When I have time, usually when I can't sleep for some reason, I read the NYT online, mostly to remind myself that I'm so glad I don't live in the big shitty.
Their latest offering includes a bit on a very fashionable New York eatery offering up all the kinds of British working class and rural foods I grew up with, and a few truly weird ones I didn't, like "cullen skink."
How the tables turn!
For years I've been considered very weird by my American friends for making my own haggis and other delights, or for enjoying black pudding, steak and kidney pie, and all that British offal-based cookery.
Most Americans approach haggis or black pudding like a bomb disposer going up to a suspicious package!
I guess the dish I eat most frequently that is considered very strange by Americans is plain old bubble and squeak. That will probably be tonight's dinner, since we currently have about a gallon of home-grown left-over mashed potato to eat up somehow.
That would be if I'm not completely exhausted from the trials and tribulations of preregistration week at Unity College and instead succumb to the need for take-out pizza and self medication with fermented grape juice. Take-out pizza, perhaps unfortunately, can be a fairly frequent Friday night resort around here, except that Aimee makes herself a blender batch of pina colada instead of wine.
But bubble and squeak makes plenty of ecological sense on our farm since we grow potatoes, cabbage, onions and bacon, the four primary ingredients, as well as sage and rosemary, which I like to use for flavoring.
Why is it thought so weird? I don't get it. It really is just a kind of potato hash.