American Ethnic Food?

What he said.

Some OS manufactures were behind on the 64bit trail... by many many years.

 

That is the TRUE definition of local. Bonus points if they go tits up
and you regret never having tried them!

 

Well, they don't open Sundays.

The good news is they open tomorrow afternoon and they do have Spam
fritters on the menu. I assume they're battered, but we'll see ...

 

Friggin' carnivores.
(hack, ptooie!)

 

No guts No glory, I say go for it! I mean, seriously, what could go
wrong?

 

A cuntless hooker with her jaw wired shut?

 

They do 'em at our local buttie shop and having resisted th' urge for ages,
I decided to give 'em a go. Fooking horrible they were, so I bought a tin of
Spam (from the Co-op) and made some myself and they were awesome.

 

Unbelievably, we have a two Chinese chippies in the centre of the village,
both owned by the same guy. One does everything like most Chinese chippies,
but the other one (The Village Chippy FFS) only does English style, with
beef dripping for the chips and fish. They're a Friday night staple at my
place and the taste harks back to the real old chippies of the past.

The only difference now is the cleanliness. One has it, the other never did,
but the smell could draw you further than dynamite could fooking blow you.

 

IDGAF who is behind the counter, TBH - although it brings to mind a
most entertaining conversation in a Chinese Chippy - the only chippy
open on a Monday round here:

Door: Dingdong!

Little Fella in White coat: Harro!

Me: Wotchamate -
<scanning bafflingly lengthy, multicoloured, backlit menu on wall>
- What pies have you got in the heater this evening?

(It was at the end of one of the days we moved house, so we wanted
something fast and filling)

LFiWC: Haah ... We got Pukka (Brand name (in this region at least) for
a whole variety of pies with a whole variety of fillings) Pies!

Me: Yes, I see that -
<eyeing various posters depicting mouthwatering, impossibly gorgeous,
stuffed to the crust Technicolour posters>
- but what sort of pies?

LFiWC: Haaaah -
<bowing, jerkily, repeatedly, like one of those 'drinking ducks' your
granny used to have>
- We got PukkaPies!!

Me: (Testily) No, what /variety/ of pies do you have?

LFiWC: Aaaah, yeesss ... We got (louder) PUKKAPIES!!!! <bows,
repeatedly>

Me: (FFS) Yes, I (fucking) know you got (fucking) Pukka Pies - but
what sort of Pukka Pies you (fucking) got?

LFiWC: (You'll never fucking guess) WE GOT PUKKAPIES!!!!!!!

Me: (I'll go out and come in again, shall I? Where's the camera? Have
you got Ronnie Barker under that counter working you, with his hand up
your skinny little arse?) <slowly and carefully> Do you have ... aaah
.... steakandkidney? (See, it was getting to me)

LFiWC: We got PukkaPies ... we got no steakandkidney, ro.

Me: <deep breath> What do you have, then?

LFiWC: We got ... <bowing so low his head is touching the metal counter
every couple of seconds> ... PUKKAPIE ... chiknan'mu'roo' ...
min'an'orrio' ... vegetbew ... we got PukkAPIE!!

Me: (mightily relieved) I'll take a couple of mince and onion and a
couple of chicken and mushroom, please, my good fellow.

LFiWC: I get dotter!

Me: (I think you fucking do) <bows>

LFiWC's daughter appears: (she's just laahvely - about 16, still in her
school uniform, long black hair, huge dark eyes, you know what I mean)
What can I do for you <elbowing LFiWC towards the kitchen door>

Me: I've just been discussing what pies you do, with your father

Gorgeous Daughter: WE GOT PUKKAPIE!!!!!!!!


It all went downhill from there, really. A bit deaf and a lot hoarse,
I beat it home with a big bag of assorted pies and chips ... about an
hour after I left.

 

You. Utter. ****.

I hope this feeling subsides by tomorrow, it'll be a right **** to deal
with pastry in this weather.

 

There are two chippies in the town nearest me - one has been there for
decades and the quality is so-so and always has been apparently. The
other one was the same until it was bought by an Italian family some
years ago - **** me, the quality went through the roof and the place was
mobbed most nights of the week. People queued around the corner on its
busiest nights. At the time I was taking the used veggy oil from the
shop and knew how often he changed it - very regularly.
The Italian sold up to another bloke who owned a string of chippies and
the incomer ran the place the way he ran all his other shops - the
quality went downhill and the queues vanished. I was taking the oil from
the new owner and observed how often he changed it - fucking rarely.
The chips were bogging and the fish horrible - re-heats and stale.

The Italian opened a new chippy some 25 miles away in a town which
didn't have one and he was mobbed, queued out, round the corner, all
over again. Once more, I took his oil and it was the same story -
regular changes.

Consistently, I've found that Italians are pretty good chip shop owners,
but some Chinese ones are right up there too.

 

*PERK*

 

<snip>

Heh. You do know that the variety is displayed by the colour of the foil?


--
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Tyger, Tyger Burning Bright (Remove rust to reply)
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Triumph Sprint ST 1050: It's blue, see.
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I do. Now.

 

Sorry about that. Still, good story, though.

--
Catman MIB#14 SKoGA#6 TEAR#4 BOTAFOF#38 Apostle#21 COSOC#3
Tyger, Tyger Burning Bright (Remove rust to reply)
116 Giulietta 3.0l Sprint 1.7 GTV TS GT 3.2 V6
Triumph Sprint ST 1050: It's blue, see.
www.cuore-sportivo.co.uk

 

Improvisation and anyway...the Iphone has an app for that.

 

heh, good yarn.

I've always found that the pies are so fucking hot, that rather than
taste them, the skin on the roof of your mouth simply peels off; it
matters not what "flavour" they are.

 

You utter, utter bastard. Just cos my doctor's told me to cut down on
cholesterol, you had to go and mention that didn't you.

 

Loafing up the road today, I could no longer ignore the growling
stomach - so I turned to the good lady wife and enquired as to whether
she might consider the consumption of a greasy roadside burger as
brunch-suitable. The biwordal response: "With onions?"

Next layby, flag flying. Ten minutes later, wiping grease from beard.
Nothing better when it's the only thing that'll hit the spot.

My commiserations on your cholesterol - I'm still working on mine.

 

The van at the bottom of the A404 at Marlow does lovely burgers & bacon
baps. It's a shame I don't use that route for my commute any more - I
sometimes used to stop off there on the way to work for breakfast.