To Catherine De Abaitua, Sunday roasts mean dipped butties and going into labour
When I was growing up, there had to be a very good reason to miss the Sunday roast. If red meat was on the menu, then ten minutes before the joint came out of the oven we would hover round to get a dipped butty - a piece of bread soaked in the dripping, enough to make Gillian McKeith shudder. Dad did the cooking: he believed that the thicker the gravy was, the better. The spoon had to be able to stand up in the gravy boat.
A less-discussed Sunday afternoon tradition is the migration of men down the pub, while the women are at home babysitting and cooking the dinner. One of the funniest scenes in 'The Royle Family' has a menopausal Barbara Royle dishing out the Sunday Roast. Then her husband, Jim, exuberant from the pub, brings his mate Twiggy back to eat. Frantic and flushed, Barbara has to take a bit of meat off each serving to make another plate up for Twiggy, and she didn't have enough to go around in the first place.
Each time I went into labour I was preparing a roast dinner. The first time, I was planning Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's Full Monty fore-rib of beef for Christmas dinner, flouting the 'no rare meat during pregnancy' rule with the intention of shovelling down as much rare beef, Yorkshire pud and home-made horseradish cream as possible. The stock made from organic beef bones was in the fridge, ready for the red wine reduction, when I went into labour. I gave birth in hospital on Christmas Day. Instead of the Full Monty, I was served reconstituted turkey, soggy veg and gravy made from Chicken Bovril in my hospital bed. The ward was quiet, almost empty. I wore a green paper hat. If it hadn't been for the morphine I might well have slumped into depression.
For my second labour, my parents were visiting and after a long day traipsing around Brighton Pavilion, I put the pork shoulder and potatoes in the oven. I made the apple sauce and left the stock to defrost on the side. Then my waters broke. I abandoned the gravy to my dad and sat on the stairs talking to my friend on the phone. Everyone else ate the pork dinner and then I was bundled into a cab and driven to the hospital. By way of consolation, my husband turned the leftovers into a roast pork, apple sauce and watercress sandwich, rescuing me from a mountain of macaroni cheese served a la public sector.
Beef is incredibly versatile - hearty or delicate depending on the recipe
Real British cooking is rightly going through a Renaissance, with some wonderful dishes to try.
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