It's definitely on Sunday and a meal between tradition lunch and dinner/supper. I think it's where everyone would go to church and then stop off at the pub and have Sunday lunch - roast, gravy, potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, cabbage, peas/carrots.
My glorious friend Gill does Sunday Lunch. It is almost always at her house, but she occasionally trades off with her friend Sam - whose husband Paul does all of the cooking - unless there is dessert and then Sam is all over that.
There are lots of rules and assigned chores associated with Gill's Sunday Lunch - like Gill does all the cooking, Paul does the carving, Sam puts away the food and cleans up as Gill is cooking and Graeme, well he helps. If I am there, my job is to sit on the stool and drink wine and not do any of Sam's chores. There are the traditions and discussions like who makes the best yorkshire puddings, who can eat the most Yorkshire puddings, and leaving the peas/carrots in the warmer and not putting them on the table.
I brought Jason to Sunday Lunch at Gill's when we working on the bid. Jason watched the very coordinated frenzy in preparation and then watched the food disappear once it hit the table. We agreed we would try creating Sunday Lunch once we were settled in Thurso. And we have done it.
The first week we stayed fairly traditional with roast and all of the trimmings. Since then we have had a number of themes, Sunday Piggy Sunday, Spanish, Sunday Nutty Sunday, Greek, and this Sunday was All Lasagana...All The Time.
We have our own rules. Everyone can make something (like a potluck), but we do plan the menu so it has some cohesion (like Sunday Lunch). We aren't a slave to the tradition of roast and potatoes (Sunday Lunch), but instead try to mix it up for fun and challenge (like a potluck). For the most part, we cook together, which is just as fun as actually eating the lunch.
Gill has gone from being excited about us taking on her tradition to being a bit horrified at our menus: 'You had salad at Sunday Lunch?!?'
But there are things we haven't compromised on - there is an open invitation, the day is just as much about the preparation of the meal as eating the meal, and there is no work talk, but instead there is blether (the Scottish word for craic, which is the Cumbrian word for chit chat) about things about town.
I went one better than the peas and carrots last week. We had Nana and Grandad down for ~Sunday Lunch~ rather than the usual tribe. As we had been doing our Canadian themed masterchef practice I had some maple syrup lying around, "wonder if that will be nice on parsnips" thinks I as I slosh half the bottle on, just as Mu is walking past, looks at the bottle and raises her perfectly coiffered eyebrow, nothing more is said. We go on to have beautiful lunch, (roast lamb followed by jam roly poly, no salad) and I go to be bed feeling fairly smug about the whole affair. I'm sat at my desk the next afternoon and get a text from Mu, thanking me for our wonderful hospitality but asking why I changed my mind about serving the parsnips? holy crap, says I! they're still in the small oven!
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