I shall be perfectly honest and say that I cannot remember if the meat was defrosting on the side in my Grandmother’s kitchen or if it was resting after being cooked, this was about thirty years ago after all.
I can remember that Ben, our beloved Labrador retriever, had retrieved the meat from the kitchen without anyone noticing him doing it. He had devoured every morsel without discovery and he did not display even the slightest of signs that he had eaten enough meat to feed a large family for Sunday lunch.
So stealthy had Ben been that Grandma had spent some time looking for the roast, as if she had simply put it back into the oven or in a cupboard by mistake. She had asked everyone if they had seen it, in case they had put it on the table already or had secreted it somewhere out of sight. I recall that the only thing that gave the game away was the merest hint of meaty breath from Ben and the suggestion of a ‘I’ve gotten away with it’ twinkle in his eyes.