Monday, September 26, 2005
Maybe With Some Fava Beans?
I used to be a much pickier eater than I am now. And I used to eat a lot more stuff than I eat now too. I've had my various gastronomic eras. I'm also a binge eater. Never had to worry about anorexia, though. I've written about my aversion to fish as well as my bad experience with Japanese food. I don't mean to criticize what others find appetizing. I think it's as amusing as cultural, racial and sexual differences. It's fun to laugh at our selves and each other. I totally support black people laughing at various aspects white culture. One of the funniest bits in comedy is to see the black reaction to white people trying to be black. There should be more of that kind of thing minus the hate. It's funny when republicans make Ted Kennedy jokes. The president is a treasure trove of comic material all by himself. People need to just laugh it off. But that is a long digression brought on by some over sensitivity I've seen in Blog lately and some hate mongering. I want to talk food here.Growing up in Philly, I learned to love a couple of things besides cheese steaks. Things that might wrinkle the nose of anybody outside of the greater Philadelphia area. One is Scrapple and the other is Snapper Turtle soup. Scrapple is a loaf flavored with corneal and sage and spices but primarily consists of the meaty parts of hog heads, hearts, some liver, and other scraps. Had I known this as a child, there is no way it would have found it's way off the end of my fork and into my mouth. But it smells so good frying. Yeah you fry the snot out of it. Crispy browned slices. Strangely, the only thing that keeps me from eating it now is geography and my professed no fat diet. I consume less than 25 grams of fat on any day. It is rarely animal fat. The stuff tastes good. The knowledge of its ingredients is disturbing. I understand that there is a similar thing in the Ohio/Northern Kentucky region called Goetta.
Snapper Turtle soup isn't as repugnant idea unless you've spent lot of time playing with those cute little green turtles they're always trying to sell kids in the pet stores. I don't remember how I came to taste it. It smelled good. It was good and I swear it came out of a Campbell's can. I haven't ever had a craving for it but I remember thinking it was okay as a kid. Nowadays, i stop my car to move enormous turtles out of the road. That's Florida for you. Maybe the crackers eat 'em but I drive them home.
Even before I understood the function of the liver in a mammal, I was resolved to not eat it. Yes I was forced to try it. Nothing like throwing up on the dinner table to convince your parents that it's not such a good idea to employ the sit-there-'til-you-clean-your-plate routine. The smell was so nasty even with fried onions. Years later, when I did learn what the liver actually does, it was no surprise to me that it tasted like, well, shit. "What else could a shit screen taste like?" was my first clear thought.
But nobody ever expected me to eat liver again. Until I went to England and stayed with some dear friends. I love England. Been there twice. I love the people. I love to listen to them speak. I admire most of their culture as long as it has nothing to do with the Royals, repressed sex or the shoddy engineering in Jaguars and some other autos. I once owned a Morgan that never passed inspection because turning on the turn signal made everything blink. EVERYthing. But the style was killer. I'm sure my Brit friends won't take it personally if I say that their food, with the possible exception of Cornish pasties and Beef Wellington, sends me scrambling across town in a taxi looking for any Indian restaurant that is open.
Back in the nineties, Cathy and I were in England. Devon to be precise. We were guests at the friend of our dear friends for this "marvelous traditional meal." Even if they had not told us what haggis is, I would have known it involved liver from the smell. I won't take up any more words for the ingredients. Here is a recipe and a picture of this traditional Scottish treat. By "bag" they mean bladder. THAT kind of bag. Yum, huh? I'm told I was eating the Welsh version. Which is no different except harder to pronounce, I guess.
I remember being polite and extraordinarily brave. I tried it. Swallowed it only to get it the hell away from my taste buds. Covered it with pepper and tried again. I can't remember what else I said besides, "Pass the bread, please." I may have had a Monty Python moment and uttered something like, "Oh, I couldn't eat another bite, I just had an entire plate of bull's testicles before I came over here." I'm sure I was a polite as I could be. But I did not have a third bite. I consider myself a survivor but there are limits. If I had to survive on something like haggis, life clearly would not, for me, be worth living.
Then I came across this news item about a haggis eating contest. It was from Bethlehem, PA. Not for from Philly. Scrapple country. I'm proud of my Philly heritage except for a few things. Like the time the crowd at Veteran Stadium booed Santa Claus at an Eagles game. And this tendency to eat anything. Like haggis. But, I'm not kidding, scrapple at least tastes very good.
No song from this as it would not be polite to make fun of one's eating habits. At least no song I'd sign my name to. Anybody out there need one for hire under a pseudonym?
LATE ADDITION: How about a haggis limerick? Limericks are traditionally about naughty or disgusting things, right?
One liver lover tried haggis
Asked the hostess what a bag is
She said, "What's the matter.
You never ate bladder?"
And he hurled up all that bad biz
posted by Bud @ 5:28 AM
Comments:
I'm from the Philly area, as you know, and I've never tried Scrapple or turtle soup. You're much braver than me!
And haggis only belongs on that stupid show Fear Factor.
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And haggis only belongs on that stupid show Fear Factor.
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