I been in england, so get off my back.
But, I got some goodies to share with yall. But before I get into it, I promised myself and my special brit traveling partner boy toy that no matter what shite I was served as a ridiculous excuse for a meal on the plane, that once home, I would recreate it into real food and serve that shit up lovely on Go Meat Yourself.
I was getting my england on even before leaving BK. Before boarding the death trap that has come to be known as an “airplane,” I was surprised with a special treat of english boozin called mulled wine. I realize that mulled wine comes from all over the globe, but since it was made by an english man, this is a damn english recipe.
Mulled Wine
1 cheap bottle of red wine
2 cinnamon sticks
1 tbs of whole cloves
1 cup of brown sugar
juice of 1 orange
Serves 4.
Pour the wine in large pot and keep on low. With a microplane, grate some of the cinnamon into the pot and then toss the sticks in whole. Add the cloves. Quarter the orange and squeeze the juice into the pot. Then add the squeezed orange pieces. Add sugar and stir until it dissolves. Heat the wine on low for at least 15 minutes – longer if your alcoholic ass can handle it. When your kitchen is sufficiently smellin like an old english farm house, pour the wine into mugs or wine glasses and garnish with the cinnamon sticks or orange slices. As you can see in this picture, we have a darling mini orange tree which we used special for the occasion.
On the plane, while trying not to think about my plummeting death, I was interrupted with the most wannabe pasta nosh. Fake food or not, I was excited to eat (ok, fine, I kinda like plane food). And I was excited to see what I would be recreating once safely back on the ground in BK where god intended me to be. And the wiener is: Manicotti! Stay tuned.
Now, jolly ol england has some fucked up eating practices. Baked beans for breakfast, along with roasted tomatoes and mushrooms. Now, I love me a good shroom and even some tomatoes here and there, but not with my scrambles, namean? Also, have you had marmite? A spreadable brown yeast? No thanks. You know what they put on their salads? Salad Cream. I know we did that here in the 80s, but now, a thick white jizz on my salad only makes me think of the most novelty of porn. Do you know they have something called black pudding, which is just fried blood and fat encased in intestines? Now that is fucked up. BUT. For all their ill conceived culinary delights, they really make up for it in a couple delicious ways. And I’m about to tell you how: bacon and steak flavored chips and pork scratchings at every bar.
Dude, it really tastes like meat. Kinda.
And on the luckiest of street corners, a bacon fairy will sell you a bacon bap, which is just a small roll with some “bacon” and by bacon, they mean ham. But thats ok. Its still a succulent slab of fatty pork on the way to the bank.
And for just a few quid, you can get some fried fish and chips in a crumpled up newspaper, doused in vinegar and a tiny little wooden spear. How angelas ashes is that!?
And if you are fortunate enough to make your way into the cutest area of the whole country known as cornwall, you can get yourself a cornish pasty. Not the kind you hang from your nips, although im sure you can find one or two there as well, but the kind of pasty that is a breaded pocket of savory goodness. The original and most common is steak with potato, carrot and swede. Yall have wolfed (or if you wont admit to wolfin, seen a commercial for) hot pockets, right? Same thing. A pasty in cornwall is like pizza in brooklyn, or sausage in vienna, or roofies on the jersey shore.
The flight home wasn’t very memorable. Mostly because I took as much sominex as I could without ODing.
