02 November 2016
Story #833
R. Linda:
R. Linda:
 |
| Britannia is ripped in the wind, but Americans rip her, too |
Maybe you think me harsh, but honestly, I was beside meself on Halloween. We have (for the past few years) made Halloween an excuse to take the day off and go out to lunch. This year, Mam said she craved someone else making bangers and mash, and could we go to that sweet little Brit place up in Temple? Well, they are only open at night, so we couldn't do that. However, the British Beer Company is located an hour away, so I suggested we go there. I had been to the one in Portsmouth, and it was decent except for the cottage pie they masquerade as shepherd's pie. But no trouble; the beer selection was excellent, and there was this other opened closer to us, so plans were made, and off we went.
We got there, and Mam had never seen the place, so she was pointing out the British and American flags and how the place looked not like a British pub but an American enterprise trying to masquerade as one. Well, yes, it did indeed look that way, but to the American eye, it looked British!
So, in we went, and Mam said the layout was so American, but the pub area was very Brit-looking if only the fireplace worked, and there was a dog or two lounging in front of it. Ugh, I was like, Mam, you be in America. They aren't Brits, so they don't know, but this is as close as you will get, so let's just sit and enjoy the lunch.
I ordered a Fullers London Porter, which was excellent, by the way. We ordered pastry puff sausages with English mustard as a starter. I had said we shouldn't; if we were all ordering bangers and mash, we should forgo the sausage and try something else. But no, the ladies and the one young gent (the youngest) wanted the sausages.
Well, the sausages came. They were two large sausages in puff pastry dough, and the mustard was not Colman's but what looked like IRISH whole grain mustard, but I was not sure it wasn't some American concoction made to look that way. It didn't have the bite I expected, which saddened me. But even worse, the sausage tasted very off. The pastry was good, so I had another bite without the mustard and thought the sausage tasted familiar, but no, it couldn't be.
I looked at Mam, who looked at me, her face squashed into a "what am I eating?" expression that wasn't good. She swallowed and said, as Irish as she could be, "Dat wuz wot? It tastes at first goud, den turns bad, den offal."
"The good, the bad and the offal, yes indeed, Mam." I shook me head at her.
"It's Kielbasa, Mom," Tonya said with a smile.
"Kielbasa? The Polish sausage?" She asked, stunned.
"Yes, that's what it tastes and looks like to me," Tonya answered, taking another bite.
I bit me lip, watching her. Mam and I pushed the plate toward Tonya and told her it was all hers.
"Really, you don't want it?" She looked startled.
No, we really, really did not want it. While she ate away, Mam and I looked at the menu, choosing chicken tenders with American fries for the wee one.
"Ooh wots dis?" Mam said, pointing at the shepherd's pie. "It says beef, wot shepherd do ye knoo that herds cows?"
"A rover herds cattle, not a shepherd," Tonya said feeding the Polish sausage to the boyo who was enjoying it because he was hungry. Otherwise, I don't think he would have.
"We knoo dat Tonya," Mam said, tsking at the menu. "ooh luckie here Gobriel, the bangers and mash cooms wit bubble and squeak."
That made me smile. Okay, then. I love bubble and squeak, so when the waitress came, I ignored the question about the Kielbasa that was zooming around me brain and ordered the bangers and mash with bubble and squeak.
I should have taken a picture of the bangers and mash, but I was horrified and didn't think to. But I can describe it for you.
A bowl (yes, a large bowl) came and was placed before Tonya, Mam, and meself. In it were three kielbasa sliced in half with a dab of mash and gravy underneath. All around the kielbasa being passed off as English sausage were fried onion rings (WHAT?), melon rolls of sweet potato (WHAT?), and sliced carrots. Fried onion rings, really? HONEST? TRULY? WHAT -- WHAT WHAT???
Bangers and mash me arse, bubble and squeak me arse! What the hell was this? I took a tentative bite and was rewarded with the aftertaste of Polish sausage. I take exception when the sausage I expect, that be advertised as British, is Polish and foreign to the dish, and the bubble and squeak I protest should not look like a fall garden medley! Oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, oi.
I couldn't eat it, I be sorry to say, because I be not a fan of kielbasa. Mam was disappointed, and when the waitress came by to ask how everything was . . . well, Mam spoke right up and told her. Tonya's eyes were as big as mine. Mam told the woman in no uncertain terms that Kielbasa is not a British sausage and bubble and squeak does not EVER have fried onion rings on top. Further, the restaurant shouldn't advertise itself as British if they don't know the first thing about British food.
Okay, fair enough, British person. The waitress listened, but no word was uttered. Then, when Mam huffed to silence, she said, "American clientele think British food needs a little zip, and that's what we've done. Being Americans are our biggest customers, we cater to their tastes."
"BUT," Mam said, waving a finger in the air, "wot about da occasional authentic Brit who cooms in expecting a good, hardy British meal and be served dis?" She pushed the almost untouched dish towards the waitress.
"Dunno." The woman said. "I can get you something else?"
"Oh, like da shepherd's pie dat has no lamb in it. It's not beef dats a cottage pie." Mam quipped.
