#the brook

[lemuseum]

[thequietabsolute]

The Brook // William Morris 

[crimsonimpasto]

Paul Cézanne, The Brook, c. 1895

[devouringcambridge]

Sunday Roast at The Brook

I'm not an expert, but to me, the concept of a Sunday Roast is as British as afternoon tea or adding 'innit' to the end of all your sentences. There are so many pubs that offer this quintessential British cuisine, but today, I'm reviewing the Sunday Roast offered at The Brook. Located on Mill Road, The Brook is a cozy-sized pub with a warm atmosphere and some delicious ciders available...but how does their Sunday Roast hold up?

British Top Side Roast Beef with Horseradish Sauce (15 pounds)

I had such MIXED FEELINGS about this Sunday Roast. It was a roller coaster of emotions served up with a half-vat of gravy on the side. Some bites had my eyes rolling back in my head with ecstasy. Other bites belonged in the frozen aisle of a discount grocery store. Because of this, I'll rank each item, individually, from worst to best.

6. The Vegetables

I adore roasted veggies. Throw some broccoli, carrots, onions, and cloves of garlic on a roasting pan, drizzle with olive oil, toss some salt and pepper on top, and chuck that baby into the oven and I am more than happy. But these veggies had no tales to tell - they were bland, flavorless, steamed, and unhappy. Just like me after eating the lifeless carrots.

5. Top Side Beef

Seeing as it's called a Sunday ROAST, you'd think the meat would be the star of the show. And while it looks quite nice in the picture, the beef was so dry that I had to resort to dunking it into the gravy in order to make it palatable. It also didn't have much flavor beyond the gravy itself, which leads me to...

4. The Gravy

Solidly fine, and served with a generous portion. However, could do with more of a flavor PUNCH. As it was, I used it mostly as a moist-maker.

3. The Stuffing

And all of a sudden we jump from 'solidly fine' to 'oh my god, I wish I could ask for seconds.' The stuffing is invisible in this picture, and was a surprise to me. In fact, now that I'm writing this, I'm wondering if I got a different roast than the one on the menu...perhaps a holiday offering? Because stuffing isn't mentioned in the description, and I'm just realizing that there was no horseradish sauce in sight, either...hmm, well, all's well that ends well, because I'm glad for the swap. This stuffing was moist and packed with flavor - it tasted of salt, herbs, and garlic, and had a dense, crumbly texture. My only complaint was that there was such a small amount - it hid beneath the potatoes, a noble treasure.

2. The Yorkshire Pudding

My first bite of the Sunday Roast was a chunk of the fluffy, soft Yorkshire Pudding - and I can't be certain I didn't moan. It's been six months since the last time I had a Yorkshire Pudding, and I now realize that that is far too long. Honestly, I know a lot of people rag on British food, but the Yorkshire Pudding deserves to be appreciated internationally. I just wish I could describe it better, for those who've never tried one. It's almost like...the love child of a souffle, a pancake, and pita bread...but also different from all of those things. The texture is NEXT LEVEL. So freaking fluffy. And the perfect vessel for soaking up pan sauces and gravy. Ugh, I would have traded the beef for another Yorkshire Pudding with no hesitation. And honestly, the Yorkshire Pudding was probably THE best thing on the plate...but, they're also pretty hard to get wrong. Put a Yorkie P on my plate, and I'll be happy almost always. Although, I won't take away from The Brook here - they do a particularly good one.

The Roast Potatoes

After tasting the sad veg, I feared the potatoes would also be steamed and unseasoned. Instead, The Brook said 'try the best fucking roasted potatoes you've ever had, ye of little fucking faith.'

Crispy on the outside but fluffy on the inside, these taters were perfectly cooked. Flavorful on their own, they verged on orgasmic when slathered in gravy. And I don't even usually LIKE roast potatoes!

So, now, hopefully, you see why this Sunday Roast is hard to rate. How do you compare the worst steamed veggies I've ever had - even the ones in elementary school had salt on them - to the fucking best roast potatoes I've ever had?! It's madness. Madness! While the stuffing and the Yorkshire puddings also pull their own weight, I will say, because the meat is supposed to be the focal point of a Sunday Roast, I'm going to have to give this particular roast at The Brook a...

Rating: 6 out of 10 Gravy Boats

Honestly, if I had just been handed a plate of Yorkshire Pudding and Roast Potatoes, the score would have been much higher...although I'd be eating nothing but carbs. Still. Some things in life are worth every bite, while other things - like the dry beef - are barely worth chewing.

[strawberryjayne]

The Brook

I come  from haunts of coot and hern,

I make a sudden sally,

And sparkle out among the fern,

To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,

Or slip between the ridges,

By twenty thorps, a little town,

And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,

But I go on forever.

I chatter over stony ways,

In little sharps and trebles,

I bubble into eddying bays,

I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret

by many a field and fallow,

And many a fairy foreland set

With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,

But I go on forever.

I wind about, and in and out,

with here a blossom sailing,

And here and there a lusty trout,

And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake

Upon me, as I travel

With many a silver water-break

Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,

But I go on forever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,

I slide by hazel covers;

I move the sweet forget-me-nots

That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,

Among my skimming swallows;

I make the netted sunbeam dance

Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars

In brambly wildernesses;

I linger by my shingly bars;

I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,

But I go on forever.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

[foreverlogical]

Michael Bloomberg Quietly Rejoined Clubs That Largely Exclude Women, Minorities

When no one was watching, the presidential candidate re-upped his membership at two of these clubs after resigning from them in 2001.

[aainaalyaa]

The Brook, William Morris