Behold the Cleveland Paleos. I met a whole slew of them and they were remarkable. They surprised and delighted me at every turn.
The entire diet focuses on keeping junk out of your mouth and eating stuff like this:
|Erin's first paleo pot roast|
Now COME ON. Doesn't that look a whole lot better than a crappy piece of Dominos pizza?
The paleos have lost weight--a lot of weight--and they have the pictures to prove it. They've also lost nearly all of their ailments, everything from joint pain to hypoglycemia. Their cholesterol has gone down and their energy has gone up.
Cravings and hunger pangs? Gone.
The paleos aren't like those forlorn dieters, biting their lip as they peruse menus with big sad eyes. The paleos are happy. They feel really good. Most notably, they are not indignantly trying to convince everyone (most notably themselves) that what they're doing is Right. They're not pinched and bitter. They are not waiting for this to be over.
So read the article. If you're intrigued, do your own research. And make no mistake, almost all of the paleos I met have modified the diet for what works for them. Some include rice. Others have their potato or cheese. You will not, however, hear paleos lauding high fructose corn syrup or partially hydrogenated soybean oil.
Do they ever indulge in that slice of Dominos or bowl of Chex Mix? Sure. And they're not embarrassed to tell you about it or how they feel afterward.
"You feel like shit."
I couldn't put that quote in the article.
As for the pot roast, it ROCKED, so ... um ... this:
An Inaccurate Recipe for Erin O'Brien's First Paleo Pot Roast
Peel one big-ass sweet potato and cut it into two-inch chunks. Same with two or three onions and some carrots. Put all that in the bottom of a roaster or casserole that's just a little bigger than your roast. Sprinkle with seasonings of your choice. I used granulated garlic and sea salt.
Did I use some Lawry's seasoned salt or didn't I? It's none of your goddamn business.
Set that aside and preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
On the stove, melt about a tablespoon of bacon fat in a skillet and brown your meat in there. Brown it up proper, a few minutes on each side.
Yes, that was a grocery store chuck roast. If I get serious about cleaning up my diet (and I might), I'll go in for a large scale beef purchase from an Ohio farmer. There are droves of them that will sell you a quarter or half an animal. The more you buy, the more competitive the price gets. Some people might be intimidated by the idea of all those different cuts, but some people are candy ass. Hell, I'll figure out how to use the goddamn hooves.
Who's your mama?
Put the browned roast on top the raw root veggies. Deglaze the browning skillet. We had an open bottle of red wine, so I put a few glugs of that in there. You could also use water or beef stock. Turn on the heat and reduce the liquid (no, I don't know by how much, just reduce it until you think it is reduced enough).
Now pour that gorgeous stuff all over your roast. I also drizzled some of this mind-numbingly wonderful oil over it (thank you, sister-in-law for the xmas gift) and added more seasoning. Cover that bad boy tightly with tin foil and put it in the oven.
Immediately reduce the temperature to 250 degrees. DON'T FORGET TO DO THIS (not like I ever have or anything).
Cook three or four hours (depending on the roast) until the meat is fork-tender. Yes, my veggies were overcooked, but so full of wonderful flavor, I didn't care. The liquid in that roast was positively divine, so I sort of mashed up the veggies into it as I ate.
Now then, could a person--a regular person's person--have that leftover pot roast for breakfast? Hm ...
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