Occasional tedious ramblings from a feminist, atheist, autistic academic and historic narrow boater who likes cats, beer, tea, and solitude, and is strangely fascinated by the cinema organ.
Thursday, 27 April 2017
As you may recall, it is customary in our office to bring back local delicacies from one's holidays. This time there is no getting away from the fact that - with apologies to the vegetarians, vegans, Muslims, Jews, people with weak teeth (or teeth they care about), allergies to monosodium glutamate, or indeed functioning tastebuds - it has to be pork scratchings. Only in the Black Country when requesting pork scratchings in a pub are you offered the choice of 'hard or soft?'
Because I went a-searching for Black Country delicacies that I might be able to rustle up instead, and the best I could come up with was faggots with grey peas, and groaty dick. Which frankly sounds more like a cautionary tale from a fire and brimstone Southern Baptist than a tasty menu.