It’s one of the fundamental questions of life isn’t it? Why do fish and chips taste better eaten with your fingers? In the fresh air, by the sea, eaten with your fingers.
And let’s make those namby-pamby boxes illegal. Come on, Boris! Bring that little square of greaseproof paper back. Haddock n’ chips wrapped in last week’s Sunday People.
Chip forks can go at the same time.
I’ve checked. There’s a vacant spit in the underworld. Just between the guy who invented the party bag and the person who first said ‘paperless office.’ The smug so-and-so who came up with the chip fork will slot in nicely. Another miscreant roasting for eternity…
Sorry, I was ranting.
There’s another one. Of possibly even greater import.
Do you have mushy peas with your fish and chips?
Of course you do!
Unless you’re my wife…
I sent her the opening chapters of the latest book. “It’s alright,” she said. “But…”
“He’s bought her mushy peas with the fish and chips.”
“No woman likes mushy peas.”
“No. Not just me. No woman likes mushy peas.”
What man doesn’t seize the chance to prove his wife wrong? And a survey of my pals on Facebook would soon sort that.
And what could be more scientific? More clinically accurate? If I’m not on SAGE by this time next week I’ll be phoning Matt Hancock…
Especially as the result was overwhelming. 53 to 37 in my favour. (Plus one ‘write-in’ from the USA saying, ‘What the £$%& are mushy peas?’)
Unbelievably, my wife refused to accept the result. “Your sample is skewed,” she said. “Everyone you’ve asked is the same age as you. Ask your daughter.”
I didn’t have to. One of my pals replied almost instantly. ‘My daughter is 30 and she looovves mushy peas.’
What more evidence could anyone need?
And then the discussion disappeared down the rabbit hole.
My mum (from Yorkshire) cooked tons of the things. There was a good supply over the weekend. They sat in the pan, cooked but cold. Every time she went past Mum ate a spoonful. Yes, cold!
Followed by several vomiting emojis…
After that the discussion went even further downhill.
Downhill – but interesting.
A word of warning. If you’re from the South, proceed with caution. And if you’re a vegetarian, don’t go any further.
My grandma used to add mint to them if we were having them with a Sunday roast like lamb.
And then the T word tiptoed into the discussion…
Mushy peas must have been hell if you didn’t like them. Bit like tripe in milk, but let’s not go there (face that has seen a ghost emoji…)
Memories were dredged, recipes were compared. A high-stakes game of poker ensued…
Mum cooked tripe in the pressure cooker and served it with a white sauce made from the liquor – thickened it with cornflour.
That looked like the winner until Phyllis swaggered into the saloon. Clearly, a woman who should have played poker for a living. She saw everyone’s tripe and raised them…
My mum loved tripe and worse still, she loved cow’s udder. Don’t think I’ve seen that on sale for 60 years.
Cow’s udder? Everyone blinked – or vomited – and folded. Phyllis scooped the pot.
I crept off to Google to do my research. And here’s Samuel Pepys in October 1660. Mr Creed and I to the Leg in King Street, where he and I had a good udder to dinner.
53-37 and Samuel Pepys. My wife got off lightly with a side order of mushy peas. Let’s see how she copes with tonight’s delicacy.
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