When I lived in the states for a while, I'd often crave a curry. Me and another Brit would head out to an Indian restaurant and usually order a Vindaloo. The waiter would say "Are you sure, it is quite spicy hot." And we'd tell him we were British and he'd say "Oh, I understand." and give us what we'd asked for without further comment.
Oh, this isn't 'rando'. Chippies in Scotland will deep fry any fucking thing. Pizza? Standard. Mars bar? Of course! In some chippies you can even take something you've bought somewhere else and ask if they'll batter and fry the fucker for you and they'll say yes.
Whenever I get home to Scotland, my personal supper of choice is the haggis supper - a sausage of haggis meat, battered and deep fried, and served with beautifully fried chips, of course. The second night I'm home (especially if the wife isn't with me) is a haddock supper. Fuckin' grand.
I don't have much of a sweet tooth, but I'm told by those who do that the deep fried Bounty is just the wrong side of the acceptable line of deep fried sweet shit.
Only the Brits would colonize half the world looking for spices and then refuse to use them in their food.
Oh, do fuck off. It's such a tired cliché and wrong. Our traditional dishes predate conquering almost the entire fucking world. So, no, they don't tend to feature spices other than pepper and nutmeg because that was all we had 500 years ago.
But now our national dish is chicken tikka masala. We love our BIR curries, like Madras; Jalfrezi; Vindaloo; Korma; Pathia; and Balti. These were invented here, in the UK, for UK palates. So you can fuck off and shove whatever cuisine your country has up your fucking arse while you're at it.
Fish and chipsChip buttyYorkshire fishcake buttyWhitebaitScottish smoked salmonCromer crabsPotted shrimpScallops and Black PuddingSunday Roast (beef, lamb, pork, chicken, vegetarian)Beef WellingtonFull EnglishFull ScottishFull WelshUltster FryDeviled kidneysMixed grillGammon, egg and chipsSteak and Ale pieSteak and oyster pieMeat and potato piePork pieChicken and Mushroom pieScotch pieGame pieFish pieShepherd's pieCottage pieSteak and kidney puddingLancashire hotpotIrish stewCornish pastyScotch eggSausage rollPloughman's lunchHaggisAfternooon / Cream / High TeaAnd of course the full range of BIR curries: Chicken Tikka Masala; Madras; Jalfrezi; Vindaloo; Korma; Pathia; and BaltiAnd a bunch of puddings and sweet things, sticky toffee pudding, apple pie, mince pie, hot cross buns, etc., but I don’t have a sweet tooth
Depending on where you get said foodstuffs it can be everywhere from grim inedible sadness to glorious sublime perfection.
It was a fucking paradise. Especially in the school summer holidays. Endless long summer days (it didn’t get dark until 10 at night) and nothing to do but play with friends. I grew up in rural SW Scotland, so we had woods, forests, beaches, hills, rivers, streams, farmland etc. at our disposal. Our parents were all at work so we had total freedom - as long as we were home in time for dinner we’d be good. Our bikes were everything, we’d meet up and decide what we were going to do and where we were going to go. Sometimes it would be someone’s house for video games (Commodore 64 or Spectrum), or building a camp in the woods, or fishing a stream up in the Galloway Forest, or cycling to the nearest beach and swimming in the sea.
Because tea. Because full English breakfast. Because of decency and orderly queuing. Because of a searing sense of guilt over the evils of our empire and the human suffering our ancestors caused, because of the British Expeditionary force, Agincourt, Dunkirk, the battle of Britain, two fingers stuck up to Hitler, because of sarcasm, self deprecation and Watney’s Red Barrel and the empire that never sets on the sun, because of Boudicca and black pudding and single malt whisky and most of us being able to say ‘bottle’ rather than our American chums who say ‘boddle’, because of Shakespeare, Christie, Wodehouse, (but fuck Rowling), because of Douglas Adams and Michael Moorcock, Tolkien, Carroll, Defoe, the Brontes and all that lot, wandering lonely ,etc., etc., Byron, Shelley, Frankenstein, Dracula, Sherlock Holmes and Dr Who, Carry On films, Ealing Comedies, Hammer horror, the Cornetto trilogy, because of the Beatles and the Stones, Pink Floyd, and Alabama 3, and heavy metal, and punk, and goth (“Hey now, hey now now!”), the Magna Carta, Taskmaster and Python, the Goodies, Eric Morecambe, Ronnie Barker, Porridge, Fools, Horses, Red Dwarf, HIGNFY, Sapphire and Steel, modern surveying and mapping techniques, that Darwin chap, gravity, Nigella Lawson, the business suit (sorry anout that), fish and chips, chip butties, (Yorkshire) fishcake butties, the sandwich, country houses, the ha-ha, afternoon tea, fights over whether it’s scone or scone, whether the cream goes on first or the jam, the industrial revolution, trains, David Attenborough and James Bond, the BBC, the BLT, the NHS, the RAF, HP sauce, knowing how to say ‘Worcestershire’ and 'Edinburgh', Hendo’s Relish, gin and tonic, English mustard, salt and vinegar everything, ploughman’s lunch, because of Mark and Lard, because of prawn jalfrezi, half rice, half chips, and a pint of mild, because of best bitter, marmalade, cider, Wimbledon, the snooker at the Crucible, Formula 1, because of a deep-seated shame at Brexit and the rise of a cunt like Farage, because of calling people gormless cunts or fucking wombles or tosspots or feckless wankers or bellends or just twatty McBallbag, because of Bletchley Park, Tower Bridge and Stone ‘enge, because of football, rugby, cricket, and golf, because of Top Gear and the Great British Bake-Off and TV shows which are cool but sometimes problematic, because of generally trying to do the right thing but all too often being too little, too late, because of nil points at the Eurovision Song Contest, because of endless optimism every time there’s a World Cup and spaffing that hope up the wall…
Because I care enough to have written all of this.
'Bully' used to mean good friend. There's a scene in Shakespeare (who else?) where he talks about someone sending his bully boys to teach someone a lesson, meaning he sent his close friends. But, over time, people took it to mean his thuggish friends and so the word's meaning shifted.
The kicker is that the peasants spoke the old proto-germanic language, and the nobles spoke the shiny new French derivation. So peasants raised the beasts and the nobles ate the beasts.
Phall. If you know, you know.
When I lived in the states for a while, I'd often crave a curry. Me and another Brit would head out to an Indian restaurant and usually order a Vindaloo. The waiter would say "Are you sure, it is quite spicy hot." And we'd tell him we were British and he'd say "Oh, I understand." and give us what we'd asked for without further comment.