A Food Coma

“Come on mate, let’s go to the pub.”

Noon on Sunday and I dutifully followed my new friends through heavy wooden doors into a magnificent room of plush armchairs, a long horseshoe-shaped bar and massive chandelier. Not quite the place I was expecting, and certainly not Landmark Americana.

I’d stepped into my first classic British tavern, unknowingly about to impart on a longstanding tradition of eating and socializing.

“This place is the best in town because they do Sunday Roasts for £8,” said Joe, the most scraggly and ravenous of the bunch.

Traditionally, Sunday roasts are based around a large piece of roasted meat, usually beef, chicken, lamb or pork. Joining the party are a selection of boiled or roasted vegetables, like mashed potatoes, carrots, broccoli, peas or parsnips.

Further still, to accompany the meat, the chef makes a gravy from the meat’s drippings. Yorkshire puddings – heavenly puffed pastry similar to popovers – are also traditional.

This is not a meal to be taken lightly. And as my friends said, it’s as English as “a cuppa’ tea.”

If I’ve learned anything over the past two weeks, it’s that the United Kingdom genuinely loves its food. They’re proud of the rituals and practices that go into lovingly preparing and preserving these extraordinary meals.

The history of the Sunday roast, some say, goes all the way back to the Industrial Revolution. Others tell stories of village squires rewarding serfs at the end of the week with a joint of roast oxen. It is also occasionally known as Sunday Joint for this reason.

Sunday roast became a cultural ritual for British households – a sacrosanct time for families to come together around a table. No one would dare to miss the occasion and asking to invite a friend or new beau was considered a very big deal. It often coincided with going to church; a roast was put in before services and would be finished cooking by the time everyone got home.

Gordon Ramsay, the notoriously volatile celebrity chef, recently called for a resurgence of this national supper. In his cookbook, “Sunday Lunches: And Other Recipes from the F Word,” he asked families to come together around the table.

“Its what the dining room table was invented for,” Ramsay wrote. “Eating together as a family is really important to me and I am determined to get families back around the table together.”

As my friends tucked in to their hearty plates of pub grub, I wondered whether this quaint tradition can still exist in a modern world. It just seems so old-fashioned.

I can only equate the Sunday roast to the elaborate dinners often hosted by my Italian-American relatives. They are pleasant memories, where cast-iron pots simmer fragrantly on the stove for hours, filling the house with warmth and the smells of thyme and basil. Doesn’t that seem like a good way to spend a weekend?

It also begs an important question: why don’t we do this anymore? What’s stopping us from coming together, whether with family or friends, to enjoy a good meal and good company?

I think it’s time to take Sunday back. Something as simple as a good meal can make all the difference. Take time this week and treat yourself. Wake up before noon, buy a basil plant and cook for someone you love.

Just trust me.