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Inside this week | Pasties and pints – not pâté

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April 21st, 2012


This article is more than 12 years old.

I hang my head in shame. And apologise to fellow Englishmen everywhere. Our food blogger, Simon Cooper – a patriot himself no least, whose surname reveals he is descended from the most important person in medieval society: the maker or repairer of casks and barrels – could have given us one of the all-time classics. Jam roly-poly, spotted dick, sticky toffee pudding, and that’s just for afters. Didn’t he check his diary?

That’s right, it’s finally here. St George’s Day is next Monday, and what does Cooper instead give us the recipe for? Mackerel flaming pâté! I’m not even going to tell you what page it’s on. There are still vast areas of England where people don’t know what pâté means. “Ah, mackerel meat paste – you should have said.”

Anyhow, listen here. Geordies, Scousers, Mancunians, Cockneys, Brummies, the county of Essex and even the Cornish – lend me your ears. It’s time to stand proud about who you are and where you come from. I’ve had it on good authority that St George’s Day has made it on to the Copenhagen Police’s list of events for April 23 – let’s just say it’s a situation that they feel they need to be aware of. Well, let’s put this party on the map.

To paraphrase the bard: “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For he today that drinks some beers with me shall be my brother. And gentlemen [who blame a bad day at the office, the weather, a manic Monday or their demanding Danish girlfriends] shall think themselves accurs'd they were not there, and hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks that drank with us upon Saint George's Day.”

Okay, here’s a promise. The first four readers to approach me next Monday inside Saint Nikolai with a copy of this week’s newspaper can have a free pint … on me. (A note to my brothers: I think it’s about time you stopped calling me Ebenezer.)

Elsewhere, Mozart gets the jukebox musical treatment and Select Shopping goes vintage – a wonderful excuse to run a picture of that most English of actresses Audrey Hepburn. What, she was half-Dutch, three eighths Austrian and only one eighth English! That’s almost as bad as a recipe for pâté.


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