Sunday dinner at our house was a constant during my childhood. Every Sunday was the same meal whether we had company or it was just us.
Mum would make roast beef. She would take the fat out of the crockery jar that she kept in the fridge and put it around the beef. Of course we do not make roast beef this way now, but that was the way the women in my family made it. The beef would go into the oven and the potatoes would be prepared for roasting.
Then the two veg…always the same…turnips and brussel sprouts. When we were children my brother would not eat the sprouts and I would not eat the turnip.
The dining room table would be set with the best linen, china, crystal and silverware. If it was a special occasion then there might even be a candle in the middle of the table.
Mum would call us for dinner and Dad would carve the roast. My brother and I would always race to be the first to ask for the outside end bit of the beef. At this time the family dog would take up his position under the roast, in case any little bits might miss their mark, all the while knowing that Dad would always sneak him a little something.
The plates would be taken out of the oven all nice and warm and the wine would be poured into glasses for my parents. Just before sitting down to the table Dad would turn on the stereo and play the Scottish and Irish music we grew up on. “Donald where’s your troosers (trousers)” was a popular one as was the “Wild Colonial Boy” Any time I hear these and other songs it takes me right back to the Sunday dinner of my childhood.
Of course, my brother and I grew up and got busy with our lives. Sunday dinner changed. It was not every Sunday but special Sunday’s. My Mum makes the best roast beef and that has now become our traditional Christmas dinner.
Sunday dinners were always filled with lots of chatter, laughter, music and good times, not to mention the wonderful food.
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