Clan bake

“What good are the Scots?” my English friend asked the other night after a wide sampling of various beverages. I didn’t rise (much) to the bait as he listed the many faults of my ancestors , but I had to admit to myself afterward that he got me with this one:

“You certainly can’t eat their food.”

I grew up in a home where Scottish cooking dominated. And except for the odd semi-successful foray into something like Italian food, everything was cooked Scottish style – if it wasn’t boiled it was fried. When it was gray and limp or almost burnt, it was done.

Of course, those were the days when Gordon and Ramsay were just a couple of tartans.

Odd that the country with perhaps the world’s worst diet could produce one of the world’s great celebrity chefs. Too bad he moved to England as child – imagine the F word with a Glaswegian burr?

Anyway, for my English friend, here’s Gordon Ramsay in all his profane glory. Simply press the button on his forehead and pretend he has a Scottish accent.


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