This is gonna be short. Yesterday I finished making the beef stock. After 72 hours, I ended up with around 2.5 quarts of stock, and I can't even say it's delicious. We'll see. I'm going to try sipping it again today. Dutiful me.
But moving on: There are three pounds of beef marinating in buttermilk in my refrigerator. They have been there for four days. Today is the day I will take them out, pat off the buttermilk with paper towels, and cook the meat slowly, with carrots and onions and potatoes, for many hours, until I have a finished and delectable pot roast fit for even the weakest digestive system. This sounds more like a fall or winter endeavor, I know, but I'm on a " Hurrah-I-CAN-eat-meat-if-it's-grass-fed-and-if-I- cook-it-right-and-if-I-combine-it-with-the-right-other-foods, including fats!" kick, so am paying no attention to the weather. That gourmet subtley will come later, I presume.
Wish me (and Jack, who is my main guinea pig) luck. So far Jack is doing pretty good on my new diet. I have turned him into an oatmeal convert, but getting him to eat sauerkraut (even the smell of it makes him gag and then faint) is going to take a while longer (which is why I have no choice but to live to be at least 103).