It’s Sunday in the autumn. Outside the window is ash-tray grey and maybe there’s spots of rain permeating the window panes. From downstairs my dad’s music is seeping up the stairs and mixing with the smell of hot fat and vegetables.
Roasts in my house, as a child, were invariably vegetable and nut based. I’m not saying they were bad – my dad’s roast potatoes are still the best I’ve had. However, it was only when I started eating meat that I enjoyed the actual experience of eating a roast. Until then, the enjoyment came more from the experience of sharing a meal that signified the day of the week. It was the build up of the roast, the knowing exactly what you were having before you were called down the stairs to a candle laden table.
My first experience of a meat roast was not eaten, but instead read about. When I started eating meat, I had bought Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s The River Cottage Meat Book. I poured over the pages of the roast section working out the best cuts and the most interesting forms of roasting. Whether it was poultry, pork, beef, lamb or game I was memorising the recipes, working out the timings for different weights of meat and planning roast dinners that I knew I wouldn’t have the confidence to invite anyone to. This went on for around a month until we went out for two roasts in quick succession.
The first roast was at Quex Barn, a reasonably small restaurant in the back of one of our local farmshops. They have their own butcher and their own vegetables. They are no nonsense, big plated roasts served with ample veg and condiments. T ordered pork belly and I ordered beef and we shared meat so that I could try both. The pork belly was lovely and fatty and had that chewiness I always expected pig to have. The beef was from the H bone (an old-fashioned, flavourful roasting cut from the rump and silverside junction of the animal). It arrived sliced very thinly, pink in the centre and slightly beige around the edge. It had none of the chewy texture of beef that I had expected – it was almost buttery and had a subtle beef flavour. It was likely to be the best thing I had tried on my meaty journey so far.
The second roast was at The Bull’s Head in Margate, an arty bistro pub that used to be notoriously rough. We had heard good things about their roasts though so gave it a go. The room we were sat in was smoky and hot from the open fire and the walls were clad with blackboards displaying options for meals on other days of the week. I ordered duck and T ordered beef. Both roasts were served with smoked celeriac puree, a roast potato, a yorkshire pudding and heritage carrots. The plates were massive compared to the food on them. It was a piled affair of puree topped with vegetables and then the cut of meat. My duck leg was served on the bone and was admittadly cooked brilliantly. Flavourful and with a succulence that allowed the meat to fall off the bone in chunks. The bone situation was interesting for me – offering new challenges and flavour experiences. I enjoyed finding the different colours and textures of different parts of the leg and how the texture changes the closer to the bone you get. The cartilage was also an interesting encounter with its gelatinous chewiness that also somehow melts like butter.
Both experiences were a far cry from the vegetarian roasts of my childhood. The main thing I enjoy about roasted meats is the theatre and excitement of a roasted animal. That theatre will never come from a nut roast which is the same dry texture all the way through. There is something terribly exciting about each mouthful potentially having a slightly different mouthfeel than the one before.
It was some time until I mustered the courage to cook my own roast and I will share a recipe in the next post.
The Meat Diary 
Leave a comment