Sunday Lunches
I miss Sunday lunch at my mother's house. Not just because she made one of the best roast dinners, whatever meat she served up, but because there was always cards afterwards, or an old black and white movie to watch together. And yes, we were the only one's out of all the family that indulged in this particular habit.
Or maybe, it was that I just indulged my mother. Knowing as I did that she like to watch these old movies and have a trip down memory lane and enjoy a moment of nostalgia with me. It wasn't about the movie, but about sharing her memories. I treasure those anecdotes, they're a small thread that leads me back to those afternoons with her.
I miss that as well as the roast pork, or roast lamb, cooked to perfection. Never mind the best roast potatoes you've ever tasted. Which reminds me of the day my dad made the best gravy any of us have ever tasted. It happened because he mistook the jar with the icing sugar in it to be the corn starch, and not wearing his glasses spooned in a couple of tablespoons of icing sugar into the usual onion and dripping mix in the roasting pan to thicken it and ...
Wow, did that gravy taste great. I had no idea icing sugar could make such a difference. And no, before you ask, it wasn't sweet tasting as you might think, it tasted like, well, onion gravy. But with an edge. That French something, Unami maybe? That mouth feel?
It's hard to describe. But, from that mistake onwards, whenever we were all at my parents for a Sunday roast, it was unanimous that dad make his icing sugar gravy, whatever the meat being served.
My Sunday dinner is not the same, not only can I not replicate that gravy, but my dinner is always so-so to taste. It could be the cut of meat is too small, or the oven is too big. But mostly I think it's because my parents aren't here, directing traffic and organising the chaos that went on in my mother's kitchen so that the veg, meat, gravy, potatoes and us all arrived at the table altogether, ready to eat.
Ah, I miss you mum.