Friday, August 12, 2011

Speaking of Cornwall. And of being offensively judgmental, for that matter...


I used to love to dream of someday experiencing the presumably exquisite mouthwatering buttery taste of a Cornish pasty, but the newly-acquired knowledge of a particular variety of dough-covered pie (gleefully induced into my unsuspecting brain by a certain follower of this blog) has now thrown me off that feed. I may just try that tar bread instead.

20 comments:

  1. Sometimes you get the fish tails sticking out instead of, or as well as, the heads. That would be a moongazy pie.

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  2. The thought of contending with the bones is only what would put me off this dish.

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  3. @Sheila - Is it ok to call you Sheila? Your full advertising name is very long to say. Let's hope you are making a moon joke about the tails. I don't think you've ever eaten one of these. Why would someone do this to a good pie?

    @Leazwell-Odd, but I never even thought of the bones as being an obstacle. It's the eyes with me. You can have mine. I think this pie is what Mystery Girl died of.

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  4. Perhaps she did but only if the pie was spiked with some botanical no-no, the wrong mushrooms say.

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  5. There are too many Sheilas in this world. All I'm doing is informing you which one this is. I will refrain. Altogether.

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  6. @Sheila @ A Postcard a Day - Well, there is only one Sheila in MY little blogging world. Actually I was only being selfish since I was thinking that I would rather just type "@Sheila - " when I answered her comments. I see I have upset the balance of things by wanting to be lazily familiar. If she ever comments on this blog again, and I hope she does, I will be sure to address her properly when I thank her for her comment.

    Max also be sorry for implying anything about advertising. That was stupid of him. But then, he is stupid, after all. Any "advertising" Sheila might care to have from this meager blog is sitting in plain sight in my blogging list in the sidebar. People who want a dose of true class need only click and be bedazzled, as I am when I visit this mysterious lady.

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  7. Well then, I may be mollified. I always address you as Max, on the odd occasion I do, so you may be assured that plain old Sheila will suffice. :)

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  8. I would never say "plain" or "old". The Sheila of whom I was speaking is vibrantly alive with the freshness of perpetual youth.

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  9. ORIGIN late 18th cent.: named after Blarney, a castle near Cork in Ireland, where there is a stone said to give the gift of persuasive speech to anyone who kisses it.

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  10. I think you misspelled "modified."

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  11. Not at all, I didn't misspell anything. You may call me Molly.

    The Blarney stone is far enough away from you to be safe from your attentions, but it doesn't make anything you say any more believable. I have to take so many pinches of salt, my blood pressure must be sky high.

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  12. Giant: "Fe Fie Fo Fum! I smell the blood of an Englishmun!"

    Jack: "Save Molly, the Englishmun!"

    Max: "Fie? Did someone say 'fie'? What the hell is fie?"

    Jack: "I don't know. The giant fied."

    Max: "I still don't get it. The giant fied? Who else fied?"

    Jack: ::hesitant, fearful:: "Well, I think Molly fied, too."

    Max: "Molly fied too? What the hell is going on around here?"

    Molly: ::resigned, now:: "Molly fied."

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  13. Make sense who may. I switch off.

    (Samuel Beckett)

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  14. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation.

    (Henry David Thoreau)

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  15. Hey Hey Hee Hee get offa my cloud!

    —Mick Jagger

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  16. OK, you win. No longer mollified, now sheilashocked.

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  17. Of course I win. I always win. Better to SheilaShocked than AdullaMited. :)

    Speaking of which, Adullamite must be asleep already. He's nowhere to be found. Strangely silent. What time is is in Great Britain now? Bedtime? (When I say "Great Britain" I mean of course "England.")

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  18. 11:06 precisely.

    Time for bed said Zebedee.

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