For most families, long gone are the days of dinner as a family. For some it’s not practical, for others it’s not possible and for others it’s simply not desirable. But the English have a great tradition that Americans haven’t quite mastered yet. Yes, we Americans get together around the table for dinner, but in England, the Sunday Roast is an institution. It’s like a veritable Thanksgiving every week. And that’s a tradition I can get behind.
When we were living in England, we were lucky to have Andy’s maternal grandparents, Les and Muriel Mayhew, just up the street from us. And Nanny cooks a mean roast. Although props must be given to Grandad, as he does all the vegetable peeling.
In the meat department there’s roast lamb, pork, beef or chicken (lamb is my fave). And we generally have all of the following vegetables: peas, carrots, parsnips, cauliflower, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, roast potatoes, “cheesy leeks” (Nanny’s specialty) and on special holidays like Christmas and Easter, there are ‘extras’ like pigs-in-a-blanket and stuffing (I think Sharon could write a whole book on her love for stuffing).
It takes Nanny and Grandad all day to prepare a roast dinner. Granted, they are in their 80s, but regardless of age, this meal is a labor of love. More than a half dozen vegetables chopped, peeled and cooked, meat slow-cooked in the oven all day, potatoes roasted to perfection, plates warmed, a table meticulously set. Nanny even has a ‘Hostess’, a heated trolley where you put all the food that’s been cooked. As each vegetable or side dish is ready, it goes in the Hostess, keeping everything at a perfect temperature until you’re ready to eat. And when you go back for seconds (and we do), the food is still steaming hot.
The whole tradition is great—not just the meal, but the day spent together. Arriving at Nanny and Grandad’s at 11 am, we don’t generally go home until 4 pm. We need time for our food to digest, at which point we move to the living room to share the most recent news and gossip while we watch the rugby or football (Nanny wouldn’t miss a game). As Andy and I prepare to move back to the States, this is one tradition I’m certainly taking with me. Thanksgiving shouldn’t be a family meal reserved for the fourth Thursday in November, it should be a weekly family tradition.
I grew up with Sunday roast dinner. Like a lot of women of her era, my mom would put a roast in the oven which was timed to come out shortly after noon when church usually got out. Occasionally the minister would get carried away and preach too long. It wasn’t funny. You’ve probably heard the expression, “We had roast preacher for dinner.” We did.
As I grew older, my family developed a grilling tradition, eating a big salad to quiet our post-church hunger. After that Dad would head outside to fire up the grill for ribs, steak, or chicken which we’d enjoy mid-afternoon.
Given my heritage and David’s profession as a minister you’d think we might have a strong Sunday roast dinner tradition. But as you rightly point out, you need the afternoon to enjoy a roast dinner. As is, David uses that time for counseling, visiting the home- and hospital-bound, or scheduling the occasional meeting (Mitford it aint.). Since he was always busy, the three of us tended to scrounge or grab a quick bite before we headed out shopping.
Maybe if I had insisted, we could have made it an Anderson family tradition. It’s too bad, because I adore Sunday dinner (followed by an afternoon snooze). But it’s not too late—here’s my vow. When you and Andy move back to the United States, I will make roast dinner as many Sundays as you are willing to come.
As author of the forthcoming Perfect One-Pot Parties, I will not be making eight vegetable side dishes. And although I think they’re very clever, I’ll probably not invest in a hostess. Roast, vegetable, and potatoes will share one large, beautiful platter. Because as much as I adore Sunday roast dinner, I despise Sunday afternoon clean up.
I love the looks of shock, horror, jealousy, awe, and disgust I get when I tell people that for 18 years I ate dinner with my family at least 5, if not 7 nights a week. And they just about fall over when I mention that we sat down for communal breakfast in the dining room (the best spot to watch for the impending bus) every weekday morning, even when I was in high school. I usually lose all credibility before I can get to the weekend mornings of pancakes, waffles, omelets, or just a good old group cereal session.
I try to tell them it was not as Brady Bunch as it sounds. Sometimes we were rushed, and a lot of times we were fighting—especially in the morning. (Dare I mention a certain plate-smashing incident?) But the point is, we did it. We sat down, talked about our lives, argued, maybe shed a few tears, sorted through our issues, laughed our asses off, got excited about boys, grades, book deals and vacations, and, of course, shared a meal. I think this is the reason we’re so close—that and all those looong no-walkmans-allowed car trips.
But with me in college and Maggy across a giant ocean, we haven’t had a solid dining ritual in 6 years. I really like Mom’s idea of an as-often-as-possible Sunday dinner tradition when you move back to the states, Maggy. Cheesy leeks sound just about right for a cold winter evening, so let the roasting begin!
You guys have family down well. Maggie and Sharon, I cannot help but wonder what traditions you will claim for your own families, but I hope meals around the table stick. It is so grand and however many you stunned with that revelation a few years back…well let’s just say that number just grew exponentially.
And a side note on Mitford…I think I am the only person in America who couldn’t get through even one book.
I’m so glad that, despite the (unwarranted) stereotype that English food is terrible, you have found something you love enough about it to take home with you. I’m even more pleased that you’ve chosen to tell the world about it!
When I was younger, Sunday Dinner was a ritual in our family, too. Everyone would come to us and my Mum would lay on the feast. It was often a roast, though not always; my first experience of catering to more than a couple of mouths was at a Sunday Dinner, when I made a veritable trough of Penne Carbonara.
These days, as there’s just to two of us, we don’t tend to do our own roasts every week – there’s too much food made and not enough room to store it all. So our current tradition is to fake it and pick up a rotisserie chicken for Sunday lunch whilst doing the weekly shop. That said, when I do put in the effort of a roast dinner, there’s one thing I absolutely insist on including that you haven’t even mentioned: the humble (but magnificent) Yorkshire pudding. I think they would go wonderfully well with some of those cheesy leeks.
NB: Whilst I can appreciate the usefulness of a Hostess, I have to say that I can’t see the need. We’d be much better off timing everything to be ready at the same time, perhaps with some sort of spreadsheet…
I sure could have used that hostess yesterday — trying to keep the turkey and all the sides warm. Btw Sharon, I read your post to Jess and he said, “what’s a walkman?” No, you really are young!
I, too, grew up eating breakfast w/ my family and supper again 95% of the time. I’m too old for kiddies now (by choice) and am too much of a coward anyway.
Since my hubby hunts, we have roasts. I like nothing better than feeding a bunch of hungry friends and family.
I did love the Mitford books, but they don’t seem real either.
As a student living with my partner, as often as not, supper is eaten while studying or playing video games. Every once in a while I throw a blue fit and demand that we sit at the table for supper. It doesn’t happen terribly often, but when it does, it’s wonderful.
i, too, grew up with the sunday dinner tradition. both sets of grandparents lived nearby and often joined us, too. my mother was a terrible cook but she could roast a “joint” as the brits put it. when i was first married, i lived in england where the custom was reinforced — ah the aromas wafting my way as i rode my bike down the street from church.
we made a point of always sitting down at the dining room table for dinner with our children, complete with candles, flowers and music. yes, we sometimes fought (can’t remember any plates being thrown!), complaints about brussel sprouts and other “weird” veggies were often levied, manners were sometimes missing (no, you may not wear a baseball cap to dinner..) but we were doing so much more than eating: learning decorum and conversational gambits and where to put your napkin (yes, we used cloth ones), becoming familiar with classical music, connecting with each other and learning about our day but mostly, taking time to be a family.