Monday, August 06, 2007
Putain! It's Poutine
The ones I have met have been the French variety, and for all they claim to be bilingual, they speak both French and English with a peculiar accent. That ubiquitous squawking effort Celine Dion is from there, you know the one with the great big husband who got her famous and I can barely understand her - she mumbles away there, "my heart" something or other. Spit it out, woman.
Like the real French, French Canadians eat some weird shit. I went to a national day celebration at their embassy a while back and the food they had was just extraordinary. Shot glasses with raw elk in. RAW ELK. I think it is terrible to eat elks - the poor animals, but if I were going to shoot and gut and skin one and go to all the trouble of slicing bits of meat off it - I'd go the extra mile and cook it. Fucking filthy feckers, raw elks. And they made us watch a propaganda film of people fishing in the snow, and smiling eskimos and lots of chinese children in Vancouver all plump and happy, and everyone was smiling and no one was eating elk at all, apart from us. I think it was their idea of a practical joke and that afterwards they went inside and lay on the floor howling with laughter "We fed them elk - RAW ELK, those stupid cosmopolitan, Quebec-ignorant fuckers". Well you did not feed me raw elk - my elk is in the flowerbed along with the blob of wasabi you so kindly put on the top, so stick that up your holes.
And then I was talking to this Canadian woman and, tactfully, I didn't mention the elk even though, as you might have guessed, it is still an incredibly sore point with me, and she said to me: "What is your favourite food" and I said "Chips, in french that is frites not chips, french chips are crisps - they call our chips french fries in american". Such a palaver communicating with these people. "OH" she said "Then you will love a very famous dish we have in Canada, it is called Poutine". "Is it a form of chips?" I asked, as I am extremely fond of chips. "Oh it is better than chips" says the Canadian. "You haven't lived until you try it. So just today I found a restaurant giving out about how it makes this dish, this "poutine" thing and I ordered a bowl of it. Dear God, I would eat six shots of mustardy elk rather than one mouthful of that shit. A cereal bowl, filledto the brim with HP sauce, full of soggy chips with cubes of half melted edam on the top. Like a runny turd with huge worms and stones in it - just fucking rank. I don't know if the Canadians have it in for me, or if they have no sense of taste altogether on account of the cold but they are unmitigated cunts when it comes to cooking. Take sandwiches if you go there, they are entirely mental.
Bonjour, monsieur. La plume de ma tante est plus grand que le sac de boule du Sac de Boule, et tandis que nous sommes sur le sujet, mon elque est dans le lit des fleurs...
You could get a long way with that.
The French should stick to French food, and the Brits should stick to what passes for food. Although chips are valid, minus the huge worms and stones.
Nonny addresses Tired of Peter as "Peter". This is jolly interesting, as it implies that "Tired of Peter" is Peter, and that, conversely, Peter is tired of Peter. Presumably Peter's pettifogging peroration pertaining to pedantry proclaims the presumptuous prejudice peculiar to persons preoccupied with petty personality projections and probably pasty-faced with pathologically perverted proclivities.
So that, it would appear, explains that.
Should it not be the bearer of one of her Britannic Majesty's passports? Being as how these passports (plural) would be those of her subjects, and not that of her Britannic Majesty, as, being the Queen, she doesn't need one?
Not wishing to be pedantic, of course.
Give me a cheese and Branston pickle butty any day
Err - take your own you greedy t**ts ;-)
Knowledge is a wonderful thing.
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