The Roast Beefs

The English are known, largely by our dear neighbours in France, as Les Ros Boeufs, because of our love for a good Sunday roast. Last night I plucked up the courage to make one, having inherited a joint of beef from the Parentals-in-Law, and the result was most pleasing.

Not bad for a first go, with different ingredients, using a roasting pan I’ve never witnessed the likes of before, eh? I’ve whipped up many a poultry and stuffing in my time, and I’m a dab hand at a roast potato, but beef I had not yet tried.

Hubby enjoyed it, after peering at me for several minutes to learn the process of eating English-style. Apparently, putting a little bit of everything on my fork is a strange way to go about it. I find this opinion boggling because, well, what’s the point in slaving to produce a plate of flavours that complement one another if you’re going to eat them one at a time?

Tonight he will be introduced to another staple of my homeland: bubble and squeak. I’ve mentioned it over here before and been met with blank looks, so this will be an interesting experiment. Also a good way to get him to eat his sprouts.

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