A Taste of Britain

So I'm done school for the semester and I think it's the first time in my life that I'm actually sad to say good-bye to school for the Christmas holidays. That's how awesome this program is. I miss everyone already.

Anyways, today I did the last of my Christmas shopping and, since it is a Monday, the mall wasn't too busy. It was bustlier (Webster take note of that one) than a Monday in, say... February, but it was still relatively normal. As I walked into that little store called "A Taste of Britain" an overwhelming instinct came over me and I couldn't stop myself from using my British accent. While my British accent is actually not too bad, it was very strange to me that I couldn't control my use of it. When I went to make my purchase, the lady behind the counter (who wasn't British by-the-way) grinned at me and nodded as if with some twisted kind of approval that I was "British" and I had bestowed upon her the greatest honour of shopping in her little store. Just imagine her little old face if she ever found out that I was an imposter. She would be crushed! Funny, yet slightly sad at the same time.

Aside from that, it's an adorable little store. I love everything in there (save for one or two things) and it just has a great feeling about it. It just makes me want to move to Britain (specific place as yet undecided) all the more. However, I did run into something that I think should never exist even in it's original form, let alone a "canned" version. As if someone can't bear to spend all that time making it from scratch (which is really where the charm of it lies, am I right?) but they need it not only immediately, but they need to be able to store it indefinitely for emergency uses. Behold, readers, canned Scottish Haggis:



As you can see, it is traditional haggis made with the finest ingredients. In case you are unfamiliar with this succulent dish, the recipe includes a sheep's heart, liver, and lungs cooked inside the sheep's stomach (or the bladder if you prefer, because haggis isn't gross enough already). It's skinless as well, which makes no sense unless evolution has somehow given sheep the ability to grow skin on their lungs.

Luckily, I soon after found the shortbread and English toffee, and the urge to hurl all over the Manchester United pennants quickly subsided.

I really think I was born in the wrong country. God save the Queen and all that.



That was Rowan Atkinson, obviously. Pride of England.

Oh yeah, Christmas is in five days. That's pretty sweet. I'm doing my Christmas baking over the next few days. That should be fun. I'm surprised every year when I actually take on the task of Christmas baking because throughout the rest of the year, I'm quite possible the most horrendous cook you will ever... read the blog of... Right. Well, let's just call it Christmas magic that I haven't killed anyone yet.

Pip pip.