Food Parcel

Like a scene from a war film in the 1950's I will be receiving a food parcel, not from the Red Cross though, but from my mother. She's coming over from Norn Iron to Scotland for a visit (the real reason is actually a Tom Jones' concert at Edinburgh Castle in a couple of weeks but she needs somewhere to stay) and the cost of a bed is as much Veda bread and spuds she can get in the car.

Scotland is a marvelous place to live, only three things let it down. Terrible potatoes, crap bread and Scottish Country Dancing. I have long since despaired at the state of Scotland's potatoes. Wet, soapy, tasteless crap, an insult to a proper spud. A spud should be firm, dry and floury. It should absorb the butter and, for a new potatoes, a dash of Lea and Perrins... ahh the joy.

Bread, now there is an excuse, for not knowing what proper bread is as we like to keep that a secret, much the same as the Danes and Heineken, we don't like to see it go. The finest bread comes from Norn Iron and don't believe anything else you hear. Soda bread, Wheaten farls, barnbrack... *sigh* and the biggest secret of all, Veda Bread, from the Ormo Bakery no less. Cut it thin with tomato and cheese as sandwiches, cut it thick for toast and marmalade (Lemon and Lime only, mind). I constantly hear rumours that M&S are importing the Veda but I've never witnessed it on the shelves. It is a dream I have that one day everybody will be as fortunate as those who hail from home.

Category:

• Veda
• Northern+Ireland