When I was 11 years old, my favorite meal was roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with roast potatoes. Every Friday night we ate the same meal (the maximum variation was downgrading the cut of entrecote to a substitution of roast chicken), and I never wanted to eat anything else.

Apart from the fact that I was young, I can argue in my defense that at that time the cows were less mad, and so were the people who priced them. The combination of excellent genes and youth made it possible for entire herds of cattle to pass through my system without leaving a trace of excess fat.

During that period, my father took me for a roots trip to the land of his birth. Dog races and old car races (with betting!), bowling and miniature golf (which didn't exist in Israel at the time) all made a tremendous impression on me. But the high point of the visit was lunch at The Carvery at the Cumberland Hotel in London.

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An elderly, stern-looking waiter wearing a black and white suit greeted us at the entrance to the splendid dining room. "Two people?" he asked. "One and a half," joked my father, meaning that the skinny boy at his side would eat like a cannibal who hadn't eaten for a month, whereas he himself would be content with a modest, regular portion from the "all you can eat" menu customary at the restaurant.

"How old is the young gentleman?" asked the waiter, who did not get the irony. Upon hearing the answer, he declared, to our surprise, that children were entitled to eat in the temple of meat at half price (which was probably considerable, but at that time didn't interest me at all).

I hope the decades that have passed since then have dulled the trauma, and that the proprietors of the restaurant have forgiven me for what I did to their monthly economic calculations during the subsequent three hours, while considerably reducing the population of cattle and sheep in the British Isles.

This is what the meal looked like: After a first course (which has long escaped my memory), we were invited to get the main course in the adjacent room. There a sight more amazing and tempting than any amusement park was revealed to us. In the center of the room stood a large square stand of shining stainless steel. Enclosed within the square were a number of cooks wearing pure white. Long carving knives in hand, they waited in silence for the diners' commands.

On the stainless steel surface, gleaming in the light, stood huge cuts of meat of every kind, perfectly roasted. The delicious smell of the meat was maddening. Attentive waiters cut beautiful thin slices of tender, pink, juicy meat, each slice with a crispy brown outer crust, and piled them on the plate. On the side were placed golden potatoes and fresh rounds of Yorkshire pudding, that batter pastry the English invented to accompany the acme of imperial cuisine (and which has no connection to pudding as we know it. And no, it isn't sweet.)

It's hard for me to recall how many times I made my way from our table to the temple of meat and back, and the memory of the shocked looks on the faces of the other people present have also been dulled. Only the taste of the meat is etched forever in my memory. I just have to close my eyes to savor it again in my imagination.

Prime timing

Preparing wonderful roast beef at home is one of the simplest, and at the same time one of the most complicated, things that can be done in the kitchen. Simple, because all that is needed is a cut of meat, basic seasoning and roasting in the oven. Complicated, because even after the perfect cut is obtained (not at all a simple task) it is very easy to dry it out and ruin it with imprecise roasting. The cooking of roast beef entails a very serious trap: It is impossible to see it from the inside. If you cut into the roast before it is ready - it will bleed and dry up. And worse: If you are too late, you will get gray, dry and tasteless meat. Culinarily speaking, there is nothing more dismal than discovering that the fine cut you put into the oven has passed its prime and reached the degree of discouragingly well-done.

Roasting tables try to come to the rescue with the help of formulas for calculating oven time according to the weight of the roast. The intention is good, but the salvation is limited. The tables are not acquainted with your oven or the precise size and shape of your roast. The starting temperature of the meat also has an influence, and it is clear that "room temperature" changes from summer to winter, from air conditioner to heater and also from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem.

The two most useful tools upon which to rely are, therefore, a meat thermometer (or a metal skewer at the absence of a thermometer) and experience. The thermometer makes it possible to take the temperature of the meat at the thickest part of the roast, without cutting into it. When it reaches 60 degrees Celsius - the meat is "medium." If there is no thermometer, stick a metal skewer into the roast and leave it in the depths of the meat for about 30 seconds. Pull out the skewer and lay the end of the skewer on your lip. If the skewer is cold, the meat is not done yet. If the skewer is warm - the meat is ready. If the skewer burns your lip - all is apparently lost. Experience makes it possible to learn the relevant conditions at home in your kitchen and adjust the result to your personal preference.

