Today's adventure brought me to the butcher shop. I have the desire to make lasagne (yes, even in this heat) for dinner tonight. Grandma B's recipe calls for one pound of ground meat, I use turkey (I don't eat red meat). First things first, I've learned that in Britain they don't call it 'ground' meat but rather 'minced'. As soon as I grasp that terminology, I go forth to the butcher shop. Thinking I'm all smart now and can speak butcher-talk, I waltz into the shop and ask for a pound of "minced" turkey meat, please. The butcher now looks at me like I have three heads and one of them is breathing fire...I've totally caught him off guard with this.
He doesn't say this, but I'm pretty darn sure he's thinking, "What next from the crazy Americans?"
Instead he politely replies, "I don't have any of that today. Ring ahead next time and I'll make sure we do it for you, aye?"
Dejected I leave the butcher shop to purchase chicken which I then use for the lasagne after dicing it up. Next, my flatmate enters the kitchen, sees me cooking the chicken and furrows her brow. She now asks, "What are you doing?!?!"
Let me explain what her concern was...I put the uncooked chicken in a
skillet and boiled it in water (just like dear ol' mum does it :-P ). I
find it healthier than my flat-mate's response to put chicken oil and
fry it in the pan.
Again I'm sure she's thinking, "What next from the crazy American?"
Ahhhh but I dinna care, I'm going to eat it and if the Britons are feeling adventurous, they'll have some too. ;-)
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