October 11th 2020
Today I went out for a Sunday roast with my Mum and Dad. When they told me they wanted to go out for a roast, I sent requests for roast recommendations out to the people whom I trust most on these topics. Sidenote: I have no idea how to use the word ‘whom’ — if you know how to use the word ‘whom’, that much would have already been clear to you. If you don’t know how to use it, well, just ignore this italicised bit that you’ve probably already read and pretend I’m intelligent.
Among the recommendations, was the The King’s Arms in Prestbury. Although it’s name is hideously over-done, the food was not. Mum and I both had roast beef, and it was so well cooked that she went as far as to say that it may be the best roast beef she’s ever had. I wouldn’t go that far, but only because I wouldn’t want her to think it was better than any roast beef she’s ever cooked me. So, no comment, your honour.
It was seriously good though. And, surprisingly, the trimmings were unlimited. And so I ordered another entire plate of vegetables, roasties, and another yorkshire.
The pub is part of a chain of places owned by Raymond Blanc. That may or may not mean anything to you. Although it means nothing to me, it was the primary reason I chose to take my parents to that place. I mainly just wanted to flex.
Anyway here’s a photo:
You know the roast will be a good one when the yorkshire is the size of your face.
Mainly, dinner was nice for the food. But it was also really nice to be out with my parent. I can’t explain exactly why — maybe it was because we ordered a bottle of wine — but I felt weirdly grown up. Which is perhaps odd for a 27 year old man to say, but there it is.
Until tomorrow, the wine was good too.