The Real Sunday Roast is a b*tch.
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? Fnar.
Here, the fabulous Beta Mummy doodles it…
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.
‘Alpha Mummy’ would never let this happen.
This is more like it…
Rush home. After 3 hours peeling everything in sight and frantically choreographing what’s going in the oven when according to temperature and space, it’s all in and on. So much for the kids helping – they’ve been zombie-fied by Lego City or Peppa Pig.
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, served in those posh serving dishes you never normally get out with a bit of rosemary sprinkled on top as a half arsed nod to the Jamie Oliver recipe you were supposed to be following.
A hot, sweaty mess, you finally sit down to force feed the children who are snacked up to the eyeballs as it’s two hours later than they’d normally eat and pretty much bedtime.
But has your afternoon’s handiwork and destroyed kitchen all been for nothing? Well, you are all sitting around and eating 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.
You forgot. It was always your Mum that made the roast before. And now you are Mum.
Thanks so much to the brilliant Beta Mummy for her doodles. Go and check out her blog now for more hilarious and accurate illustrations from the coalface of real parenting.