Today is Sunday, and as dictated by the mighty Great British Food God, Sunday is the day of the roast dinner.
Hey, I didn't make the rules
This law has been around for millions of years, not even vegetarians are exempt from the rule (lest they be ravaged by a bag of angry ferrets).
"You don't want to tangle with me ************!"
"But Daystar!" I hear you cry, "what makes the Sunday roast different from any other meal?"
Good question, and by 'good question' I mean how dare you question my ultimate authority!
The Sunday roast is a magical time. The planets are aligned and the cosmos have given us their permission to enjoy something that goes against all we are taught.
"Go for it bro, it's ok"
Pudding is served with the Sunday roast. On the same plate!
Never has there been a time where roast meat, gravy and pudding have all been served in the same instance and is yet another gift bestowed upon us by the Great British Food God to spite the French.
Suck it, France
On rare occassions, the Yorkshire pudding has even been known to cradle entire meals in its warm, loving embrace.
This is what love feels like
So when you sit down to your Sunday meals from now on, you can thank the Great British Food God for yet again, blessing us with a taste sensation.
Unless you're a foreigner, in which case.
Tough shit.
Hey, I didn't make the rules
This law has been around for millions of years, not even vegetarians are exempt from the rule (lest they be ravaged by a bag of angry ferrets).
"You don't want to tangle with me ************!"
"But Daystar!" I hear you cry, "what makes the Sunday roast different from any other meal?"
Good question, and by 'good question' I mean how dare you question my ultimate authority!
The Sunday roast is a magical time. The planets are aligned and the cosmos have given us their permission to enjoy something that goes against all we are taught.
"Go for it bro, it's ok"
Pudding is served with the Sunday roast. On the same plate!
Never has there been a time where roast meat, gravy and pudding have all been served in the same instance and is yet another gift bestowed upon us by the Great British Food God to spite the French.
Suck it, France
On rare occassions, the Yorkshire pudding has even been known to cradle entire meals in its warm, loving embrace.
This is what love feels like
So when you sit down to your Sunday meals from now on, you can thank the Great British Food God for yet again, blessing us with a taste sensation.
Unless you're a foreigner, in which case.
Tough shit.
