Contrary to the opinions voiced by some of our European neighbours, the British have bequeathed a fine legacy of culinary delights to the world. The list is long but I could single out Toad-in-the-Hole, Faggots & Peas, Roast Beef & Yorkshire Pudding, Bangers & Mash and, of course, Fish & Chips. These are all substantial, hearty dishes, suited to a long day toiling behind a horse and plough or sat in front of a couple of LCD screens. They are not for wimps and health freaks. For them someone invented salad.
When I was a kid, aged about nine or ten, my treat on a Saturday was to travel by train from Cirencester to Swindon Junction, two carriages and a small, decrepit steam locomotive providing the means of motion. I'd spend all day on the station platform, writing down the numbers of every engine that passed and thrilling to the sight of the express trains, trains with names like The Red Dragon or The Bristolian, as they thundered through the station, whistles dopplering away. I didn't psychoanalyse myself to discover why I had this compulsion to collect locomotive numbers; I was a small boy. That was what small boys did in the 1950s if sports or girls hadn’t seduced them.
My mum packed my lunch. This would consist, in all probability, of cheese and HP sauce sandwiches and a Lyons Individual Fruit Pie, apple flavour. These pies were marvellous inventions - a lovely sweet, short pastry enclosing the thinnest imaginable filling of apple puree. Nothing in them was good for you and so they were ideal for preparing the body for a lifetime of excess. To drink I was provided with a bottle of Tizer, a sugary, fizzy drink, doubtless produced in cooperation with the School Dental Service as a means of promoting attendance at the surgery and some character building pain and suffering.
After eight or nine hours I caught the train back to Ciren. With luck I would have threepence left with which to buy my supper on the way home. This treat would set the seal on a perfect day. It consisted of a pile of chips (or fries, if you must), cooked in animal fat, not namby-pamby vegetable oil, served in a square of grease-proof paper and then wrapped in a sheet or two ripped from the local news journal. The concept of washing my hands before eating was not within my grasp then and anyway there would have been nowhere to do it. So I ate this delicious offering with fingers blackened by a day spent with grimy railway engines. Each chip came with a layer of grease, salt, vinegar, printer's ink and soot. They were absolutely magical, a flavour sensation as yet unbeaten by the cuisine of any other nationality.
When I was a kid, aged about nine or ten, my treat on a Saturday was to travel by train from Cirencester to Swindon Junction, two carriages and a small, decrepit steam locomotive providing the means of motion. I'd spend all day on the station platform, writing down the numbers of every engine that passed and thrilling to the sight of the express trains, trains with names like The Red Dragon or The Bristolian, as they thundered through the station, whistles dopplering away. I didn't psychoanalyse myself to discover why I had this compulsion to collect locomotive numbers; I was a small boy. That was what small boys did in the 1950s if sports or girls hadn’t seduced them.
My mum packed my lunch. This would consist, in all probability, of cheese and HP sauce sandwiches and a Lyons Individual Fruit Pie, apple flavour. These pies were marvellous inventions - a lovely sweet, short pastry enclosing the thinnest imaginable filling of apple puree. Nothing in them was good for you and so they were ideal for preparing the body for a lifetime of excess. To drink I was provided with a bottle of Tizer, a sugary, fizzy drink, doubtless produced in cooperation with the School Dental Service as a means of promoting attendance at the surgery and some character building pain and suffering.
After eight or nine hours I caught the train back to Ciren. With luck I would have threepence left with which to buy my supper on the way home. This treat would set the seal on a perfect day. It consisted of a pile of chips (or fries, if you must), cooked in animal fat, not namby-pamby vegetable oil, served in a square of grease-proof paper and then wrapped in a sheet or two ripped from the local news journal. The concept of washing my hands before eating was not within my grasp then and anyway there would have been nowhere to do it. So I ate this delicious offering with fingers blackened by a day spent with grimy railway engines. Each chip came with a layer of grease, salt, vinegar, printer's ink and soot. They were absolutely magical, a flavour sensation as yet unbeaten by the cuisine of any other nationality.
7 comments:
Fish & Chips drizzled with vinegar, sprinkled with salt, and eaten right from the paper was one of the first meals out that Peter, Piet and I had when I was across the pond. And one of my favorite pub lunches (besides lamb with mint sauce) was bangers and mash served in a Yorkshire Pudding bowl (especially good after a long hike)! I ate very well indeed when I was there.
When you see the size of me, Pauline, you'll appreciate that I eat quite well here also!
I'll feed you well when you are here, too :)
Seeing that picture reminded me of the as we grabbed our 'dinner' of sorts after one of our wedding shoots at Tadcaster.
Standing outside in the fresh June night air, nostrils filled with hot vinegar and salt aromas, as we stood outside the front of a Chinese-Chippy.
It might not be 'haute-cuisine' but it's proper heart-warming grub.
(apologies for the random HTML glitch in my comment. Please accept this free haddock to bash my posting into some sense of order, as it looks like I can't edit the comment after its been posted)
Hi Jonathan, good to hear from you. Not sure I can do anything with the gibberish but it's fine as it stands - has the right feel to it.
Hope all's well with you - still trying to find you the odd job to do to keep your hand in. And it's good to be reminded of some of the good old days!!
Speaking of old times, I notice that you make a solitary entry in the BBC's INFAX Database. Got a surprise recently when I found someone from Star Portraits with Rolf Harris had bothered to list my name on the Internet Movie Database. Obviously some researcher was quite bored! Heh. Hope you're well. Approaching 7 weeks till I'm finished with this university lark of 4 years. got to work out what I'm doing next yet :)
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