Speaking of Emeril . . . It only took me multiple decades to figure out how to make a great pot roast.

Once upon a time a young woman was making a spiral ham for dinner. She carefully unwrapped the meat, placed it on ye olde cutting board, chopped a few inches off each end, put the now-truncated ham in a low glass pan and promptly placed it into a pre-heated oven.

Her mother stood by, looking aghast.

“You, you . . .,” the mother stammered. “You cut off the ends of a perfectly good ham.”

The woman look confused. “Well, yes,” she replied. “I always do. I mean, you always do. I mean, isn’t that how you make ham? How many years did I watch you unwrap the ham, chop off the ends, then place it in the oven? Is that not right?”

“Oh, dear,” Mother exclaimed. “Yes, I did chop off the ends and set them aside when I made ham. But that was only because I never had a pan that was larger than nine inches.”

Ahh.

Sometimes we pick up culinary habits that have nothing whatsoever to do with cuisine.

For example, I grew up eating my mother’s version of “Yankee Pot Roast.”

Mom would get up on Sunday morning and peel potatoes, carrots and onions. Then she would take out a big slab of beef roast and season it generously with salt and pepper. Then it and the veggies went into the big roasting pan. The lid was set with a bang and into the oven it went.

By the time the fam got home from church, the Sunday afternoon “company” dinner was done.

And I do mean done.

Really done.

So done, in fact, that I actually thought the dish was “Dried Meat and Dark-roasted Veggies,” not the more tantalizing sounding Yankee Pot Roast.

Now, Kean’s mother, being British, took me aside on our wedding day and whispered in my ear these unforgettable words, “Darling, one thing I can guarantee you: your husband will never miss his mother’s cooking.”

That said, the first time I made my mother’s "pot" roast---replicating her steps exactly---Kean, valiantly trying to chomp away, looked over at me and said, or tried to say, “Itsweeahllykindahdrwhy.”

Translation: “It’s really kind . . . of . . . dry.”

Ahem.

Needless to say, Dried Meat and Dark-Roasted Veggies failed to make it into the favorites menu.

All that changed when, about 20 years later, we were visiting my mother’s sister and I asked dreamily, “What is that wonderful smell of something cooking in the kitchen?”

“Oh,” Auntie replied matter-of-factly. “That’s Yankee Pot Roast.”

Mother. Aunt. Mother’s pot roast. Aunt’s pot roast.

I’m thinking Revenge of the Dried Meat all over again.

Except not.

Auntie served up the most delicious, most scrumptious, most inspiring roasted roast imaginable. It fell off the knife like buttah.

I begged her to give me her secrets. But she only looked at me with polite puzzlement.

“You roast it,” she explained. “In a pot.”

So began my journey until, recently, as we sat around the kitchen table making yum-yum happy faces, I realized that I had arrived. I had succeeded in learning to make a pot roast that truly was all pot roast can and should be and, in fact, will be forevermore.

Therefore, here’s my recipe (read: technique) for success:

1. Buy a nice cut of meat that is well-marbled. Do not remove fat. (God put it there for a reason.)

2. Get yourself a nice heavy pan with a well-fitting lid.

3. Let the meat warm up closer to room temperature before starting to cook it. (If it was frozen, ensure it is completely thawed.)

4. Spray your pan with nonstick cooking spray (a must for easy clean-up, if nothing else) and put it on medium high heat. Lay your roast in the pan. Ideally, there should be at least an inch of space around the roast.

5. Season the up side of the meat with salt, pepper (freshly ground, if you have it), garlic powder and a generous dusting of Emeril Essence.

6. Put the lid on and put the timer on for 5 minutes.

7. After the timer goes off, turn the meat over. Season the browned side, as above.

8. Replace the lid and put the timer on for 3 minutes. When the timer goes off, turn the heat down to low. Yes, LOW. And NO PEEKING.

9. Put the timer on for 3 hours. This is the earliest that you should open the lid to see how things are going (if you don’t have a glass lid). From here on out, you’re on your own. Four hours, five, six, they’ve all worked for me. It depends on your pan, the cut of meat, your preference and so on.

I will tell you this, though, it’s pretty hard to overcook the roast this way.

If your roast is very thick, you may want to turn it over sometime after the 3 hour mark.

Simple. Rustic. Satisfying.

Serve the roast up with some roasted garlic mashed potatoes with rosemary and you are miles and miles away from Dried Meat and Veggies.

If you want to take your plate in a hearty direction, some other nice sides are southern-style collard greens (a vastly underrated treat) and whole beets.

In summer, give your roast a bar-b-qued ambiance by cozying it up to some bleu-cheese cole slaw and just-warm ricotta and spinach-stuffed tortellini drizzled with olive oil and tossed with garlic and shredded Parmesean.

Feeling frisky and the pantry's flush? Throw on some fresh garlic and/or leeks when you start the roast and splash generously with a robust red wine.

Enjoy!

*** The photo is from Sara Moulton's Kitchen Slideshow.