SUNDAY ROAST

Back on our British Isles, Sunday belongs to the roast. One joint of beef, a table full of people, and an afternoon with nowhere better to be. We are bringing that to Boston. The kind of thing that starts around noon and quietly takes care of the rest of the day.

The Sunday Roast is one of Britain’s oldest rituals. The tradition stretches back centuries: vast joints of beef turning over open fires, families gathering, plates passed, stories told. Think Thanksgiving but weekly, and with Yorkshire puddings instead of cranberry sauce.

At Hawksmoor, we have been awarded Best Sunday Roast in the UK twice over. It is fair to say we take this seriously. Awfully seriously, from the quality of the beef to the last ladle of gravy.

Breakfast and lunch, happily tangled together. A long table. Good company. And should a Bloody Mary or two appear alongside it, who are we to judge.

“Sunday Roast is part ritual, part feast,” says our Co-Founder Huw Gott. “It is about generosity and time spent together. We have brought that spirit to our Boston home: roast beef cooked over open fire, crisp potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, proper gravy, the works. It is a very English tradition built on something universal: gathering people around good beef and letting the afternoon take care of itself.”

The trimmings are not an afterthought here. They are the point.

Start with the beef-dripping roast potatoes. Crunchy at the edges, soft through the middle, and not the kind of thing you approach with restraint. They need bone marrow and onion gravy: glossy, rich, poured freely.

Yorkshire puddings come tall and golden, built to hold their own. Roasted carrots, slow and caramelized. Buttered greens with enough backbone to balance everything else on the table. A whole clove of roasted garlic, yielding and spreadable, for anyone inclined to make good decisions.

Should you wish to push further, we are very much in favour. Our stuffing is deeply savoury, made with roast beef in mind and not inclined to apologise for it. Cauliflower cheese arrives bronzed on top and bubbling underneath: the kind of side dish that draws attention it probably does not need.

Sunday is not a day for holding back. It is a day for gravy within easy reach, a table that goes quiet for the right reasons, and leaving with absolutely no regrets.