Happy Sunday, folks! Your Single Housewife correspondent is currently sipping on a mighty refreshing basil lemonade (homemade basil simple syrup is wonderful stuff) and contemplating the fine results of another Sunday roast dinner.
The Sunday roast is a tradition as ancient as meat and the Sabbath, and it’s a lovely tradition I’m proud to carry on in my own home. It’s something my momma did just about every week, too: big thang of meat, slow-roasted while the family goes to church, served with way too many trimmings and gravy that would make shoe leather melt in your mouth.
It makes for great company food.
In our case, the trimmings for the day were a portobello-studded, beefy, rosemary-y gravy and a slightly sweet, slightly salty mélange of carrots and parsnips.
Now, while Momma always made her legendary biscuits (or her equally legendary dinner rolls), I have adopted an even older traditional starch: Yorkshire pudding.
The name is really the only weird part. We Americans hear/read “pudding” and think “Jell-O! Hooray!” Less often, we’ll hear British types talk about pudding and understand it to mean a dessert course. This Yorkshire business isn’t as much a pudding of either kind as it is a savory variation on the German pancake, or, as it was called in my natal home, the Dutch baby.
Like a Dutch baby, a Yorkshire pudding has a freakin’ weird name and cooks in a very hot oven in a pre-heated pan slathered in smoking hot fat. Here are the particulars on my easy, fast, sized-for-two Yorkshire pudding recipe.
So we’re sitting down to tuck into all this nonsense, and I look down next to my chair, and I see my dog — my poor dog, who’s been smelling this beef roast in the oven all morning — doing this:
He got to clean the plates.