I wrote this, amazingly, a decade ago today.
Don't be sheepish
Be a Citizen of the World.
Forget the traits of your own nationality, even though they are firmly embedded in your own identity and outlook.
Embrace the cultures and customs of lets face it, our neighbours and fellow passengers of this planet.
We may feel that we have played our part by the action of immersing ourselves in a bit of local life whilst on our annual holidays abroad or even the simple act of enjoying a meal from one of the many world food takeaways that are firmly established in our home areas. All good stuff in its own way.
I am not belittling what may be an integral part of the lives of many families in this country. You only have to look at the top ten most popular menus in the UK to see the diversity and fusion of multi-culturism.
I am not looking either to score points but this weekend a friend of our family from the Middle East introduced us to a mainstay of his own diet in the form of a cooked sheep head.
I admit that the very idea , at first, seemed very strange and our own deep rooted affection for all things sheepish was going to be challenged and more. From our formative years we have been brought up with sheep and lambs in nursery rhymes, on television and most of us will have snuggled up in our tiny beds with a knitted woollen or shop bought cuddly version.
A field full of frolicking spring lambs never fails to produce an expression of delight and the sights and sounds associated with the farming of sheep are an integral part of our experiences in the UK countryside. We have out of nostalgia disassociated such a scene with a roast leg of lamb, grilled chops and mince in a shepherds pie.
The sheep head arrived in a plastic carrier bag through friends of our friends sister. A couple of days prior it was, yes, frolicking somewhere in Wales or the West Midlands before being despatched in the traditional way. For a price of £10 a head, you get the head but also five? legs and the stomach lining.
We should not be aghast at the very thought of such ingredients. Our ancestors knew the value of everything that came from their livestock and it is only our generation brought up in a plentiful but ultimately wasteful society that shun the economic use of every piece of a farmed animal.
My Gran took great pride in producing a beautiful ox-tongue as part of our visits to her bungalow for sunday tea.
My mother in law regularly cooked stuffed hearts and choice bits which I would challenge anyone to now try to find in their local butcher's shop or supermarket meat counter. Stomach lining or good old tripe still appears now and again in cookery books and as a retro-dish by a celebrity chef keen to champion it.
After resting overnight in the fridge our forthcoming lunch was carefully prepared by our host.
The large pasta pan was ideal to accommodate the constituent parts and with seasoning in turmeric and saffron, good old British onions and Yorkshire "watter" the lid was battened down with a couple of heavy tins and the cooking process commenced.
The head was already skinned and the lower jaw complete with a good set of teeth had been detached.
As the temperature rose the kitchen became effused with the aroma of that far off country. We felt privileged to have the special experience although our friend described that many of his countrymen, including his father, took the same for their breakfast every day of the working week.
Slow cooking over four hours gave an opportunity to talk which is often a rarity in a busy lifestyle. The time passed very quickly under the very sociable atmosphere.
Serving up was all part of the main event.
To the table came a platter with dark and succulent meat from the cheeks, a lighter texture of brains, a tight curl of tongue, a wonderful honeycomb matrix on the stomach lining, fine meat off the bone of the legs, bowls of rich broth and the surrounds of the two eyes. The only other item on the laden table was sesame topped flat bread.
Eating with fingers was essential to savour the textures of the different meats.
When faced with a new eating experience it is often necessary to relate the taste to what we are familiar with and "it's a bit chickeny" or "umm beefy" are common.
To use these as a means of reference is, in the case of a sheep head, completely inappropriate because the tastes are unique.
We all tried a bit of everything and the order of preference varied between us but perhaps rooted more in our pre-conceived ideas than what was exciting our taste buds.
Our friend had promised that we would be besotted with this offering from his home country and he was not disappointed with our murmurs of satisfaction at clearing our plates and indeed in the rather disgraceful scenes arising from a frantic dash of us Brits into the kitchen to scrape out the pasta pan in case any delicious morsels had been missed.
Forget the traits of your own nationality, even though they are firmly embedded in your own identity and outlook.
Embrace the cultures and customs of lets face it, our neighbours and fellow passengers of this planet.
We may feel that we have played our part by the action of immersing ourselves in a bit of local life whilst on our annual holidays abroad or even the simple act of enjoying a meal from one of the many world food takeaways that are firmly established in our home areas. All good stuff in its own way.
I am not belittling what may be an integral part of the lives of many families in this country. You only have to look at the top ten most popular menus in the UK to see the diversity and fusion of multi-culturism.
I am not looking either to score points but this weekend a friend of our family from the Middle East introduced us to a mainstay of his own diet in the form of a cooked sheep head.
I admit that the very idea , at first, seemed very strange and our own deep rooted affection for all things sheepish was going to be challenged and more. From our formative years we have been brought up with sheep and lambs in nursery rhymes, on television and most of us will have snuggled up in our tiny beds with a knitted woollen or shop bought cuddly version.
A field full of frolicking spring lambs never fails to produce an expression of delight and the sights and sounds associated with the farming of sheep are an integral part of our experiences in the UK countryside. We have out of nostalgia disassociated such a scene with a roast leg of lamb, grilled chops and mince in a shepherds pie.
The sheep head arrived in a plastic carrier bag through friends of our friends sister. A couple of days prior it was, yes, frolicking somewhere in Wales or the West Midlands before being despatched in the traditional way. For a price of £10 a head, you get the head but also five? legs and the stomach lining.
We should not be aghast at the very thought of such ingredients. Our ancestors knew the value of everything that came from their livestock and it is only our generation brought up in a plentiful but ultimately wasteful society that shun the economic use of every piece of a farmed animal.
My Gran took great pride in producing a beautiful ox-tongue as part of our visits to her bungalow for sunday tea.
My mother in law regularly cooked stuffed hearts and choice bits which I would challenge anyone to now try to find in their local butcher's shop or supermarket meat counter. Stomach lining or good old tripe still appears now and again in cookery books and as a retro-dish by a celebrity chef keen to champion it.
After resting overnight in the fridge our forthcoming lunch was carefully prepared by our host.
The large pasta pan was ideal to accommodate the constituent parts and with seasoning in turmeric and saffron, good old British onions and Yorkshire "watter" the lid was battened down with a couple of heavy tins and the cooking process commenced.
The head was already skinned and the lower jaw complete with a good set of teeth had been detached.
As the temperature rose the kitchen became effused with the aroma of that far off country. We felt privileged to have the special experience although our friend described that many of his countrymen, including his father, took the same for their breakfast every day of the working week.
Slow cooking over four hours gave an opportunity to talk which is often a rarity in a busy lifestyle. The time passed very quickly under the very sociable atmosphere.
Serving up was all part of the main event.
To the table came a platter with dark and succulent meat from the cheeks, a lighter texture of brains, a tight curl of tongue, a wonderful honeycomb matrix on the stomach lining, fine meat off the bone of the legs, bowls of rich broth and the surrounds of the two eyes. The only other item on the laden table was sesame topped flat bread.
Eating with fingers was essential to savour the textures of the different meats.
When faced with a new eating experience it is often necessary to relate the taste to what we are familiar with and "it's a bit chickeny" or "umm beefy" are common.
To use these as a means of reference is, in the case of a sheep head, completely inappropriate because the tastes are unique.
We all tried a bit of everything and the order of preference varied between us but perhaps rooted more in our pre-conceived ideas than what was exciting our taste buds.
Our friend had promised that we would be besotted with this offering from his home country and he was not disappointed with our murmurs of satisfaction at clearing our plates and indeed in the rather disgraceful scenes arising from a frantic dash of us Brits into the kitchen to scrape out the pasta pan in case any delicious morsels had been missed.
