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'My Corduroyed Life' - Mark A's Journal
My Mum’s Sunday dinner, the first weekend I went back to Wolverhampton after moving to Salford for Uni.
You know how it is: everyone believes that their Mum does the best Sunday dinner in the world. Well they’re all wrong: my Mum does… OKAY?!?!
Heh… I feel that in reality that it’s a matter of taste and that, as long as the mum in question’s Sunday dinner is actually passable, everyone gets used to the way their Mum’s Sunday roast. Mums know which joint their family will like; Mums know how much to serve; Mums know the desired consistency of gravy; &c. Mums, unlike all other chefs, have the advantage of knowing the exact tastes of the people to whom they’re serving dinner.
This particular Sunday dinner was roast beef, with roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, peas, and dark, thin gravy. Perfection.
Living with your parents means that you take your Mum’s cooking for granted. This was a quick and harsh lesson I learnt at Uni when my initial meals consisted of takeaway, beans on toast, microwave meals, pot noodles, and burnt sausages and runny mess that was supposed to be smash instant masked potato. So two weeks later, after eating crap meal after crap meal for all that time, my Mum’s Sunday dinner of roast beef and Yorkshire puddings (particularly as it was my favourite roast that she does) was simply the best meal I ever had.
Have fun,
M x
Current mood:
hungry.Current music: Food Glorious Food?.