Roast beef

There are several approaches to roasting the meat. In one, you "sear the roast" at a high temperature (220 degrees Celsius) and then lower the heat to 180 degrees for the rest of the roasting. Another method is to sear the meat on the stovetop and then roast it in the oven at a low temperature (160 degrees Celsius). In this way the process is slowed down and more uniform roasting and greater control of the final result are gained. The second method is described here:

Ingredients:

A 1.5 to 3 kilogram (about 250 grams per person) cut of sirloin or entrecote, aged and ready for roasting. If there are leftovers. They will be wonderful the next day in a sandwich.

4 tablespoons soft butter or olive oil

1 tablespoon honey

1 tablespoon fine mustard

cracked black pepper

Optional: minced herbs (rosemary, thyme, sage)

Salt (preferably coarse Atlantic salt)

Take the meat out of the refrigerator about two hours before roasting and allow it to come to room temperature. Pre-heat the oven to 160 degrees Celsius.

On the stovetop, heat a large, heavy frying pan that is large enough to hold the roast. When the pan is very hot, melt a little butter or heat a bit of oil and brown the meat (about two or three minutes on each side.) Remove the meat from the pan and allow it to cool a bit.

In the meantime, in a small bowl mix together the rest of the butter or olive oil, the honey and the mustard. Spread the honey and mustard mixture over the meat. Season with a lot of black pepper and some salt.

Line the oven pan with baking paper or aluminum foil, to make the cleaning easier. If you have one, place a grid in the oven pan to raise the beef above the bottom of the pan. In this way the meat will roast on all sides and the bottom of the roast will not cook in the juices that the meat exudes.

Place the meat in the middle of the oven and calculate about 20 minutes of roasting time for every 500 grams of meat. When the time has elapsed (or, for a large roast, after one hour), remove the meat from the oven and take its temperature with a meat thermometer or a metal skewer (53 degrees Celsius - medium rare; 60 degrees - medium; 70 degrees - well-done). If the meat is not yet done to your taste - return it to the oven to continue to roast. Keep taking its temperature until the meat is done to your taste.

When the meat is ready, remove it from the oven and let it rest for about 10 minutes (you can cover it with a large dish or aluminum foil to keep it hot) and then slice thinly with a sharp, unserrated knife.

Serve with roast potatoes, steamed vegetables and Yorkshire pudding.

Yorkshire pudding

The essential accompaniment to true British roast beef, which has no connection to what is called pudding here, is in fact a baked pastry of flour, milk and eggs. Originally, it was prepared in round, individual portions in special pans (the obvious substitute is a muffin tin). If such a pan is not available, it is possible to make it in a rectangular pan. (The quantities here are for a 12-portion muffin tin or a large - 20X30 centimeter - rectangular baking tin.) All the children I have ever met are crazy for Yorkshire pudding, even without roast beef on the side (and no wonder - it has hardly any nutritional value).

Ingredients:

2 eggs

1 cup milk (people who eat kosher can substitute 1 cup water plus 1 tablespoon vegetable oil)

1 cup white flour

3/4 teaspoon salt

6 teaspoons vegetable oil

Preheat the oven to 220 degrees Celsius. In a blender or food processor combine all ingredients, apart from the oil. Let the batter rest in the refrigerator at least half an hour, or up to several hours. In the meantime, take a muffin tin and fill each mold with half a teaspoon of oil (if using a rectangular pan, put all the oil into it). Place the pan with the oil in the oven for 20 minutes, until the oil is very hot, on the verge of smoking (this is a critical stage in the recipe. Oil that is less than very hot will produce heavy Yorkshire pudding that will not rise properly).

When the oil is very hot, mix the batter again, remove the pan from the oven and divide the batter among the muffin molds (or pour it into the large pan). It is important to move quickly so that the oil does not cool. Return to the oven and bake until the Yorkshire pudding rises and turns nicely golden (20 minutes). Serve immediately.