Occasionally, i dream about the perfect pot roast. Something about the tenderness of that meat just gets to me. I had been planning one since before Gabe was born as a sort of post-acid reflux celebration. Well, too much anticipation i guess. Or the wrong cut of meat. It was a rump and it turned out as leathery as an old shoe. Even after a day of slow roasting. Thank goodness for the gravy. And the red wine.