Well of course it was Excelsior. How could I have forgotten. Do you all know the illustrtaed Excelsior by James Thurber? He did a number of good bad poems. Surely the BEST good bad poem is Newbolt's 'There's a breathless hush in the close tonight'. It's actually cfalled something classical. And perhaps it's just good-good.
Perhaps innards are a Brit thing. Just after the war, when I was a little boy, tripe and onions was consumed pretty generally (meat was on the ration) and steak-and-kidney pie for dinner and liver and bacon for breakfast are again very traditional fare, not posh restaurant at all. Having said that, alas, sweetbreads are pretty well impossible to get since various health scares concerned with beef.
Chicken liver, ah there's something well worth consuming. Of course it isn't us, but those cheese-eating surrender monkeys who are foremost in the preparing and consumption of parts of a beast you wouldn't believe. In Caen, in Normandy, the supermarkets vie with one another in producing huge tins of tripe a la Caen, or whatever is the exact nomenclature. Bloody good tins too and (as in generally the case with innards, very cheap.
And my cat, beside me as I write, would like you to know that liver is the stuff to give the troops, ah yes.
And the Scots would likwe to know if haggis counts.
Sam, tell us about your Texan restaurant. Texas, the stomach of the USA!
There isn't anything to be done in the eating line with fish guts is there?
Seagulls like 'em!
My wife tells me I've got to lose weight. What for? I enquire.
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