Sunday Roast, Yorkshire Puddings, and Crumbles

I’ve had two opportunities to have Yorkshire Pudding(s). The first time I partook of YP, Sarah made Sunday roast, which is analogous (analogs again?) to Shabbat dinner. Well, except not everything on the table is kosher. And, well, not everyone at the table is circumcised. (How often do you see circumcision mentioned in a food column?)

I liken Yorkshire Pudding to noodle kugel for its place in the British heart (or stomach). It’s about as simple to make and, similarly, satisfies the palate. I could easily see Jews adopting Yorkshire pudding as part of the Sabbath meal, though it would never replace challah for dipping (“tzupping up” is the Yiddish term, I think) in chicken soup. 

Yorkshire Puddings - Fresh out of the oven

I also can’t resist, maybe competitively, showing off my first blackberry-apple crumble (*see quiz below), which I made while Sarah was making the Sunday roast. James, his good friend Tommy, Sarah and I picked the blackberries along a historical country walk we had taken. I had mentioned, in an earlier post, that there had been several murders committed in the vicinity. This walk (as the English like to call their hikes, maybe because many of them attain no altitude) traced some of the murders in Clavering, which we found in a book I bought called, “Clavering Walks.” The blackberries were adequate – not yet at their peak – and we used some apples Sarah had frozen. I adjusted the recipe with a greater proportion of oats to flour. The result was good and Sarah gracefully ceded the title, at least in our household, to me. I accepted the new title and commensurate responsibility, but felt there was a need for refinement. 

Blackberry-Apple Crumble: A Work in Progress

A race for seconds

The second time I partook of Yorkshire Puddings was at Sarah’s parent’s house for another Sunday roast dinner. June and Malcolm live up north in Thorpe Willoughby in the county of Yorkshire, namesake of the aforementioned puddings. June’s Yorkshire puddings were also delicious. I couldn’t say which was better lest I stir up trouble with my partner or my mother-in-law (soon). On the car trip north, Sarah recounted how, as kids, she and her brother, Richard, used to fight over the extra Yorkshire puddings. Luckily, with the extras on this occasion, I was given guest’s privileges. I had half of one, dividing them among the three (other?) kids at the table.

The post-prandial entertainment was provided by Sarah’s niece, Amelia. At 10, already very dramatic and, like all fledgling actresses and comediennes, she capitalizes on the family as her first and best audience. The dining room picture window provides a view to the front yard and street. It also doubled as a frame for Amelia’s performance. She is not a greedy star so I was able to join her retinue. We took imaginary stairs and, on a second occasion, an escalator to the driveway.

Today, Sarah and I went to a local pub for Sunday roast. We had made tentative plans to pick blackberries with neighbor Jo. When we returned home from the pub, we ventured out, with Jo and her kids, for some more blackberries. This time we picked the blackberries, out of the “hedgerow” on the way to the ford (right now, a dry riverbed). No tales of murder along this route although one wonders what communal strife would arise if the blackberry supply ran low. In early autumn, the countryside is rife with people picking berries and the electricity grid use surges on Sunday afternoons as collective crumbles cook. On the way back we stopped off for some apples from Jo’s tree. This time, I put in too much flour and oats, and too little apple. Also, due to a lack of forethought, I had to use faux butter. The last was a crucial mistake. This time, the crumble was good but possibly a step down in quality. In the future, certainly butter, per Julia Child’s axiom, and I will reduce the flour and oats so they can better soak up the juices from the fruit, caramelizing sugar, and the flavor of browning butter. I’ve also had the brainstorm to add cinnamon and nutmeg. I welcome any comments on the nutmeg.

The cooking process provides some insight into my transition to life here. Sarah and I move through continual phases of adjustments to each other. We have abundant amounts of love and respect for each other. We are willing to hear each other and use a mixture of compassion and courage as we create a life together. Like my attempts with the blackberry-apple crumble, we have the necessary ingredients and are in the process of continually refining the recipe.

*Quiz: What's the difference between a crumble, a brickle, and a cobbler?