Fish Footprints

Is there any possible part of our daily life that isn’t going to be measured by this bullshit metric?

Fish sticks may seem harmless, but the tiny food is creating a huge carbon footprint.
A new study has found that transforming Alaskan Pollock into fish sticks, imitation crab and fish fillets generates nearly twice the greenhouse gas emissions produced by fishing itself.

I’m getting to the point where the more I’m scolded for behavior which (allegedly) harms the planet or in some way offends people of a certain type, the more I’m likely to increase said behavior.

I’ve never been that keen on fish sticks — I think I grew out of the taste at age 8 — but I think I’ll pick up a pack or two of Gorton’s the next time I’m at the supermarket, just for spite.

And then there’s this, from the same article:

Families that often dine out and consume large quantities of sweets and alcohol are likely to have a higher carbon footprint than meat eaters, a study claims.
Researchers came to this conclusion after studying the food habits and carbon footprints of around 60,000 households across Japan.
They found that meat consumption typically only accounts for only 10 per cent of the different in environmental impact between low and high carbon households.
In contrast, households with high carbon footprints typically consumed around two to three times more sweets and alcohol than those with low footprints
Eating out, for example, was found to contribute 175 per cent more carbon emissions for the average household than eating meats.
In fact, dining in restaurants was seen to contribute an annual average of 770 kilograms (121 stone) of greenhouse gases towards the environmental impact of those households with a high carbon footprint.

That does it.  Tonight is Pizza Night chez  Du Toit (which is an immutable institution), but tomorrow night I think I’ll take New Wife to Hard Eight BBQ, which boasts a meat smoker that puts out more smoke than a fucking 19th-century steamship.

Chide me, I dare ya.

There Goes The Neighborhood

And another treasured institution falls over:

The Full English breakfast could die out within a generation because almost one in five young people living in the UK have never eaten a fry-up.
Despite being a mainstay of British society since the Victorian era, a nationwide study has revealed 17 per cent of British people under 30 have never tucked into the greasy breakfast food.
Millennials are avoiding the traditional meal due to health concerns, with a fifth of 18 to 30-year-olds saying they associate the dish with heart attacks and obesity.
The majority would prefer to have smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, smashed avocado on toast or oatmeal pancakes for breakfast over the Full English.

Here’s what they’re missing, the little shits:

Great Caesar’s bleeding hemorrhoids… how could this sublime creation be replaced by something that looks like calcified sputum on toast?

My own kids (Millennials all) would smother me in my sleep if I were to offer them this slop instead of a Full English on Christmas Day — or any day, come to think of it — but then they’re not Brits, are they?

I don’t want anyone to think that I’m unalterably set in my ways (“No, Kim!  Say it ain’t so!”) — I mean, the last time I had breakfast at Fortnum & Mason, I even had a delicious Duck Rarebit (fried duck egg on hot beer cheese over a piece of toast, as below):

…so I am open to a bit of change — I just don’t want the thing I temporarily changed from  to disappear because some pasty-faced weenies think it’s unheaaaaalthyyyy!

Let me promise you all one thing:  if the time comes when I go over to Blighty, go out for brekkie and find the Full English has disappeared from the menu, there will be murders.  Just the prospect  of “avo toast” on a breakfast table makes me feel weak.

Is it too early for a pint of gin?  I think not.

Beefeaters

In my Boxing Day post, I omitted to acknowledge the source of the main pic (of a mouthwatering roast beef) — “omitted” in that the pic wasn’t labeled, and the now-forgotten website where I found it hadn’t labeled it either.  (Under copyright law, by the way, such copyright infringement is called “inadvertent”, which in my case it certainly was.)  So I fixed that.

But that’s not the point of this post:  this is.

The pic originally came from a crowd named Carnivore Style, and I urge you all to visit their website.

This referral has not been forced on me by legal assholes, by the way:  it’s looks like an excellent place and I for one am going to spend a lot more time there as I devote yet more time to eating red meat in the future.  (This is an interesting take on Keto vs. Carnivore diets, incidentally.)

AND of course, bedehr gesocht, it might cause mass suicides among vegans, Extinction Rebellion loonies and other such filth.  Which can only be a good thing.

Boxing Day

…a.k.a. “Thanksgiving, Round 2” in our house — i.e. with the entire family attending.  Only instead of turkey, we go Full English, thus:

Photo credit: Carnivore Style

Which translates into this:

…followed by a South African-style trifle pudding:

…and a cheese plate, in case anyone’s still hungry:

Oh, did I mention the brandy?

See y’all tomorrow.  If I survive, that is.

