Culinary delights of the West Midlands

[Mickey]

Curry is nice but you can't beat egg & bacon with fried bread and a mug of sweet tea.

[Mrs BB]

As to grub associated with the West Midlands, it seems to be mostly inedible, though doubtless Mrs BB will have summat to say about that! Owzabout Faggots (Pork Meatballs to the unititiated) with Mushy Peas and Gravy?

Sir

Our client (perhaps better known to you as She Who Must Be Obeyed If You Know What's Good For You) instructs us that
a) You are hardly starving to death;
b) She does the cooking;
c) If you are not very, very careful, some, if not all, of the following Black Country delicacies may find their way into your trough:

Ham Hock and Parsley Sauce
Black Pudding
White Pudding
Groaty Dick
Bread and Dripping
Faggot and Pays (otherwise known as Penny Ducks)
Chitterlings
Tripe and Onions
Honeycomb Tripe and Vinegar
Liver Paste
Potted Head
Sweetbreads
Gray Pays and Bacon
Belly Draft and Swede

Yours until lunchtime
Sue Grabbit and Runn
Solicitors To The Trade
Doggy Bags Upon Request

[Mrs BB]

The caff next to where I works sells a sandwich of sausage, black pudding and bacon: with a fried slice in the middle....

[strang steel]

No cackleberry sandwich then?

[Mrs BB]

No cackleberry sandwich then?

Not in this neck of the woods.... though I used to make a mean Condensed Milk Sandwich....

[Blink Bonny]

Ay up!

This reminds me of one of my early trips to the Worth Valley Railway when the late, much lamented Trevor Owens introduced me to the delights of footplate cuisine.

First off, he wirescrubbed the firing shovel until it looked clean(ish). Then poured a little oil on it and fried three rashers of bacon until crispy in a medium hot Black 5. Then four slices of bread, fried in the bacon juices. Assemble butty and there you have it. The Cardiac Arrest on a Plate!

He also stuck some spuds in tinfoil against the tubeplate and, on cleaning the smokebox at the end of the day, retrieved them. Off to the restroom, a large pat of butter was produced, a knife and some salt. Split the spud open, spread some butter, pure Ambrosia.

In one of our better local pubs (The Great Western on Sun St - grungy name, best pint of mild in the Black Country!) the chef had done some for a regular underneath one of the coal fires. He didn't turn up, so, upon seeing me dribbling quietly, the chef offered me a couple. Butter and salt were produced and I was eight again! The fire was at my left elbow, even the seat was the same. I almost heard Trevor saying "Get that down thee, lad - better for thee than them bacon sarnies!"

[giner]

Ah, sandwiches. If you'll pardon an excursion sarf of the Thames, here's my favourite, and perfectly true, story of a sandwich.

Back in my touring days with the band, we were returning home to Stevenage from a gig on Eastbourne Pier and were just making our way into London (I know the M25 would take us around it now, but not then) and we'd decided to stop for a sandwich at an all-night tea stall in Streatham.

It smelled really good. Sausage meat and onions simmering gently in a pan and wafting temptingly on the night air.

"I'll have one of those, please," says I. The fellow behind the counter turned to a stack of sliced bread on the back counter and proceeded to lick his thumb and peel off the top slice. Arrrrrgh!

I was starving by the time we got home at 4 a.m.

I hope roadside tea stalls have changed for the better in the last 40 years.

[strang steel]

I more or less lived in a greasy spoon when I left school. I dont know what went on in the kitchen and I wasn't really bothered as long as the food tasted alright. We couldn't see the kitchen from where the food was ordered, and the chap behind the counter shouted the orders through to his wife. It was great listening to what delights other people were ordering.

Cackleberry sandwich was a fried egg between two rounds of fried bread. I never had one because I prefer my eggs runny so that I can dip my sausages into them.

Presumably the word for eggs comes from the fact that chickens make a lot of cackling noises and then produce a berry shaped object?

And to bring this thread back to somewhere near LNER subject matter, how were eggs transported by the railways? I presume that London and other big conurbations must have had a substantial daily import of them, but were they just packed in crates and loaded on to 12t vans, or were more delicate handling and transport methods used?

[Blink Bonny]

Ay up!

So far as I know, large cardboard egg-boxes were filled and packed into wooden crates, with lashings of straw round them to prevent breakages.

They had "Fragile - eggs - handle with care" printed on the box, but does anyone take any notice of that? Have they ever?

Cheapest way to split the atom - send it through the post marked "Fragile!"

[Mrs BB]

Ah, sandwiches. If you'll pardon an excursion sarf of the Thames, here's my favourite, and perfectly true, story of a sandwich.

Back in my touring days with the band, we were returning home to Stevenage from a gig on Eastbourne Pier and were just making our way into London (I know the M25 would take us around it now, but not then) and we'd decided to stop for a sandwich at an all-night tea stall in Streatham.

It smelled really good. Sausage meat and onions simmering gently in a pan and wafting temptingly on the night air.

"I'll have one of those, please," says I. The fellow behind the counter turned to a stack of sliced bread on the back counter and proceeded to lick his thumb and peel off the top slice. Arrrrrgh!

I was starving by the time we got home at 4 a.m.

I hope roadside tea stalls have changed for the better in the last 40 years.

Reminds me of one day of my youth, when I went with a friend to watch her boyfriend play in a pub darts match (we had to make our own entertainment in the old days...) - and the landlady had made a tray of sandwiches, which was one the top of the piano, gathering odd bits of fag ash and dust, the edges curling gently in the heat. Then I noticed the pub cat...
'Do you know' I asked 'The cat's sleeping on the sandwiches?' (A question which really begs the answer 'You hum it, love...')
She called the cat a few choice names, picked it up by the scruff of the neck and threw it through the window, which fortuitously was open, because she didn't stop to check.
Breathing fag ash and smoke over the butties, she brushed the cat hairs off with her sleeve and offered me one.

Mrs BB has had cause to falsely declare that she is vegetarian on several occasions.

[Postman Prat]

[quote="Blink Bonny"]Ay up!

So far as I know, large cardboard egg-boxes were filled and packed into wooden crates, with lashings of straw round them to prevent breakages.

They had "Fragile - eggs - handle with care" printed on the box, but does anyone take any notice of that? Have they ever?

Cheapest way to split the atom - send it through the post marked "Fragile!" [/quote

Hi BB

You're doing well lately - upsetting people. Not only Mrs BB but your local postie will be upset when he finds out what you're saying. Fragile things only get broken if they're insufficiently packed. Everything you get could have poor packing in the future

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

[manna]

G'Day Gents

How did they ever manage in the dark dim days of the past without............Bubble Wrap

When you stop to think about it, the whole 'Great British Breakfast' came by train (for North London) Milk, to Finchley. Pigs, to Holloway, Eggs and Tea, to Kings Cross goods yard, Coal, to Kings Cross and Wood Green gas plants and water down the 'New River' ? delivery by horse and cart, horse droppings removed by the GN & LNER to Biggleswade for use as fertilizer, on your 'Brussels' for dinner

manna

[Blink Bonny]

G'Day Gents

Horse droppings removed by the GN & LNER to Biggleswade for use as fertilizer, on your 'Brussels' for dinner

manna

Can I have gravy on mine?

And just remember PP - the old 'uns are the best!

Allegedly....

[Postman Prat]

Hi BB

BB said "And just remember PP - the old 'uns are the best!"

Look at my birthdate in the members profile section and remember - I am one of the old 'uns!!!

[Blink Bonny]

Ay up!

See what you mean, PP! Just proves the rule, really?

I'm sure Wolverhampton Post Office send their mail by howitzer....