After successive posts about religion, politics and sex, I figured it was probably time to return to the usual rubbish. I don’t want you to think I’ve got all highbrow on you, after all.
When it comes to food, I’ve never been one for strange concoctions. I don’t put tomato ketchup on macaroni cheese, or eat curried chicken with pasta. I loathe putting sweet and savoury things together, and don’t even think about including fruit in anything that’s not a
Given such an attitude, Britain was probably the perfect place to be brought up. After all, this is the land of the cucumber sandwich with the crusts cut off that we’re talking about here. The food in the UK – as even The Special One will reluctantly attest – is far better than the typical stereotype, but Britain is still generally a place in which tradition plays a huge part in great food. That’s not to say that menus don’t have innovative dishes, but on the whole you shouldn’t expect to see squid in chocolate sauce.
In America, however, eating exactly what your heart desires is central to the country’s way of life. Unless you’re eating in a particularly high-end restaurant, the menu is merely a guide to what you can eat there. Substitutions are largely tolerated, and waiters barely bat an eyelid for even the weirdest suggestion. Fads are practically encouraged, while fly-by-night diets are happily catered for at the lowliest diner. Sure, some places take a Marco Pierre White-esque approach if restaurant guests ask for French fries, but apart from that, if a place has got an ingredient, they’ll probably cook it for you.
Sometimes though, eating establishments need to take a stand for all that is good and right in the world.
Chomping lunch in a relatively upscale diner today, the woman a couple of seats away from me ate her breakfast with merry abandon. As I’ve said before, I hate eggs, but even to me her eggs, bacon and toast looked pretty damn good. Even her willingness to put
jamjelly on her toast (a crime punishable by life imprisonment in some countries) didn’t put me off.
The fact that she had a great big dollop of mash on the same plate as her eggs and bacon, though, was utterly inexplicable. She’d have been run out of town or burnt at the stake in the UK.
You can mess with our hearts or our minds, but don’t ever mess with our breakfasts, OK?