"Lamb is expensive, and most Americans won't eat it." The woman countered nicely.
"Den call it wot it be, cottage or meat pie," Mam said.
"If there's nothing else?" the woman asked, and seeing there was not, she left us to it.
Tonya smiled at Mam and said, "You ARE becoming very American. We are very vocal."
Mam looked at her like she was out of her of head.
So the end result was that Mam and I had hardly anything but a nibble of Polish food, and that was that. Never again.
"I have to wonder," said Tonya, "if that Thai restaurant we like actually serves Thai food or like this one, what they think Americans will like."
Mam shrugged, and I shook me head and looked down at the dish of Polish American fare when the waitress came back and asked if we wanted dessert.
"Wot kin dey do ta dessert?" Mam said, and we ordered for the two of us since Tonya and the wee one weren't interested in anything more, and why would they be? They ate their Polish lunch and were full.
"We'll have the Sticky Toffee Pudding," I said, and off she went to bring us coffee and the dessert. It arrived looking sort of like the real thing, but there was a lot of it.
"Dats a healthy piece," Mam said in wonder.
She lifted her fork to the pudding, a marble cake topped with caramel sauce and the biggest dollop of ice cream I'd ever seen.
"Wots wit da ice cream?" Mam said to me. "We don't serve it dis way back home."
I sighed and took a piece, and oh my goodness, it was not near sticky toffee pudding (cake). Well,. . . no. Mam always puts dates in her pudding, which is made in a bundt pan. She drizzles the caramel sauce with brandy mixed in over the top. No ice cream is ever on it, but American food is heart attack food most of the time, so why not ice cream?
That was the icing on the top of the cake. As they say, we were done with the place. I don't understand this Americanisation of ethnic food. I really do not. What's the joy of eating foreign food? It doesn't taste like ordinary everyday fare; the pleasure is gone, and the taste buds are not challenged. Mam be threatening to open her own bistro (God knows where) and prepare authentic dishes for the American palate. I think she'd be out of business in three days if she does that. I tried to tell her it was all about the money. So sad.
One good thing is that I got shoes in me size (the big foot size) and wore them to the ill-fated luncheon. They are comfy, and I thought I'd show you. Yeah, baby, Star Wars shoes for yours truly.
Gabe
Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved
We got there, and Mam had never seen the place, so she was pointing out the British and American flags and how the place looked not like a British pub but an American enterprise trying to masquerade as one. Well, yes, it did indeed look that way, but to the American eye, it looked British!
So, in we went, and Mam said the layout was so American, but the pub area was very Brit-looking if only the fireplace worked, and there was a dog or two lounging in front of it. Ugh, I was like, Mam, you be in America. They aren't Brits, so they don't know, but this is as close as you will get, so let's just sit and enjoy the lunch.
I ordered a Fullers London Porter, which was excellent, by the way. We ordered pastry puff sausages with English mustard as a starter. I had said we shouldn't; if we were all ordering bangers and mash, we should forgo the sausage and try something else. But no, the ladies and the one young gent (the youngest) wanted the sausages.
Well, the sausages came. They were two large sausages in puff pastry dough, and the mustard was not Colman's but what looked like IRISH whole grain mustard, but I was not sure it wasn't some American concoction made to look that way. It didn't have the bite I expected, which saddened me. But even worse, the sausage tasted very off. The pastry was good, so I had another bite without the mustard and thought the sausage tasted familiar, but no, it couldn't be.
I looked at Mam, who looked at me, her face squashed into a "what am I eating?" expression that wasn't good. She swallowed and said, as Irish as she could be, "Dat wuz wot? It tastes at first goud, den turns bad, den offal."
"The good, the bad and the offal, yes indeed, Mam." I shook me head at her.
"It's Kielbasa, Mom," Tonya said with a smile.
"Kielbasa? The Polish sausage?" She asked, stunned.
"Yes, that's what it tastes and looks like to me," Tonya answered, taking another bite.
I bit me lip, watching her. Mam and I pushed the plate toward Tonya and told her it was all hers.
"Really, you don't want it?" She looked startled.
No, we really, really did not want it. While she ate away, Mam and I looked at the menu, choosing chicken tenders with American fries for the wee one.
"Ooh wots dis?" Mam said, pointing at the shepherd's pie. "It says beef, wot shepherd do ye knoo that herds cows?"
"A rover herds cattle, not a shepherd," Tonya said feeding the Polish sausage to the boyo who was enjoying it because he was hungry. Otherwise, I don't think he would have.
"We knoo dat Tonya," Mam said, tsking at the menu. "ooh luckie here Gobriel, the bangers and mash cooms wit bubble and squeak."
That made me smile. Okay, then. I love bubble and squeak, so when the waitress came, I ignored the question about the Kielbasa that was zooming around me brain and ordered the bangers and mash with bubble and squeak.
I should have taken a picture of the bangers and mash, but I was horrified and didn't think to. But I can describe it for you.
