June 05, 2006
Fourth of July parties have occurred in my household for my entire life, including the 7 years since I've left the States. While in Sweden it was an excuse to go and get drunk, in England it's slightly different-it's an excuse to go and get drunk and fire off massive explosives. It does feel a bit strange to celebrate Independence Day in England-OK, remember that time when we dumped all your tea in the harbor? Wasn't that great? Dude-talk about a fucking mess! Or the more obvious-Let's celebrate! Come on over! This is the day we signed a piece of paper to kick all ya'll out of our country! My name could have been Nigella, if'n you'd not taken the time to powder your wigs. Yeeeeeehaw!
But we don't really celebrate it that way.
We're more of a "eat too much and get drunk" kind of family.
We've had people round for 4th of July before, and this year is no exception. We're just going bigger now. Much bigger. And with a garden the size of New Jersey, we can do. We decorate with a few American flags here and there (including my fabulous 48-starred number) and enjoy loads of liquor. And since fireworks are legal here, we buy what we call the Big Fuck-Off packages, because what better way to celebrate your country's independence than to literally send your money up in smoke?
The biggest fun is the food. It is also the biggest issue. Why is this an issue? It's food. It's not a big deal.
Oh but it is. It is a big deal. On the 4th of July and Thanksgiving, things have to be a certain way.
I'm a flexible person-I can take a lot of bending. Yoga? Sure, that's a literal definition, but it works. I am flexible there. Accepting my boyfriend calling the dog Mr. Chov as opposed to Gorby? I flit, I float, I fleetly flee I fly. But food on those two key American holidays?
Inflexible.
Witness the near-bust up we had last Thanksgiving when Angus suggested shoving an onion up my bird's ass. An onion...in my turkey. My recipe doesn't call for an onion in my turkey. I have a specific turkey recipe that I have used since the dawn of time (and which is pretty damn good, even if I don't eat meat myself anymore.) It is part of a ritual, a process, a rite of passage. It does not include an onion in the cavity of my fucking fowl, I don't care if that's how Angus' Mum, the Queen, or John Cusack make it. La la la la la peer pressure does not work on me.
But I went ahead and did it anyway. That's how flexible I am.
(And I lied, I can totally cave on peer pressure.)
(And all did say the turkey was fantastic, so clearly there is scope in my turkey portfolio for a change requests, wherein I adopt legumes and/or root vegetables into my poultry.)
Or what about the complete severing of my relationship I had with Delia Smith? Delia (or as she has become known in our household, that "c" word), whose recipes I tend to enjoy even if I think she's a bit weird (Norwich-loving muffin baker who I imagine is a swinger in her spare time). But Delia and I came to blows a few years back, when perusing her cookbook I saw she had a special section on the American Fourth of July. She'd been to a barbecue you see, therefore she was an expert.
Now, I live here in the UK and I have learnt many things, including the following: Channel 5 has the grottier shows, Big Brother is a pain in my ass, Oyster Cards are great and I really do need to get one, and I haven't a fucking clue as to how to make the perfect English Sunday roast and should I attempt it I do believe they have "Attempting To Impersonate English Cuisine" as a hanging offense (and before I get mail claiming that English food is crap, let me just say this-10 years ago you'd be right. When I was here then, the food was cooked to an inch of its life. No actually, it was cooked past that. I think English cooking has come a very long way since then. Think Jamie Oliver and the S&M master Gordon Ramsey, and you'll see what I mean.)
But Delia...oh Delia, you Fetish Lover. Sigh. Among some of the things she listed things as "traditional 4th of July food" were Cos, Webb and Rocket Salad (Rocket=arugula in the US). I wouldn't know a Cos or a Webb if one came up and gave me an orgasm. She lists oven-roasted rosemary and garlic potatoes as a dish as well which, while I love the recipe and have used it often, I have never used it in the States on a day that is traditionally hotter than the sun.
And she lists hot fudge sundaes as the dessert.
Hot fudge sundaes is where we broke up.
Hot fudge fucking sundaes. Who the hell has those as traditional 4th of July fare? Who, and why don't they admit that they really only have hot fudge sundaes on those days they go beserk at Sonic, ordering the cherry limeade, the extra large cheese-covered tater tots, and just for good artery measure go for the sundaes?
Which is what takes us to the coming 4th of July. In the stairwell, Angus asks me what we should serve.
"Hot dogs and hamburgers," I reply promptly.
"Er...I was thinking of pulled pork and beef joints," he replies.
I stop and think. Can we coat those in barbecue sauce? Is that something that Hooters would serve?
"Ok, that's fine." I reply. I am fleeeeeeeexible.
"Served in a baguette," he adds.
And bendy comes to a halt.
"Hot dog bun," I counter. I truly love my boyfriend. TRULY.
He visibly blanches. "Hot dog bun?"
"Hot dog bun! Your people must suffer as my people have suffered! Let them eat hot dog bun!" I cry dramatically, thrusting a sword at my breast.
"OK, what about a nice white loaf? We can slice it up nicely?" He asks.
And I drop the sword as I hear in my mind Eddie Murphy: All we have is Wonder Bread...
"It'll be nice," he adds.
That don't look like no McDonald's
"What do you think?" He smiles hopefully.
And you try to put some ketchup on it and it mixes with the grease, turn the bread into pink dough. Then you grab it and get fingerprinted and you got big, pink fingerprints in the dough.
"What do you think?"
Where you get that big, welfare, green-pepper burger?
"I think baguettes should be fine." I reply with a smile.
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