Carling Don’t do Yorkshire Puddings, But if They Did…

A modest helping of roast beef, roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, veg and red wine gravy.

Writing a blog requires a certain amount of discipline. Here I am on a Sunday – wishing no more than to splat on the sofa watching catch up TV (current favourite: Celebrity Masterchef) – but no, any guide to blog writing talks about the importance of regularity*, so I racked my brain for a suitable subject…

… and ended up with food once more! To tie the subject in with my alleged blog main theme (weddings, those of you have kindly signed up to follow me regularly – and I do think you are the most wonderful specimens of humanity – may note that this blog uses the theme of ‘wedding’ very loosely) I thought I’d blog this time about cooking for your intended.

Now, I adore food – to eat, to read about, to watch on TV. But I am the world’s most boring eater. I tend to eat the same thing day in, day out. If you are what you eat, I am a mixture of houmous, prawns, salad, bananas and cheese. Ooh, and er… red wine and a wee bit of chocolate.

I read recipes, I explore cookery websites, I flick through cook books in WH Smith as I while away time in train stations, imaging how I would improve dishes etc etc. And all of this activity is wasted on moi – as I am le mangeur ennuyeux** and too terrified to venture outside of my eating comfort zones. Happily though, my fiance loves being experimented on so I get to explore my creative side without having to throw out loads of food.

Pastry? He’s as happy as Larry to try. New curry recipes via the slow cooker? Contented man. Lorraine Pascale’s lasagne – thinks it’s super-duper. Home-made pizza – just make sure you roll the base thin enough. Fudge chocolate cake pudding – he’s demanding a second helping, albeit with feedback on the cooking time. [Maybe three minutes less next time.] White chocolate cheesecake – not as good as your mum’s… (HUH!)

So, on Saturday evening, in deeply traditional fashion, I thought I’d cook up a proper roast dinner. Namely, the roast beef of old Scotland.*** Meat in a hot oven! Potatoes in goose fat! Yorkshire pudding! Proper gravy!

The results of these endeavours have been posted  in pictorial form above (I can’t tell you how proud of I am of those Yorkshires, thank you Barney Desmazery). And, um, there was a wee bit of bossiness on my part while undertaking this operation and appointing my fiance as sous chef – “baste that beef”; “move that oven shelf down”; “heat the dish for the Yorkshire puddings”. [Pour me wine!]

All of these cookery tricks did demand certain skills from me – timing mainly. The potatoes were done long before the meat so they lost their initial crunchiness. And I overcooked pudding, woe. I can’t tell you how this tasted either, as I’m one of those wishy-washy types who refuses to eat meat, but suffers no qualms when it comes to fish. (Sentimental and egotistical human attachment to mammals possibly?)

But blimey, the house smelled amazing for hours afterwards, even if the oven most definitely now needs thorough cleaning. (Not my job, ha!)

 

*I apologise for the word ‘regularity’; it sounds unfortunately too close to what people use as descriptions for their bowel habits.

**Literal translation – ‘boring eater’. Not entirely sure if it should be masculine or feminine.

***Delia Smith refers to it as the roast beef of old England; our beef was definitely Celtic.

 

 

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