Ah, Sunday afternoon!

“There is no flavour comparable, I will contend, to that of the crisp, tawny, well-watched, not over-roasted, crackling, as it is well called – the very teeth are invited to their share of the pleasure at this banquet in overcoming the coy, brittle resistance – with the adhesive oleaginous – O call it not fat – but an indefinable sweetness growing up to it – the tender blossoming of fat – fat cropped in the bud – taken in the shoot – in the first innocence – the cream and quintessence of the child-pig’s yet pure food – the lean, no lean, but a kind of animal manna – or, rather, fat and lean, (if it must be so) so blended and running into each other, that both together make but one ambrosian result, or common substance."

(From 'A Dissertation Upon Roast Pig', by Charles Lamb).

The Monarchist hopes everybody has enjoyed such a delicious Sunday roast this afternoon.