Spud Duds

It was a lovely pub supper. Everything a pub should be. It was rainy outside, and we arrived (on foot) rather wet and cold. The fire was cheerful and the room was just the right size. Not cramped, but not spacious. Very comfortable, with benches and tables and stools tucked in around in all the corners and around the edges. The hosts were helpful and had a great sense of humor. The food was excellent. Everything tasted as if it knew where it had come from. The fish tasted like proper fish, without being fishy. The potatoes were clearly potatoes, and the other vegetables had a sturdy presence on the plate. The steak pie was clearly filled with large chunks of melt-in-your-mouth beef. The beer was good, the tea was hot, and the ice cream settled in around the small gaps left by the dinner. Mushy peas were declined, as was the "toffee lumpy bumpy", the "spotted dick", and the "lemon sponge." Maybe next time...In all, it was the quintessence of a British evening. As we left, the ringers were pulling on the bells in the village church tower (rounds and titums, Liz).

Baked potatoes here are called Jacket Potatoes. I wonder what it says about the culture that British potatoes wear jackets whereas American potatoes are found in their skins. It bespoke of a more formal attitude even about food. It comes to the table fully dressed.