I love a roast dinner. Depending on my mood, my favourite is either roast lamb or roast pork. Or roast chicken. Or beef. Basically I love roasted animal of any kind – but in my mind it’s all about the roast potatoes, the perfect roast potato is a glorious thing. The thing about roast dinner is that there are a lot of trimmings, to really make it right. You’ve got to have Yorkshire puddings, and stuffing. At least three types of veg. Gravy. Maybe some pigs in blankets. The whole thing takes a lot of time and effort to prepare, and then the whole lot gets scoffed in a disproportionately small number of minutes.
I’m really excited that the following post is a collaboration between me and my bloggy friend Kimberly, aka Media Mummy. She wrote the writing, and I doodled the doodles. Enjoy!
Growing up, Sundays were all about roasts in our house. Everything we did that day revolved around what time the Lamb needed to go in. My Mum’s roasties were (and still are) the best. As we got older, my brother and I *might* help peel the veg, or make the gravy, or argue about who was washing or drying. Then it was time for Lovejoy on the telly… It was a happy, family afternoon for us. Ahhhhh Bisto and all that.
Now that I have children, I want to recreate those special family Sundays. But the problem with that I’ve discovered is…
The Real Sunday Roast is a b*tch!
At some point on Sunday you have a sudden vision of that dreamy family roast where you all sit down in your massive eat-in farmhouse kitchen and chat cheerfully over crispy rosemary flecked roast potatoes, delicious Farmer’s Market beef, and honey roast wonky veg because, you know, it’s so delightfully cute and ‘real’ when the carrots are wonky isn’t it?
Something like the Alpha Mummy version of events…
So off you head down to Tesco (missed the farmer’s market dammit). It’s a bit last minute and you didn’t bring a list, you’re with hungry, whingey kids, there is no ‘normal’ meat left and you need to take out a mortgage for the last joint of ‘Cow-spa Farm’ organic beef.
Rush home. After 3 hours peeling everything in sight and frantically choreographing
You sit down for approx 12 minutes while one or both of them jump up and down on you and then it’s go go go with all the veg and basting and parboiling and “Sh*t I forgot the Aunt Bessies I’ll have to try and make the Yorkshires from scratch” drama.
But at last it’s all ready! It’s going to be amazing! So you dish up onto molten hot plates (you panicked and shoved them in while the oven was still actually cooking) and ta-dahhh!
After 4 hours, essentially it’s just meat and two veg with soggy yorkies. With a bit of rosemary sprinkled on top as a half-arsed Jamie Oliver addition.
A hot, sweaty mess, you take the meat your other half has attempted to carve over to the table, where the children have been dragged back to their seats, snacked up to the eyeballs as it’s two hours later than they’d normally eat and pretty much bedtime. You’ve even dished the veg into those posh serving dishes you never normally get out…
The meat is tough, the veg too soft, the Yorkshires a disaster and the honey roast parsnips are burnt to buggery. The gravy’s nice at least! Cheers Bisto poshed up with a bit of red wine.
The Beta Mummy version:
But has your afternoon’s handiwork and destroyed kitchen all been for nothing? Well, you are all sitting around and eating the soggy stuff together and laughing about it. Which IS lovely. It’s a shame it’s for all of eight minutes before the children are full from the breadsticks… but still. Family time, yay! You are the perfect mother, the bestest wife and family bonder extraordinaire.
Until you see the washing up and lose your sh*t.
If you enjoyed Kimberly’s work, please do check out her gorgeous blog and hunt her down on social media: