemary, thyme, and sage all work exceptionally well.

4. Prep your vegetables. Peel as needed. This recipe will cause potato peels to crisp up in a delicious way, so feel free to leave those alone.

5. Cut all of your vegetable pieces to roughly the same size. This will help them cook evenly. I find that the size of a brussels sprout or a large baby carrot is just about perfect for this recipe.

6. Toss the vegetables in the sauce. Arrange them around the edges of your roasting pan (fitted with a roasting rack).

7. Place your roast in the bowl of sauce. Roll it around until well coated. Pour any remaining sauce over the roast.

8. Put your pan, uncovered, into the oven.

9. Roast for 15 minutes.

10. Reduce heat to 300. Continue to bake for one and a half hours for a medium rare roast. You can extend cooking time to two hours for a more well done roast. 

11. Remove from oven. Let sit for twenty minutes.

12. Slice thin. Serve with gravy, good bread, butter (never margarine), and jam. 

Southern Kid Tip: Smother your roast in Chick-fil-A sauce. My six year old does this, but adults can, too. There is no judgement here.

The Sunday Roast is a classic for a reason. It's simple, versatile, and compatible with whatever sides and desserts your crowd brings by. It feels cozy enough for Christmas morning and beautiful enough for Easter brunch. Use this recipe to anchor your next potluck - or to apologize for driving Cousin Ted's car through the neighbor's mailbox. 

This dish truly does it all.