IT’S A SOCIAL DISEASE. IT’S A LOVELY ENGLISH DESERT. IT’S…

Having a can of said dessert on hand, last Sunday I decided to let my anglophile flag fly free.

The day began with a full English breakfast of tea, bacon and sausages, boxty (the English version of hash browns involving shredded spuds with salt, milk and wee bit of brown sugar), a thick slice of fresh tomato fried in the bacon drippings, baked beans, fried eggs and toast left to cool before buttering.  It sounds like an odd combo of items on a plate first thing in the morning until you have a bite of tomato and beans seasoned with a bit of egg yolk. And besides, as Tama pointed out, if you mixed it all together you would have huevos rancheros with toast instead of tortillas… huevos small holding as it were.

Dinner was roast beef with spuds and veg and a couple of cold lagers… a little more garlic than the classic English fare so I reckon it falls into the category of regional foods.

Dessert, the cause of it all, was as yummie as can be expected out of a can.

Nobody seems to agree on why it’s called Spotted Dick… well, Dick anyhow. The Spotted part comes from the currants or sliced plums that are always present in the pudding… (yep, it’s a pudding, from the French boudin meaning a small sausage, that referring to the shape of the bag in which it is traditionally steamed… see, you learn something every day).

Folks seem a little less direct about the Dick part.  The “snoots” are sure it is a mangling of either Spotted Dough or Spotted Dog. These would be the same stuffed shirts who attempted, unsuccessfully, to re-christen it Spotted Richard a few years back.

The more organically minded claim it is called Dick because of the long, sausage shape it acquires from being steamed in a muslin bag.

Without revealing any dark secrets I will say that I like Dick. The reasons are threefold:

1- I have a dirty mind.

2-Because you heat it up with boiling water while it is still sealed in the can, the instructions for opening the hot can suggest you place a towel over it because it may “spurt”.

3- You serve it at the table smothered in a rich, creamy custard sauce.

Try it. You’ll like it.

“OH WHAT A LUCKY MAN HE WAS” –Emerson, Lake & Palmer

Last night as my lovely wife and I were gathered ‘round the studio downstairs we heard a loud clatter from the street outside our home… sounded rather like the Tin Man had gone dumpster diving out back of the old sheet metal works.

Upon closer inspection it turned out to be a somewhat complex fender-bender wherein person or persons unknown (to us…), while driving inattentively up our little cul-du-sac, drifted a wee bit too far off to the right and clipped a parked contractor van, giving it a poke just behind the front, driver’s side wheel well. It banged the hell out of the bodywork and bent the steering bits, leaving the poor thing a little wall-eyed in the front end.

Applying Newton’s third law, the driver then bounced back to the left, graciously sailing past the next car parked in line, a charming, sixty thousand dollar Porsche Boxter soft-top, until over corrected steering rolled it smack dab into the ass end of a VW Passat, car three in the demolition derby line. Then, as John Prine says, “The police arrived at a quarter to five and pronounced all the victims okay.”

Bet Mr. Boxter is having second thoughts about parking on the street in future…