Having roast pork for Sunday dinner, which needed to be scored to make crackling:
Mum: The meat needs to be scored.
Dad: 5 out of 10.
Me - Pea falls from fork onto ground Dad - I see we have an esca-pea Me - groan
It was a ca-lamb-ity.
I don't have thyme for this
My sister said, "Looks great! I usually roast my potatoes in cubes."
To which my dad said, "That's strange, I usually use an oven."
As they sit down, the husband offers to go get their dinner. First he waits in line for the roast beef. Then he waits in the line for the potatoes. He he waits in the vegetable line, the bread line, the salad line, and even the gravy line.
He finally returns to the table with two heaping plates of food. “What would you like to drink?” he asks.
“A glass of punch would be nice,” she says. So off he goes to get it. He finds a line for wine, a line for beer, a line for soda, a line for milk, even a line for water. After considering all of his options he gives up and returns to the table empty-handed.
Sometimes there is no punch line.
Q: Which side of the turkey has the most feathers?
A: The outside!
Q: Why did they let the turkey join the band?
A: Because he had the drumsticks
Q: What did the turkey say before it was roasted?
A: Boy! I’m stuffed!
Q: What’s the key to a great Thanksgiving dinner?
A: The turKEY
Everyone makes fun of me at "roast" dinner.
Whilst making a roast dinner, a friend asked me whether we should time the potatoes. I told her it wasn't a race.
When I was waiting tables in a French bistro, I had a gentleman order the duck confit appetizer, followed by the roast duck entree.
As I cleared his dinner, he said, "Now you can bring me my third duck course."
I said, "I'm afraid I haven't got a duck dessert, Sir."
He said, "No, no - the bill!"
Every Sunday, my family gathers at Sunday dinner (England here) and we have a roast. More often than not, we have roast chicken. We know it's coming, we expect it, yet still we think that maybe, just maybe, this will be the week that my dad doesn't tell THE joke.
My mum serves the food and asks "who wants a piece of chicken?" Then comes the response from my dad.
"I don't like chicken. It's fowl." He then proceeds to eat most of the chicken, while laughing to himself.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
My wife and I entered WinCo to do some dinner shopping, and we walked by the meat counter just as a stocker with a serious case of plumber's crack was putting meat out. I turned to my wife and said, "That's not the kind of rump roast I had in mind."
