Language barriers

I didn't think I'd have them in Ye Olde England, but I do.

Despite the common language, nuance and colloquialisms differ quite a lot over here.

Durex is QUITE a different thing over here, than is it (or used to be) In Oz. The word 'wog' is still considered HIGHLY perjorative and 'slut' doesn't have quite the same connotations as it does back home.

Although I'll never get used to the frequent use of the word 'beaver', I will treat it like men treat fart jokes.. ALWAYS something to snigger about.

So to faggotts.



As served at Sam Weller's pub in Bath.

Faggots are a traditional dish in the UK,especially South and Mid Wales and the Midlands of England. It is made from meat off-cuts and offal, especially pork. A faggot is traditionally made from pig's heart, liver and fatty belly meat or bacon minced together, with herbs added for flavouring and sometimes bread crumbs. The mixture is shaped in the hand into balls, wrapped round with caul fat (the omentum membrane from the pig's abdomen), and baked. Another variation of faggot is Pig's fry wrapped in pig's caul: the pig's fry and boiled onions are minced (ground) together then mixed with breadcrumbs or cold boiled potatoes, seasoned with sage, mixed herbs and pepper, all beaten together and then wrapped in small pieces of caul to form a ball. These are then baked in the oven and are usually served cold.

The dish saw its greatest popularity with the rationing during World War II but has become less popular in recent years. Faggots are usually homemade and are to be found in traditional butchers' shops and market stalls.

A popular dish is "Faggots and Peas". This is a common combination in the Black Country area of the West Midlands, especially so since the 18th century industrialisation onwards, but also for hundreds of years prior. It is still common to see small butchers' shops in the area selling faggots to their own (sometimes secret) recipe for a cheap price. Commonly, the faggot consists of pork liver and heart minced, wrapped in kel, with onion and breadcrumbs. Often, the faggot should be cooked in a crock, with gravy and served with peas and mashed potato.

They are less 'liver-y' than you'd imagine, more like a wild boar mince, the liver (and I think kidneys in Sam Weller's ones) giving the moist mince a strong gamey flavour.

Nigella has a recipe:

Ingredients•½ lb pigs liver


•3oz suet

•1-2tsp sage

•4oz fresh breadcrumbs

•2 onions

•2tsp salt

•¼ tsp black pepper

Method

Serves: 4-6 1.In a food processor firstly process the bread into breadcrumbs, then finely chop the onions and lastly process the liver, emptying each into a large mixing bowl as you go along.

2.Add the suet and seasoning and mix well together. Form into round balls about the size of a small orange and place on well oiled baking tray and cook for 30 minutes at 200oC or until firm.

3.Alternatively you can just empty the whole lot out into a well oiled roasting tin and cook for about 40 minutes or so until the mixture is firm and cooked through.

4.If you chose this option  you need to cut them into squares when they are cooked.





Vale Tucker's Grave.

Tucker's Grave Inn closes today. After some 200 years as a continuously operating Inn, tonight, when they shout 'time please gents', a curtain will come down on a small slice of SOLE, and the souls of those who have known and loved it.

There's no big story.. not corporate pirate chasing the little man from the land. The owners are too old to continue. Margaret and her husband (who's fought ill health for some time) are just finding the burden of running a pub.. and not just any old pub.. but possibly the most famous cider pub in the area.. too overwhelming.

Tucker's Grave is a three-roomed pub with no bar counter and a  tap room. An 18th-century former cottage which has been a pub for over 200 years. The pub name comes from the burial place of a suicide, Edwin Tucker, who died in 1747. The two original delightfully unspoilt pub rooms with simple panelling and fixed bench seating are either side of a central corridor with ancient panelling. On the right is the tap room - note the Georgian lettering on the door which probably dates from the early 19th-century, if not the late 18th-century, and is surely the earliest pub lettering in the country. It survived because, at some point, it was covered by a screwed-on-sign. This small basic room has wall benches and the odd bell pushes. The mantelshelf over the old stone fireplace was replaced in 2007 when the original one caught fire and the room required re-painting as a result of smoke damage. On the left of the corridor a latch door leads to the tiny public bar which has a genuine Victorian tiled fireplace, some old bar back shelving near the door and above the window but more modern shelving opposite. There is no bar counter - casks of beer and cider are stacked in the bay window which has external shutters to protect the barrels from the sun. A third room to the far left was formerly the living room and was brought into use in 1985 - it has a Victorian tiled fireplace with marble surround. At the end of the passage which gets very narrow is a door leading to the outside gents and ladies on the rear right of the building. There is a skittle alley in a separate stone building at the rear. Like the above description, there's not a lot to Tuckers. No food, no pokies, no gastro-pomp. It's a stone Inn, in the middle of nowhere, servicing the locals and a few discerning (read DAMN LUCKY) outsiders who know of it. I got taken there via a tenous connection to The Wurzles, The Stranglers, a lab called Dougie and a thick leathery thing that I didn't like having my lips on. The scum on the rim of said leathery thing was nice, tho. Tucker's Grave serves Thatcher's Cheddar Valley cider, a classic Heritage cider. Cheddar Valley cider, which is cloudy with a distinctive orange, almost red, colouration. These rough ciders have a short shelf life and are generally tapped straight from a barrel kept in a pub's bar rather than its cellar. Thatcher's Cheddar Valley is a lurid orange cloudy cider, served at room temp. It looks like a glass of flat Fanta. However, at 7% it has a kick. Not a 'get you pissed and all argy-bargy' pissed. More like a mellow, giggly 'toke on a good joint' glow. Simply, it's like no experience I've ever had with alcohol (and believe me, I've had a few!). Thatcher's cider brewery is another local gem. Still run by the original family, it pumps out 1000 litres of various ciders a year. All made from local Somerset apples, sourced from local farms. SOLE is where the heart is, and Somerset still has a fine tradition of supporting and encouraging local producers to stay true to heritage values. Like Thatchers. And Tuckers. Even the Bath Farmer's market was the first SOLE market in the UK. (as oppossed to farm gate purchasing) **Blogger is being a tool, and the server is regecting my photos, so come back tomorrow and I'll upload some more.** Then it was off to the Faulkland Inn for a pint of Phesant Plucker, some whitebait and a trad Sunday roast beef, Yorkshire pub and all the trimmings. Given that most breweries, inns, ale houses and pub-grub houses are sadly owned by chains here in the UK, next your over here, give a wee thought to what you're drinking/eating and who your hard-earned £££ are supporting. Like Tucker's, they're a dying breed. get in while you can.