The Roast

How it has possibly gone 18 months (wait a minute! I missed my 1.5 year anniversary on Jan. 16th!) and I have yet to have a proper Sunday roast is beyond me.  But, it is true, and this Sunday was another first.

The Sunday roast in England is an institution  (in case that definition is unclear to you, I did in fact wiki it and I think it is quite good ... Click here. )

"An institution is any structure or mechanism of social order and cooperation governing the behavior of a set of individuals within a given human community. Institutions are identified with a social purpose and permanence, transcending individual human lives and intentions, and with the making and enforcing of rules governing cooperative human behavior."


Read it a couple times ... eventually it sinks in.  What it means is - exactly why we say it - is that this event is engrained in the very fiber of the culture ... everyone knows it, everyone does it, no questions asked, and it is oh so good.  Like apple pie ... every Sunday afternoon.


A roast ... tender slow cooked meat, potatoes soft in the middle, crispy outside, carrots not too mushy, and the graaaaaaaavy. Hm hm.  In addition, in the UK they add some cabbage and turnips, and it is critical that the "Yorkshire pudding" is sitttin' on the side to lap up the gravy (of which there just never is enough, right?)


During this exploratory experience I was informed that Yorkshire pudding is "nothing more than baked pancake batter".  Well, I actually think I prefer it baked!


Yu-um.  Now this is an institution I just may be able to check in to.

This is January ...

I am not writing this to rub it in to all the Midwesterners that just received a dumping of snow and have now officially begun the dreaded winter season.

I am writing this to share the wonderful day I had today celebrating the birth of Spring here in London.  Yes, Spring.  Though there is a bite in the air and the threat of frost is still real, indeed the cherry blossoms have begun to bloom and the bulbs are already at half height hinting at the Daffodil season just around the corner.

And the sun has been shining ...  I was told last winter was "the snowiest ever" and "dreadfully cold".  Thus far into this year I have to say it has been quite pleasant comparatively.  London remains green in winter-time and flowers still bloom.

This weekend, brunchers dined outdoors and picnic tables at pubs were full of locals drinking pints and toking cigarettes.  As I was promised before moving here, "It really never gets so cold that you can't sit outside here in London."

When living in Chicago I always said, "wouldn't it be great if we could just skip January and February and go straight from Christmas to March?".  Guess what ... I found a place where that actually happens ... March just lasts four months.  A trade I am happy to make.

So, I spent the afternoon raking the leaves into bags, revealing the bulbs growing underneath.  Made a trip to the garden centre to purchase some more sprouting bulbs to fill the pots and enjoyed the renewing feeling that only Spring cleaning provides.  Oh happy day.