The Autumn Ritual of Roasts
As the first whispers of autumn settle in, there's a familiar rhythm that stirs in our household. Outside, the once-vibrant green leaves begin their graceful descent, carpeting the ground in a crunchy mosaic of russets and reds. Each step through the fallen leaves sends a satisfying crackle underfoot, while the low-hanging mists and the gentle mizzle—our uniquely British drizzle that blurs the line between mist and rain—create a dampness that seeps into your bones. It’s a transformation that beckons the warmth of home or the inviting glow of a village pub. Barbours, Le Chameaus, and Dubarrys are dusted off, polished, dubbed, and pulled on, ready to brave the elements as the season of roast dinners officially begins.
The ritual begins often with a walk, the kind that leaves your cheeks rosy and your boots muddy. We may wander through the village, letting the crunch of leaves underfoot accompany our conversation. There’s could be a stop at the local pub, where we settle into a cozy corner for a pre-roast drink. The condensation on the pint glasses mirrors the mist outside, while the warmth of the pub offers a welcome contrast to the chill in the air.
Back at home, the kitchen hums with quiet activity. The roasting joint slowly cooking, the oven doing its magic while we enjoy the autumn day. Whether it’s pork, beef, or lamb, the meat joint is the centrepiece. We always opt for the largest joint possible, knowing that the leftovers will carry us through the week ahead, each meal a comforting reminder of this autumn day. The oven takes over, doing the slow, steady work of transforming the meat into something tender, succulent, and deeply flavourful.
But the joint is only part of the story. The accoutrements—the true companions to the roast—are just as important. Roasted potatoes, their edges crisp and golden, are non-negotiable. Parsnips and carrots, sweetened by the oven’s heat, are the ever-present essentials. Then there’s the cauliflower and broccoli cheese, creamy and rich, bubbling and golden. Red cabbage, its sweet and tangy notes providing the perfect counterbalance to the richness of the meal.
And then, of course, the Yorkshire puddings. Controversial, perhaps, but in our home, they accompany every type of roast and even the Christmas turkey, the plate feels incomplete without a couple of Yorkshire puds, There’s a time and place to debate this, but for now, they are a welcome addition, their airy, golden forms soaking up the proper gravy.
Speaking of gravy, it’s the crowning glory, rich and thick, made from the pan drippings and poured generously over everything. The meal wouldn’t be complete without it, binding all the elements together in a symphony of flavours.
Once the feast is laid out, the table fills with those we love most. There’s something deeply satisfying about a roast dinner, about the way it gathers people together, each bite a reminder of the warmth and comfort that comes from sharing a meal. It’s a hug of a meal, enveloping us in its warmth while outside, the world is wet, damp, and chilled by the encroaching night.
And though the roast is the star, the meal isn’t complete without a proper pudding. An apple, raisin, and cinnamon crumble perhaps, served with a generous scoop of Cornish ice cream—more on that another time. For now, we savour the last of the day, knowing that these moments, these simple, autumn rituals, are what carry us through the year, each roast dinner a reminder of the season’s bounty and the warmth of home.
Afterward, with full tummies and content hearts, we slip into pyjamas, the log fire crackling away, Sunday night TV softly playing in the background. The week ahead might be looming, but for now, we’re wrapped in the comfort of the moment, of a day well-spent, of a meal that’s more than just food, content in the knowledge that autumn—and all its culinary delights—has only just begun.