Time To Eat Again

After the past two days (liquid diet followed by artificially induced diarrhea followed by colon inspection followed by post-operative nausea), it’s time to right the ship, so to speak.

With what, you may ask?

To eat, to drink… tonight.

Murkin Food

After the post about my love for British foods a couple days ago, I received a few snarky emails which can be summarized by:  “Okay, Immigrant Guy:  tell us what American  foods you like, then.”

There are many, many  foods that have captured my fancy since The Great Wetback Episode Of 1986.  In fact, so much have they grown on me that when I’m Over There for a while, I actually say, “Good grief — all this Brit / Euro food is fine, but I could really do with a plate / bowl / truckload of ___ right now!”

In no specific order these are my favorites (and with thanks to the locals who introduced them to me):

Honey Nut Cheerios.  I needed something  to take over from the (American-style) over-sweetened Frosted Flakes as my favorite cold breakfast cereal, and Honey Nuts did the trick.  When the Son&Heir was still a weeny and I used to give him a baggie of the stuff to eat in his car seat on the back seat, I’d pour myself a baggie as well.  (Thanks, Maryann.)

BBQ.  I grew up eating barbecued (“braaivleis”) meat in South Africa, but it wasn’t BBQ — those chunks of smoked meat dipped in sweet or tangy sauce.  Pulled pork, brisket, pork bellies, Elgin sausage, spare ribs, whatever:  put a plateful in front of me, and keep your hands away from my face.  (Thanks, Cassie.)

Nachos.  Melt some grated mixed cheeses over a pile of hamburger/chili, beef- or chicken-covered nacho chips, toss a few jalapeño pepper slices on top (approximately one slice per mouthful), and you can forget about any conversation till the plate’s done.  And if there’s a side of freshly-made guacamole and a frozen margherita… well, dayum.  (Thanks, Brenda.)

Potato skins. When I first read about these things on a menu, I burst out laughing, thinking that they were literally potato skins — i.e. peelings.  So for a laugh, I ordered them.  Yikes.  Hollowed-out baked potatoes filled with melted cheese and covered with crispy bacon bits.  Two plates of those and a few (okay, six) beers, and I was a goner.  (Thanks, Linda.)

Fajitas. Chunks of marinated chicken / skirt steak, slathered with pico de gallo, all sizzling on a hot iron plate.  I discovered this stuff during a side trip to San Antonio back in 1985, and as I recall, it was about the second or third meal I ordered when I arrived in Austin the following year.  Wrapped in a soft flour tortilla:  Mexican shwarmas.  (Thanks, Karen).

Clam chowder.  First tried this on my U.S. “scouting” trip in 1985, in Newport RI, and by “tried” I mean had a mouthful of someone else’s because the thought of clams… ugh.  Then… well, never mind that “cup” bullshit;  I ordered a whole bowl, and was hooked forever.  Now I only have it in New England because I’ve become a “chowdah” snob (although Earl’s in Plano’s Legacy West district does a decent bowl, too).  And never mind those silly little cracker things… how about served in a boule  loaf?  (Thanks again, Maryann.)

Lobster rolls.  I’d eaten Cape Rock lobster in South Africa, of course, but never on a bread roll with seafood sauce, spiced mayo or melted butter.  Yummy.  My only criticism is that New Englanders eat the lovely stuff on a lousy hot dog bun — are you kidding me, when Portuguese rolls are available everywhere?  Toast one of those… and you can make mine a footlong (as long as I can call my bank manager first).  (Thanks, Hope.)

Streaky bacon.  Or as Murkins call it, “bacon”.  I grew up eating back  bacon (Brit style, kinda like Canadian bacon) and not “belly” bacon (as found in the U.S.), and I like both:  the pork-y, savory back bacon and the crisp, fatty streaky bacon.  But Murkin bacon with just a hint of syrup… stop me before I eat again.  (Thanks, Laura.)

and finally:

Hostess Twinkies. To call this gooey confection a “snack” is to slander snack foods;  eating one of these is childish gluttony par excellence — and then you have to have the second  one in the so-called “snack pack”.  Good grief:  no wonder our kids are clinically obese, if this is what we put in their lunch boxes.  Not that I’m envious, or anything.  (And for those silly people who might say that Twinkies aren’t a meal:  clearly, you’ve never eaten a ten-pack in one sitting, as I did in NYFC in September 1982.)  And no thanks to anyone:  I discovered these bad boys all by myself.

I had to write this post immediately after a big breakfast, otherwise I’d have been in trouble.

Feel free to add your favorite Murkin foods, in Comments.