Posts tagged ‘ketchup’

In today’s guest post, we’re pleased to present you with part three of our intrepid traveler C.C.’s adventures with British cuisine. To catch up, here are Parts One and Two.

C.C. would like to pride herself on being a “good” traveler—curious, respectful, an impeccable sense of direction, a comradely cheerfulness when slaughtering any native tongue, and a fearless approach to food. But the first week in England challenges her assumptions.

C.C. is in Cambridge to work on a video. Cambridge is lovely. Parker’s Piece is verdant, dotted with golden fall leaves. People ride by on granny bikes with twee wicker baskets and C.C. can’t stop herself from recalling Morrissey singing “Stop me if you think that you’ve heard this one before.” In fact, this refrain plays over and over in her head as she runs late to work, woefully in need of coffee, which she had no time to take at the hotel, and let’s not forget she’s operating on an eight-hour time difference.
 
C.C. learns a thing or two at the video shoot. There is no craft services table to speak of. Instead, there are kindly interns constantly proffering chocolate Hobnobs that C.C., who has the snacking predilections of a monkey, is constantly nibbling. The interns also offer tea or coffee, but C.C. pauses for a moment when her choice of coffee is met with the question, “White or black?” C.C. is confused and requests a “coffee with milk,” which the intern in turn translates as “white.”

The coffee arrives in a small mug, like one might find at granny’s house. And the coffee is very, very, very white. So white, in fact, you might say a dot of coffee was added to the milk. C.C. takes a sip. She tries not to make a face…
>> Read on to discover the truth about British coffee >>

Today’s guest post explores a new chapter in the life of C.C., our Culinarily Challenged contributor in San Francisco, as she and her British Boyfriend (B.F.), eat brunch and C.C. discovers many things about British food customs.

[Background and Character motivation: C.C. has recently found out she will be going to the U.K. (AKA "the B.F.'s magical kingdom") for a work assignment. She has not told British B.F. this yet and thought she'd wait until brunch....]

FADE IN
Bean Bag Cafe, Day

C.C. and B.F. have just sat down to brunch in the atrium window at Bean Bag Cafe. Outside, young hipsters pass by dressed in garish plaid and smoking cigarettes.

C.C. has an egg sandwich (egg, cheese, bacon, salt and pepper).

B.F. has eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, an English muffin, and watermelon that may or may not be a mere garnish.

Perfectly Good Breakfast Pre-Brit

B.F. grabs the ketchup bottle, which causes C.C. to look up on her iPhone whether it is ketchup or catsup, and why. (Ketchup vs. catsup via Wikipedia: C.C. is disappointed to discover no exciting connection, merely a spelling difference. However cockney slang for ketchup/catsup is dead horse. And this cornucopia of catsup facts!)

B.F. proceeds to pour ketchup all over everything, including the watermelon.

C.C.: You’re putting ketchup on everything? The eggs? The WATERMELON?!?!?!

B.F.: Yeah.

C.C.: Gross!

B.F.: What?

Red Menace Begins

C.C.: You put ketchup on everything?! Is that like a British thing?

B.F.: No ….

C.C.: But on eggs? Why on eggs? Ketchup is sweet but also Worcestershire saucey and simply not needed on eggs! And let’s not even talk about the melon. No way!

B.F.: You’re not sophisticated enough to understand the nuance of flavor. You’re too culinarily challenged to understand that different flavors can go together in different combinations and understand that that’s good, yummy, gorgeous.

B.F. butters half of his English muffin.

C.C. cringes.

[Character motivation: C.C. cringes at a Brit criticizing her taste, and moreover his use of the word "yummy." C.C. detests the baby-talk word "yummy" coming out of an adult's mouth. The word makes her stomach churn and she wishes it could be reserved exclusively for those under the age of three, and in times of desperation, those who must feed them.]

C.C.: Yeah, but your taste is pretty questionable. You don’t like olives, pickles, tomatoes, and you prefer milk chocolate to dark. And you told me you’ve eaten baby seals.

B.F.: Bollocks–not baby seals, scorpions.

C.C.: Oh, okay then.

She looks on with horror as he spreads ketchup on the other half of the buttered English muffin.
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