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Carvery Equipment Brings Back Memories Of Home

Ah, I love that Sunday feeling; after a long week at work, a crazy Friday night out, Saturday spent shopping and then the good old Sunday day of rest comes along. A day of doing as little as possible and just letting it all hang out as it were. The traditional Sunday in my house when I was growing up was all about the family being together and the little rituals that went with whole day. I'd be packed off to Sunday school for the morning and upon my return, the seductive smells of the roast dinner would be well under way and the day would really begin.

Whilst I played, the familiar smells of roasting lamb would come wafting through the house making my belly rumble, the sweet smell of mint sauce making my mouth water. The kitchen windows all steamed up from boiling potatoes and steamed vegetables; hinting at the cold of the autumn day outside, and I'm just waiting for the call to lay the table, the sign that the family feasting was imminent. Out comes the table cloth in thick red linen, then the coiled straw place mats. It'd carefully polish the cutlery and get out the special cut crystal glasses from the display cabinet and put each bit in its place. Sometimes I'd even go and collect some ivy and make a little centrepiece from the table. Our Sunday dinners really were like a mini Christmas when I look back.

After the inevitable eating until I was fit to burst, it would be slouch in front of the telly watching an old western, Bonanza or Lassie, or the occasional heart tugging Disney family film. This is way back in the day when three channels were the norm and the national anthem was still played at the close of broadcasting, sometime around midnight. Once digested, it would be out for an obligatory family walk, across the fields and into the woods; my favourite when the air was cold and the ground crisp. Then back home for roast dinner sandwiches in front of the Antiques Roadshow and Wildlife on One with the ever soothing voice of Sir David Attenborough. Those really were the days my friend.

Now I'm all grown up and have a home of my own with my own routine, but I can see it is still based on those hazy days of childhood innocence. Sunday is still my day of rest, although I forego the religion and replace it with a well deserved lie in. I have also swapped the playing for beer it seems, but surely that is just a grown up way of playing anyway. The family I have around me for the day are actually my friends, but I still get someone else to cook the food and I still get my quota of good old Davey Attenborough.

I now make my weekly trip for Sunday satisfaction down to the local pub where a carvery is laid on; and it has the same capability for making my belly rumble and my mouth water just the way that my mother's cooking used to. It is eat as much as you like, so I still get to feed my seemingly insatiable taste buds until I think my belly will pop. Walking in and seeing the chefs in their whites, behind the gleaming carvery equipment and all ready for service has the same affect of preparing the table back at home. Dinner really will be soon, and my mouth begins to water. After a few lazy ales, it is back to mine for some sofa snacking watching the latest instalment on Nat Geo, and the day, once again, is perfect and complete.

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