A bowl (yes, a large bowl) came and was placed before Tonya, Mam, and meself. In it were three kielbasa sliced in half with a dab of mash and gravy underneath. All around the kielbasa being passed off as English sausage were fried onion rings (WHAT?), melon rolls of sweet potato (WHAT?), and sliced carrots. Fried onion rings, really? HONEST? TRULY? WHAT -- WHAT WHAT???
Bangers and mash me arse, bubble and squeak me arse! What the hell was this? I took a tentative bite and was rewarded with the aftertaste of Polish sausage. I take exception when the sausage I expect, that be advertised as British, is Polish and foreign to the dish, and the bubble and squeak I protest should not look like a fall garden medley! Oi, oi, oi, oi, oi, oi.
I couldn't eat it, I be sorry to say, because I be not a fan of kielbasa. Mam was disappointed, and when the waitress came by to ask how everything was . . . well, Mam spoke right up and told her. Tonya's eyes were as big as mine. Mam told the woman in no uncertain terms that Kielbasa is not a British sausage and bubble and squeak does not EVER have fried onion rings on top. Further, the restaurant shouldn't advertise itself as British if they don't know the first thing about British food.
Okay, fair enough, British person. The waitress listened, but no word was uttered. Then, when Mam huffed to silence, she said, "American clientele think British food needs a little zip, and that's what we've done. Being Americans are our biggest customers, we cater to their tastes."
"BUT," Mam said, waving a finger in the air, "wot about da occasional authentic Brit who cooms in expecting a good, hardy British meal and be served dis?" She pushed the almost untouched dish towards the waitress.
"Dunno." The woman said. "I can get you something else?"
"Oh, like da shepherd's pie dat has no lamb in it. It's not beef dats a cottage pie." Mam quipped.
"Lamb is expensive, and most Americans won't eat it." The woman countered nicely.
"Den call it wot it be, cottage or meat pie," Mam said.
"If there's nothing else?" the woman asked, and seeing there was not, she left us to it.
Tonya smiled at Mam and said, "You ARE becoming very American. We are very vocal."
Mam looked at her like she was out of her of head.
So the end result was that Mam and I had hardly anything but a nibble of Polish food, and that was that. Never again.
"I have to wonder," said Tonya, "if that Thai restaurant we like actually serves Thai food or like this one, what they think Americans will like."
Mam shrugged, and I shook me head and looked down at the dish of Polish American fare when the waitress came back and asked if we wanted dessert.
"Wot kin dey do ta dessert?" Mam said, and we ordered for the two of us since Tonya and the wee one weren't interested in anything more, and why would they be? They ate their Polish lunch and were full.
"We'll have the Sticky Toffee Pudding," I said, and off she went to bring us coffee and the dessert. It arrived looking sort of like the real thing, but there was a lot of it.
"Dats a healthy piece," Mam said in wonder.
She lifted her fork to the pudding, a marble cake topped with caramel sauce and the biggest dollop of ice cream I'd ever seen.
"Wots wit da ice cream?" Mam said to me. "We don't serve it dis way back home."
I sighed and took a piece, and oh my goodness, it was not near sticky toffee pudding (cake). Well,. . . no. Mam always puts dates in her pudding, which is made in a bundt pan. She drizzles the caramel sauce with brandy mixed in over the top. No ice cream is ever on it, but American food is heart attack food most of the time, so why not ice cream?
That was the icing on the top of the cake. As they say, we were done with the place. I don't understand this Americanisation of ethnic food. I really do not. What's the joy of eating foreign food? It doesn't taste like ordinary everyday fare; the pleasure is gone, and the taste buds are not challenged. Mam be threatening to open her own bistro (God knows where) and prepare authentic dishes for the American palate. I think she'd be out of business in three days if she does that. I tried to tell her it was all about the money. So sad.
One good thing is that I got shoes in me size (the big foot size) and wore them to the ill-fated luncheon. They are comfy, and I thought I'd show you. Yeah, baby, Star Wars shoes for yours truly.
 |
| Weasil has nothing on me new kicks |
Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved
LMAO love the shoes! Hate kielbasa ! I don't know why restaurants advertise supposedly authentic food. Your mom wanted a taste of home and she'll have to make it herself for authentic.
ReplyDeleteThere's no living with her. All she talks about be that Kielbasa and that alone makes me tum flip flop. Yuck!
Deletenice shoes! don't you hate that? you expect food to be authentic and it is made to cater instead to a certain palate to make a buck. as you say sad.
ReplyDeleteIn general, bangers are usually a flavour packed pork sausage covered in creamy mash and topped with a lovely gravy. The dish HAS flavour. Bubble and Squeak, usually leftover veggies put together and topped with cheddar, YUM. I don't get the American palate considering most everyone in America has come from somewhere else -- what's the deal?
ReplyDeleteAt least the shoes are something to tout. I avoid places like the British Beer Company. Best places for home cooking OUR style are places you know are run by ex-pats.
ReplyDeleteDo you mind if I quote a couple of your posts as
ReplyDeletelong as I provide credit and sources back to your blog? My website is in the exact same area of interest as yours and my visitors would definitely benefit from a lot of the information you provide here.
Please let me know if this alright with you. Many thanks!
I would like to see your blog before I agree.
ReplyDelete