What is it about Sundays and the sudden need to have a traditional English roast dinner? Is this the epitome of subliminal indoctrination or is it just a craving for carbs, fats and proteins?
Is it the roast potatoes cooked in fat, beef dripping preferably, the wide choice of vegetables or the anticipation of choosing which meat to have this week? Maybe it is a vain attempt to hold onto the memories of yesteryear.
I still have vague memories as a child of a traditional English Sunday. Church in the morning, a drink in the traditional English Pub with Dad and then home in time for Sunday Roast always served at 1pm. Walking in the door the aromas hit your senses and the anticipation grows.
On special occasions we would go and have a carvery – as much as you could eat, or persuade the server to give you, in the splendor of a Tudor English pub.
As to my favorite I have always had a weakness for beef, slowly cooked but still red in the middle, with Yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes and fresh vegetables of the season. Sometimes we would have chicken or pork and on special occasions lamb – oh how I loved that lamb. Pink with lashings of home made mint sauce.
Every now and then we would have a gammon joint but it was never the same.
No matter where I travel in the world those Sunday cravings just seem to follow me, even though each country I visit has its own culinary delights. Fortunately there will always be an Englishman that wants to open a bar and misses his English Sunday roasts as much as I do.
If I am really lucky there will be an “eat as much as you can” offer on the Sunday Roasts just like they always seem to do now with pizzas or curries.