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August 29, 2007
British Food
It is a well-known fact that British food is bad. In fact, many famous people have been quoted making statements to this effect. For example,
"I'll bet what motivated the British to colonize so much of the world is that they were just looking for a decent meal."
-Martha Harrison
"Britain is the only country in the world where the food is more dangerous than the sex."
-Jackie Mason
and
"You cannot trust people who have such bad cuisine. It is the country [Great Britain] with the worst food after Finland."
-French President Jacques Chirac in a remark on the eve of the G8 summit in 2005
Being the gastronome that I am, I was hoping to prove the critics wrong and thoroughly enjoy eating my way through the British countryside. Alas, my report cannot acquit the British culinary offerings. In the two weeks we were there, I had only two really good meals. The first was fish and chips, which we picked up from a hole-in-the-wall place and brought back to our boat to consume. The second was an Indian buffet in Manchester where we ate on the night before we returned to the states. I argue that the fish and chips, though delicious, provide no evidence that the British know how to cook. Name me something that is not delicious when fried in fat and covered in ketchup. And I hardly think the British can take credit for excellent Indian food. Claim by colonization does not count in this contest.
I have already talked about the meal at Toby Carvery that culminated in the endless custard bucket. That meal was notable for the novelty but not otherwise satisfying.
We ate a meal early in the trip at a pub that was advertising as a special Yorkshire pudding filled with steak or sausage. Now Yorkshire pudding is a favorite Swanson family holiday dish, and so I was eager to see how those who originated the recipe prepared it. Five of us ordered the pudding and only two remained in the kitchen. We drew straws and I was not one of the lucky two.
Here is the pudding. You must admit that it looks delicious.
As a rebound option, I chose the "mixed grill," a medley of steak, lamb, sausage, liver, blood pudding, tomato, egg, and something called "gammon." Gammon turned out to mean pork chop, but I did feel most adventurous when placing the order.
Everything was palatable except the liver. One day when I was five my dad made liver and onions for dinner. I ate one bite and refused to continue. My father insisted that I eat what had been prepared for dinner. There was a standoff that lasted quite some time. I don't remember the details. But I have always hated liver. For the sake of adventure, I tried it again. I hated it again. I told everyone how hideous the liver tasted and no one believed that it could be quite as awful as I described. So each person took a taste, and each, in turn, affirmed the awfulness of the liver. Yet somehow the growing consensus did not deter each of us from tasting the liver and casting a vote. Seiko, I think, refused to be conned into trying the liver. Good for her, I say.
Robbi ordered a plate of steamed mussels.
I'm not sure why she was so surprised when they arrived.
For dessert we shared some thing with a name right out of Willy Wonka. It was a cream-soaked, caramel-infused something or other, and the name hooked us. It was good, but I really didn't have room for it in my stomach after all the gammon.
It rained like gangbusters throughout the meal, and then at one point it started to hail. Very exciting. But it's never a good sign when the weather upstages the food on the table.
The fact that I returned from England with so few pictures of food is the most damning indictment of the British edibles. As you who have read this blog know, I take pictures of the food I admire, of the food I respect. I'll end this entry with a little tribute to my favorite meals.
Carnitas burrito with rice, black beans, corn and tomato salsa, sour cream, cheese, and guacamole.
Footlong cold cut combo with spicy mustard, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, black olives, pickles, onions, banana peppers, oil, vinegar, salt, pepper, oregano, parmesean cheese.
And that's it. I could live happily for a very long time alternating between these two fine meals if I happened to be stuck on an island somewhere . . . say England perhaps.
Posted by bogenamp at August 29, 2007 10:37 PM