I’ve just got back to Barcelona after two weeks in the UK and am feeling distinctly podgier after being well fed and watered by my cherished family and friends back home. I’ve never had myself down as a typical Brit; I like and respect British food but I don’t particularly crave it or miss it a great deal and rarely go out of my way here to hunt down anything more than golden syrup for baking or the odd bit of Stilton. Maybe it’s the ‘want what you can’t have’ principal but I’ve surprised myself with my sudden enthusiasm and desire for as many British foods as possible from the minute I stepped off the plane.
The Warburton’s crumpets were a disappointment but a reminder that I really must have a bash at making them fresh one day and the Yorkshire parkin from the Cannon Hall Farm Shop on the Huddersfield/Barnsley border was overly dry although this may have had more to do with our post-party parched mouths than the quality of their baking.
But the Long Clawson Stilton, several bottles of Weston’s Organic Cider (without ice, why would you want to put ice in cider?) amongst others whose names I can’t remember, Cheshire dry cured smoked bacon and traditional pork sausages were a welcome reminder of good English fayre and eased the pain of the distinct lack of decent grocers in my old Manchester neighbourhood.
And finally, what could be better after a bank holiday weekend’s partying excesses than a home cooked roast
complete with cute, hastily made place settings by my friend’s daughter Amelia
and rounded off with sweet ‘Bridgewater Canal blackberry and Barrow apple crumble’
which took it’s name from an afternoon’s picking from the local waterside and Amelia’s recent visit to Grandma’s caravan in Cumbria?
A true ‘taste of home’.