Oh, for....
Another annoying recommendation from Michael Pollan in second lengthy extract from his book in today's Guardian G2:
Don't eat anything that your great-grandmother wouldn't recognise as foodWhy your great-grandmother? Because at this point your mother, and possibly even your grandmother, are as confused as the rest of us; to be safe we need to go ( Read more... )
The first was when the cat was found to have dragged in a large flatfish (a plaice or sole or something of that sort) which it had presumably stolen from one of the fishmongers down at the market. She grabbed it, cut off the bit that had been in the cat's jaws (presumably returning it to the cat) and washed it off under the tap, then fried it.
The second was milk stout, which featured in her last words, as in "I could just do with a milk stout."
I know my great-grandfather was bringing a penn'orth of tripe pieces home to her as a peace offering on the occasion when he nearly got saved by the Salvation Army, but I'm not sure she actually got to eat them.
Anyway, she is not someone whom I associate with raw vegetables. Or indeed cooked ones.
And her mother - the one who got knocked up out-of-wedlock while working as a cook in Didsbury - while presumably recognising a lot more things as food since she had too - passed down the family wisdom that one hangs grouse by their legs. When they rot off their legs and fall to the larder floor, they're ready to cook.
I'm not sure it's a question of my not eating anything except what my ancestors in the female line would have regarded as food, more being too scared to make the experiment.
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