A Lady in London

With Thanksgiving rapidly approaching and the U.S. election taking place today, my mind has been preoccupied with the land across the pond lately. But it hasn’t always been that way. Ever since I moved to London last year I’ve been trying to experience as many unique English traditions as I can. From the bizarre Shrove Tuesday Pancake Races to the upcoming Bonfire Night celebrations, I’ve tried to take part as best a foreigner can.

In all of my endeavoring, there is one tradition I haven’t done so well at experiencing: Sunday Roast. Think of it as something akin to Thanksgiving dinner, only instead of occurring once a year it takes place once a week. Families, friends, and loved ones gather around cosy fireside tables in their homes or at their local pubs and stuff themselves full of roasted meat, buttery vegetables, Yorkshire pudding, and delicious dessert. Wash it all down with a few pints of beer and you’ve got yourself a proper Sunday Roast.

Having failed to take part in this tradition my first year in London, I set out on Sunday to finally experience this important weekly feast. My boyfriend and I went with some friends to the Holly Bush pub, a famous Hampstead establishment with a reputation for an amazing Sunday Roast.

Determined to get the best table in the pub, we showed up right as it opened and snagged a spot by the fire. For the next three hours, we feasted on juicy steak, succulent lamb, and tender chicken with stuffing. We ate fluffy Yorkshire pudding, golden potatoes, wonderful red cabbage with raisins, sweet carrots, and of course, chocolate cake, apple crumble, and toffee ice cream. It was the perfect way to spend a winter afternoon.

After the meal I couldn’t help but agree with an English friend of mine who doesn’t understand why America only enjoys such a delicious feast once a year. I’m now determined to make Sunday Roast a regular English tradition in my American expat life.