VIEWPOINT
Man v Food’s Adam Richman delights in strange dishes. But British food takes the biscuit…
I SHOULD BE clear about this up front. I wasn’t brought up in the UK or to celebrate Easter. Still don’t. And yet I f ind it delightful. I grew up with a totally diferent spring holiday, one that focused heavily on the plot of the movie The Ten Commandments and unleavened bread, aka matzoh. Or, as a classmate in Atlanta, Georgia, said to me, “Oh, this is the holiday where y’all eat those big crackers!”
Passover is still incredibly beautiful, with its traditions of family gathering and connecting with the past. But faith aside, how can I resist a holiday like Easter that has messages of renewal and rebirth, and focuses heavily on bonnets, bunnies and eggs, both painted and chocolate?
I’M AN AMERICAN who loves Britain and learning about traditions, but I’m blown away by how much there is to Easter here that I don’t know. Sure, we have egg hunts back home, but egg rolling? The perfect festive synthesis of artistic expression and an endurance test. And when I f irst heard “Maundy Thursday ” I thought, “Well, that’s a short work week!”
I recently set out to try the iconic foods that the UK has given the world in the very places that have lent their name to dishes. So I’ve eaten a sandwich in Sandwich, cheddar in Cheddar, Aberdeen Angus in Aberdeen, a bakewell tart in Bakewell. Did I expect to find incredible Cameroonian food in the Peak District? No. And yet I did, and had one of the most memorable meals of my life. Did I expect to f ind Polish pierogi that rival those made by members of my own family in the same town in Wales where I had the best Welsh rarebit of my life? No, but there they were.
I can’t think of many dishes back in America that are labelled “sticky,” “jellied,” or a “mess”. Yet I fell in love with sticky tofee pudding and had a spectacular Eton mess in Eton. Jellied eels, however, terrify me. Learning context around the dining room table was equally eye-opening. In Britain, you “tuck” in or “get stuck” in – which I really don’t understand. I mean, if I get stuck in, can I ever get my fork out? Will I be able to eat my pie and mash or for ever be trapped in potato, like a fly in amber?
I’m from a country where the words used to describe food are things like “tasty”, “yummy”, “delicious”, “scrumptious”. In Britain, you use the adjectives we use to describe people to describe your supper – “nice,” “lovely”, “gorgeous”. Can you imagine me in Texas saying, “Your barbecue is really nice,” or “This burger is gorgeous?” They’d tar and feather me, and since it’s Texas, they might even dip me in ranch dressing.
