Author: Janus

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Viking grub, pt. 2

Following hard on the heels of the global gastronomic success earned by the smørrebrød, any self-respecting Scandiwegian will offer you küttbullar or perhaps frikadeller. Meatballs to you, madam, which were for some years announced on the overnight ferries from Harwich to Esbjerg and points north as ‘a Danish speciality’. Laughter rang around decks. No, to be fair, they are special – for their ordinariness.

Frikadeller med kartolfter, broccoli og løgsauce

They are the from the same stable (in the case of IKEA’s menu) as, say, Bratwurst or doner kebab, the ‘left-overs’ solution for butchers and mothers alike. In fact in post-war Coventry, pork butchers sold ‘faggots’ which were much the same: minced or ground cuts or offal bound togther with milk or cream and seasoned to taste with various herbs and spices; fried and served with spuds or owt available.

Not bad with a decent onion gravy.

And to accompany the meal………………. Continue reading “Viking grub, pt. 2”

A pome about magic

I had a boy cousin (still do, come to that)
Whose whole world was, for him, a machine.
While the rest of us played on our bikes in the sun,
He took his to pieces – and not just for fun –
Testing modifications. Would this version run?
With occasional sweets in between.

 

 

 

One Christmas he had an old wireless set
Which he proudly displayed on the floor.
He’d removed all the parts and dismantled its case;
Examined each valve, disconnected the base.
Then (magic!) restored ev’ry one to its place;
Switched it on and it functioned once more!

French stick to French

It’s more reminiscent of Canute the Great Dane at the seaside than Francois the Small Froggy at the Elyssee – the way our near-neighbours are constantly trying to purge their Latin tongue of anglicisations, as you might say; and even now are resisting the demand for their seats of learning to teach in English.

We of course have always delighted in importing all their trash, ever since 1066 at least. But usually the words have been mangled beyond recognition – except among the incurably pure who still stay at ‘otels and drink ‘erb tea. More respectful folk, like the Danes, continue to make an effort to pronounce French words properly but score zero po-ang for their efforts.

But our most endearing trait (both t’s sounded) is to dub so many not-quite-British things ‘French’. My favourites include: bed, cricket, disease, fry, knickers and letter. If you will pardon my French…………

By any other name

Seein’ as ‘ow my youngest is due to add Number Nine to the Janus clan in the Autumn, I feel qualified to comment on the theme of naming children, further aroused by the Beeb:  http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-21229475.

Auntie (possibly wishing to avoid some nasty social aspersions being cast) seems to have missed out a very widespread reason for countries restricting the choice of names – RELIGION. Some countries allocate days to ‘holy’ names – so if you are born on 25th December you automatically become Christos/Christina (!); and although I confess to knowing almost nothing about Islam law, I have the impression that babies are only given ‘approved’ names.

What surprises me is that Denmark – otherwise notoriously free of constraint in almost every imaginable respect – has its own list, outside which a child may not be named. The religion or what’s left of it, is Lutheran but its tentacles still reach into daily life by awarding Spring days off work for General Prayer, Ascension and Whitsun respectively, promoting the Confirmation industry among greedy teens and, yes, forbidding one to ‘christen’ a baby with the Liverpool cup-winning team. So there’s the rub – what a pity their holiness doesn’t extend beyond their sanctified monikers!

In Britain of course the rich and famous persist in giving their offspring silly names, often of dubious gender and provenance, like themselves in many cases. But relax, friends, it’s all cyclical and soon the Johns and Joans will be rife amongst us again.