The Mystery of the Missing Meat

There are some stories that a person should probably keep to herself. This is likely one of them.

Last week I baked a pork roast for dinner. I took it out of the baking dish and sliced it, putting a few pieces on a serving platter. Spouse suggested I put the remaining roast back in the oven so that it would stay warm while we finished dinner. Good idea, I thought, so I turned off the oven and promptly did just that. The residual heat would keep the roast warm.

After dinner, Spouse cleared the dishes while I ran out to the store. When I came back, the kitchen was (relatively) tidy so I moved on to the evening's activities.

A couple of days later when I was cleaning out the fridge, I thought for a very brief moment about the leftover roast. I hadn't seen it in the fridge. Hmmm....Spouse must have eaten it, I thought to myself, congratulating myself on executing yet another fine meal with edible leftovers. :-)

Dad stopped by yesterday and somehow the subject of pork roast came up. For a fleeting moment, I wondered who had eaten the leftovers, but the conversation moved on and I thought no more about it.

Until last night.

Before dinner, I was preparing a loaf of garlic bread and set the oven to preheat. When it reached the proper temperature, I opened the oven door and guess what I found...

the missing meat!!!! YIKES!

Suffice it to say, Mr. Pork Roast was NOT in good condition after having spent several days in a dark, cool oven.

After Spouse and Daughter recovered from this incident, we all remembered something that we had apparently blocked from our collective memory:

In fact, I have done this very thing before.

With a Thanksgiving turkey.

I found it while getting ready to bake Christmas cookies. :-)