The traditional Sunday Roast has a couple of possible origins. There’s the opinion that it started in the 15th century when, the serfs were rewarded by the squire for serving them for six days then going to church on Sunday before practising archery in the fields. These things were rewarded with a spit roasted ox. I find that hard to believe, after all, squires were merely medieval Tories and they’d never feed their staff.
The more likely explanation is that, on a Sunday morning in the 18th century, the woman of the house, or food skilled servant, would stick a joint in the oven first thing then, just before leaving the house, put the veg around the joint. By the time they returned from their weekly indoctrination, the meal was all but ready, merely wanting the gravy to be made from the pan juices.
Of course, the above would only be for those that could afford a joint of meat. The poorest of the poor still had to hear about hell and damnation, but then would return to a cold and starved hovel to spend another shivering night with empty, groaning bellies. Such is the way of the world.
Here, in the 21st century, there’s really no reason for limiting a roast to a Sunday. Well, I say that, but there are plenty of traditionalists who would no doubt insist that it would go against everything that’s holy, to have a roast on a Monday. These are the same people who think a roast needs Yorkshire pudding to make it a roast, even if the people eating it don’t like Yorkshire pudding.
Apparently, though, the Yorkshire pudding was originally served as a first course so, if anything, the traditionalists should be eating them first. and those that prefer not to can just skip the entrée.
The point of all the above is the fact that, today, Monday, we had the roast chicken that we had originally planned to have yesterday, Sunday. Having visited Nicoline then Emils Backe, we were too full to even contemplate a roast, so we snacked yesterday then I cooked the roast tonight.
It’s been ages since I made Persian roast chicken. This was mainly because I didn’t want to have to clean up an AirBnB oven. It does leave quite a lot of mess. But it’s one thing cleaning your own oven. I did that before bed.
Before starting the roast, however, I luxuriated in the glass room, reading with a glass of rum while Mirinda took the girls on a walk that featured bee hotels, the Baltic Sea and a moose. She was particularly happy about the moose.
I had to make my own za’atar, and used big, fresh lemons rather than preserved but, the roast, regardless of the day, was delicious.
By the way, the National Geographic claims that ‘Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding accompanied by roast potatoes, vegetables, and horseradish sauce’ is considered the national dish of England. No mention of a Sunday, though.
