roasted to a turn but with the inner parts nice and rare, with potatoes roasted in duck fat and a red wine-Madeira gravy, hot English mustard on the side (sadly I am out of horseradish). A salad of greens and daikon radish was consumed on the side, as a minor concession to one’s vasculature.
With only two diners there is really no point cooking a turkey or even the far more delicious goose, and this roast beef dish is far, far harder to muck up. All it wants is seasoning and a calculation of cooking time by its weight, then it is stuck in the oven and can be forgotten till ready; no basting, no changing cooking temperature or extravagant dressing or stuffing. It is curious how easy it is to make & delicious in result, yet held in contempt compared to other dishes – the French use of the word rosbif – and like all roasted meat, is just as good the next day, cut thick and eaten in a sandwich or stewed. There wasn’t a scrap left by the third day.