Sunday Roast Dinners

Today I wish I were going to my Mum's for a big, Sunday Roast Dinner. Despite the fact that here it hit 90 degrees today, a roast chicken and crispy roast potatoes that are deliciously fluffy inside sound fantastic. (Even though it would turn the temp up in your house to maybe 100 degrees....no matter!) I grew up with everyone sitting down on a Sunday for my Mum's Roast Dinner. The format was pretty the same, with these variables; what type of joint of meat (or bird), whether we ate at 1pm or 5:30 pm (I didn't like 1pm...we weren't Victorian?!), and what was going to be for pudding (dessert). It tied us down to the day in a completely comforting way, although now, with our busy lives, I don't know how I could be tied down to just one, glorious meal.
In the summer if it was hot, (hot is open for interpretation - not usually above 78 degrees) we would roast the meat anyway (you have to, it's Sunday) but serve it with salad instead. I loved that too. I loved all the sides of crunchy, salad vegetables. And in true British fashion, it was not a chicken salad where everything is tossed together in a delectable dressing. No. It was slices of cold roast chicken and lettuce, slices of cucumbers, quarters of red tomatoes, grated carrot, and kidney beans adorning the plate next to the chicken. Then, a little Heinz salad cream (kind of like mayo, but runnier, yellower, and tangier) may be drizzled on your plate. It was years in my family before my sister had the fantastic idea of making a french vinaigrette. Even then, I eyed it suspiciously and went right back to pouring my salad cream. If we were really lucky, and there had been time, we might get hard boiled eggs too. That was a good Sunday.
Every winter, I try to replicate my best memories of Sunday Roast Dinners. There were many obstacles in the New World. It took time to find the right potatoes. (You can't get King Edward or Desiree spuds here?!) The closest is a russet, but only because it is the least waxy kind this side of the Atlantic. Then, I had to track down English gravy. (I don't make it from the pan juices. Only on Thanksgiving!) Yorkshire puddings (popovers) were another challenge. Especially because I had two variations in my head that Mum always told us about; the large, kind of flat, thick pancake-y kind that one of my grandmothers made and the lighter, individual, puffy kind that the other grandmother made. What a dichotomy Mum must have been in....whose Yorkshire pudding do make for your family? Your mum's? Or your mother-in-laws??!! (Depends on whose coming to dinner I suppose.) One of my nephews when he was very little, renamed Yorkshire puddings "milksheds". And to this day no-one knows why. I kind of like the name milksheds more. My children love milksheds (popovers). In fact, that was the first thing they would eat when I would finally make a roast and got everyone sitting down on cold, snowy Chicago nights. It took years for them to eat a roast potato. (Still can't figure that one out.) What a failure I felt. All English children love roast dinner. But apparently half-English children do not. What had I done wrong? Maybe not feeding it to them every Sunday, come rain or come shine for their entire lives thus far?! Possibly. I'll try to work on that this year. Last winter I discovered the baby loved roast pots. At last! Victory! Now if I could just get him to eat the meat, stuffing, and gravy....
While I type this, my English family are getting ready to turn in for the night. What's left of their Roast Dinner is minuscule. Maybe a bit of cold meat. A roast pot or two. Meanwhile, the PG Tips tea that I just made tasted horrible (the coffee pot is on instead) and I am excited to go to get some yummy BBQ with the boys later. It's not the Roast Dinner I've been dreaming of. But this is America after all. And here, anything goes. Even on Sundays.