To roast or not to roast: traditions and food

Today, as it’s Easter Sunday, I’ve found myself thinking about food. Driving home from work and looking forward to a few hours to myself before the possibility of more work later, I thought about the many families today gathering for a roast lunch. Probably lamb, as is traditional for this time of year. I wondered why I was so very pleased that I was not going to be part of that, and why I have an aversion to the roast lunch in particular.

When we left the UK, I was a child. I didn’t take much notice of the meals we ate or their preparation. I never had a big appetite and the challenge for me was always to eat enough to satisfy my mother’s concern for my wellbeing. (Later on, just a year of boarding school changed all that; I can now shovel away enough food to keep me going until the next opportunity in record time.)

In the tropical heat, you don’t want to eat a big lunch. Maybe a salad or some clear soup. Quite possibly something very spicy to cool you down (it works!). Any sort of lunchtime celebration usually consists of a buffet, a selection of curry, noodles and vegetables so that you can pick what you want and leave what you don’t. No-one wants to sit down to a formal meal at that time of day.

So, for all of my teenage years, I hardly ever ate a traditional English Sunday lunch. Certainly not a roast with ‘trimmings.’ Only when we returned on leave to stay in our own house which my grandparents were living in. I remember vividly the time we walked in the door after what was then a 24 hour journey, for my grandfather to present my mother with an uncooked leg of lamb: ‘oh good, you’re here, can you deal with this?’ To be fair, he had never been on a plane and had no idea what the travelling was like, and now we only think of this in a humorous way, but I am sure it was the last thing my mother wanted or expected. When those roast lunches did take place, inevitably during our annual leave as family came to visit, my impression was of a huge amount of work and formality with little justification. My mother would be tied up in the kitchen for hours, peeling, scrubbing and stirring. Then we would sit at the table and I would begin the challenge of trying to eat enough to make a dent in the food on my plate. I missed the point of the tradition and the family togetherness; it just seemed like a trial. And then the mountains of washing up, resulting from the many pans required, soaking the crusted roasting dishes and finding room in the fridge for all the leftovers.

Since I have been running my own domestic situation (frighteningly that works out to three decades), I have mostly escaped the obligation to make a roast lunch. Sometimes I roast a chicken to keep in the fridge but I have never had much success with roasting anything else. If I am really making an effort, these days I swallow the small amount of pride I still have and buy frozen roast potatoes, stuffing and Yorkshire puddings. I do make very good gravy – not sure how that happened! Lunch is essential, but I tend to see it as something to be planned and dealt with quickly, so we can get on with the important activities of the afternoon.

Anyway, what I am trying to say is that I have never ‘got’ the roast lunch thing. If I had to cook for you at lunchtime I would much rather make a curry. I know it will be delicious and I will view the preparation and cooking as fun, rather than the slog and perspiration of getting a roast done, and making sure the vegetables and potatoes are all ready at the right time. I would also look forward to eating the curry myself! But to be honest, if we are meeting at lunchtime, why do I have to cook? I’d much rather we went on a picnic or for an outing or…or…or…

Now I understand, I really do, that it’s a lovely tradition. I know that, right now, many families are enjoying each other’s company round a table of lovingly prepared food and creating a day of happy memories. I know, even, that many designated cooks enjoy making this type of meal. I have friends who assure me that this is the case. But today, I am noticing one of the many consequences of my non-traditional growing up. This is a part of British life that never got under my skin. And now that I am examining that part of my life, in the cold and unafraid light of day, I am delighted to discover that I am not just a curmudgeonly grump pouring cold water on other people’s fun – I am just slightly different.

Someone used the phrase ‘formative years’ in a comment on one of my posts. What surrounds you and what you experience during your formative years will stay with you for the rest of your life. Not just the emotional ups and downs, the education and the family circumstances, but the culture and society you are part of, the traditions and celebrations and the general rhythm of life. So if your formative years are spent differently from those of your fellows, then you return to your home country and for a long time pretend that nothing is different, you will encounter areas of discomfort. There will be things you don’t connect with, don’t understand or don’t like. And many of these things will be an integral part of the life you are attempting to ‘fit in with.’

This is what happened to me, but I have only recently seen it clearly. I tried so hard to be properly British and to be like everyone else, despite having some parts of the jigsaw missing and replaced with entirely different shapes. Then, when those differences made me feel uncomfortable, I didn’t understand it and felt cross or upset. I thought there was something wrong with me. Now, finally, I understand. I can’t replace the missing bits, and now I wouldn’t want to. I can look at those aspects of British life that I hadn’t connected with as a youngster, and decide whether I want to make them part of my life or not. Just as a visitor to this country might do. It’s ok to be different, it really is, and it’s ok to choose.