BANK HOLIDAY BEEF: IT’S ALL ABOUT THE PUDDINGS
Back home in La Belle Rotherham, ahem!
It was HP’s turn to cook the Sunday lunch, which is just as well as my hurtle towards the NYC marathon had meant a 17.5 miler this morning and consequently my being fit for nothing. A condition which numerous ex’s would attest to being “not a pretty sight”
It was a particularly auspicious day as it was Baba's (Bengali for Dad) 74th Birthday, so all of his favourite things had to be on show.
HP managed more than admirably. A 2.5kg rib from Northfiled Farm, exemplary roasties cooked in Goose fat, fresh hot horseradish sauce and some vegetables ( at my request ) would have been enough on their own but were topped by, arguably, the best Yorkshire puddings in the history of this small, insignificant, spinning globe of ours. Crispy on the outside but with enough doughy insides to mop up a very acceptable gravy.
Ah, the great British Sunday lunch. It’s what separates us from the beasts ( or the Americans, I am never quite sure how to distinguish the two )
Washed down with a bottle of Chorley Le Beaune and a Chianti Classico and followed with a choccy mouse and a glass or three of 10 year old Talisker, The four men of the family were more than happy to crash in front of the box and watch football with only the meanest box of chocolate gingers to keep us from starvation.
Now we have to think about Supper