Mom's Beef Stew (Rated R)

WARNING:  This post is intended for mature audiences only.  Some viewers may find some of the language and content objectionable.  


Thanks to Mom, I had the next two days covered.  Dad never cared much for things like soup and stew for dinner, hearkening back to his days in the Army when all the shit that was left over from half-way edible meals got tossed into a pot and, depending on how mushy everything got, became soup or stew.  Mom, my little sister and I, on the other hand, loved Mom’s beef stew.  And now, thanks to Mom and the instructions on the back of a package of Beef Stew Seasoning, I was about to create my first “made from scratch” family dinner.  


I lined up all my ingredients:  stew meat, carrots, onions, celery, and all I needed for a little toot.  I looked at the clock on the kitchen wall.  It said “Four Forty Four.”  That had always been a magical number because our son was born at exactly 4:44 AM, and every time he and I were together in the car and the clock read “4:44,” we let out a cheer.  It happened more often than one might expect.  And today, the clock on the kitchen wall read exactly FOUR FORTY FOUR.  I poured a little toot, and downed it like a man.  “I love you, Mick Jagger.  I love you, Beef Stew mix.  I love you, Mom.”  


STEP ONE:  I knew that I had to trim the excess fat off the stew meat and cut it all into chunks that resembled the chunks that Mom always had in her beef stew --- and which Dad never quite trusted.  The one thing that my little sister and I both disliked about Mom’s beef stew was the fatty gristle that we found in about every third chunk of meat.  By the time we finished dinner, the rims of our plates were lined with pieces of gristle and anything that resembled a piece of mushroom.  I had long before convinced my sister that mushrooms were easily confused with toadstools and that we wouldn’t know that Mom had made a mistake until we were orphaned by a careless slip.  On more than one occasion, a can of Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup passed off as gravy had sent Mom away from the dinner table in tears as my little sister tried to make herself vomit into the kitchen sink.  


I trimmed the stew meat perfectly, had another little toot, and looked at the clock.  It read 5:19.  


STEP TWO:  “Dredge the beef chunks in flour and brown on all sides in two tablespoons of vegetable oil on medium-high heat.”  What the fuck was this…..?  What happened to throw everything in the pot and have a toot while it cooked?  I had seen Mom do it a million times.  I didn’t know “dredge.”  Fuck dredge.  I poured a toot and a little vegetable oil into a pot, cranked the burner up to “high,” and got ready to brown the shit out of the meat.  The music playing in the background came to a stop.  I had oil splattered everywhere, but, the meat was browned---somewhat crispy, actually.  Time: 5:46.  


STEP THREE:  “Bring meat and three and a half cups of water to a slow boil.  Add package of Lawry’s Beef Stew Seasoning and simmer for one hour.”  I began to feel a cramp rise up from somewhere between my scrotum and my tailbone.  Spastic colon!  I realized that I had never read beyond the ingredients until now.  An hour to slow-boil the beef chunks; another hour to simmer the chunks of carrot, onion and celery; a half hour to cook potatoes until tender.  That would make it close to 7:46 and given the number of toots, I didn’t have a prayer of making it beyond seven PM, my father’s “magic number.”  


STEP FOUR: “Honey,” I called to my wife.  “Let’s do Jenny’s Giant Burgers tonight.   Stew always tastes better the second day.”