Apparently, It’s Romanian Horsemeat!
According to this report on the BBC, the horsemeat at the heart of your burgers and lasagne is of Romanian origin.
What the article doesn’t say is that the reason why horses are being killed in Romania because they are now no longer allowed on the road. This was said by an expert on the BBC News.
So these horses and our consciences are the victims of a Road Safety campaign in Romania.
At least the horses are dead before they are transported all the way across Europe. This couldn’t always be said for some of the meat we export, as it is exported live, so that the recipients can say it is locally killed.
It just shows how stupid everybody involved is, as to take a given number of animals to somewhere in Europe, takes three animal trucks or one refrigerated one. I’ve also taken a competition horse all the way from Suffolk to Scotland, and this needs stops on the way and a good rest in a field or large stable with lots of straw at the end, to make sure the animal is in the correct state to compete.
A farmer friend, who rears top quality meat for Waitrose and others, told me that, the law should be that all meat should be shown as EU-killed in the shop, so that the French, Greeks and Italians, couldn’t say it was locally-killed.
But then when did the EU do something sensible, where animal welfare is concerned.
The Other Side Of French Horsemeat
We may get worried about horsemeat appearing in burgers and lasagne, but I don’t think that those like me, who choose their food with care, have much to worry about, as I said here.
But one point about the French and horsemeat has been quietly forgotten. The French, like we do, love their heavy horses. And coming from Suffolk, you don’t forget that horses like the Suffolk Horse are on the endangered list. Quite frankly, they are just so expensive to keep!
The French have a pragmatic solution to keeping their heavy horses alive.
They eat them!
I remember an article in the equine press some years ago, which said that the French heavy horses, were in much better health than the British ones, precisely because of their role in the meat trade.
Kids-Free Zones
I can’t see what all the fuss is about! I’ve never ever had a problem on an aircraft with other people’s children, except for two thirteen year olds, who wouldn’t even take notice of the stewardess. But it was Olympic.
Now I’m a widower, who has also lost a son, which means I have no contact with my well-behaved granddaughter.
So don’t knock it! I must admit though, that I do avoid certain restaurants at certain times, but that’s not the kids, it’s the buggies.
Following The Horsemeat
The horsemeat in food saga goes on and on, with Findus lasagne, the latest product to be cheval-rich, according to this article on the BBC.
In all of the problems reported, there doesn’t seem to have been one, which has occurred with a gluten-free product.
It is also reported that a drug called bute is found in some of the meat. This led to some wag on the radio, saying that these products will be good for your gout.
It will be interesting to see, if we’ve changed our eating habits in a couple of months.
I haven’t! But then, I never knowingly buy or eat food from the bottom of the pile and I doubt most of the restaurants I visit, source their meat in that area too!
Clocks At Carluccio’s
Every Carluccio cafe seems to have a large clock.
C would have approved, as she didn’t have a watch to wear. Even if someone had given her one, she wouldn’t have worn it.
Is There A Teetotal Gene?
Thinking about the last post about the about of fluids I’m drinking, I do wonder about the drinking habits of my family.
My father wasn’t a heavy drinker and he probably got through about four small bottles of Guinness or cans of Long Life in a week or so. There was a time, when I used to walk round to The Merryhills in Oakwood to pick it up from their off licence. But that was all stopped, when they said you had to be sixteen (?) to buy alcohol. He would probably be classed these days as a light social drinker.
I am probably that now, as I like a glass of wine or a bottle of beer with a meal. I can’t think the last time, I drunk a pint of anything.
But it hasn’t always been thus. At University, I drunk fairly heavily and I probably did too in my late teens, when I served in The Merryhills. I remember one night, I had thirteen small bottles of Guinness.
C had a similar drinking pattern, in that she got very drunk once just before I met her and probably twice or so, when we were together. She only drunk wine and the occasional whisky. Even as she was dying, she didn’t turn to the bottle, but partly because the drugs she was on had ruined her mouth.
What about my children? By twenty, none of them were drinking and only one ever drunk heavily.
So there seems to be this pattern in the male in my family, where drinking is responsible. I was also introduced to alcohol at an early age of about eight, by my father and I did the same to our children.
But where did this responsible drinking come from.
My paternal grandfather, who I never met, as he died before the Second World War, was a serious drinker and a heavy smoker. He died of pneumonia and asthma, but my father used to tell tales of picking him up at the Conservative Club every night of the week, when he was very much the worse for wear.
My father would always talk about the terrors of alcohol, with reference to his father. I suppose it hit home because I’d never met him and he had died in his forties.
There may or may not be a teetotal gene in my male line, but it’s more down to parental behaviour.
Pret A Manger Set A Dangerous Precedent
According to this article on the BBC, Pret A Manger have set a dangerous precedent by caving in to religious pressure, as I believe it will open up companies for all sorts of silly challenges.
When I used to serve in a pub in the 1960s, everybody knew that a Virgin Mary was a non-alcoholic version of the alcoholic Bloody Mary.
A few months ago I saw a sign advertising a Bolly Mary in a restaurant, which was a curry with vodka.
It’s not as though Pret A Manger were using the name on an unwholesome product, laced with lashings of alcohol.
I suspect that quite a few Virgin Mary cocktails have been drunk tonight.
Twenty Three Celias
I’ve now unpacked all the beer and they’re sitting on the kitchen worktop.
Twenty Three Celias
There was twenty four, but one got drunk.
My Celias Arrived Yesterday
At about ten on Wednesday morning, I ordered 24 bottles of Celia lager from DeliDevine.
Last night just as I was sitting down to my supper, there was a ring at the door and on looking out of the window there was a van from Fedex.
I opened the door and the jaunty driver put the 24 bottles inside.
I know you might get served a little quicker down the pub, but just over 24 hours to get a heavy parcel delivered, isn’t too bad in my view.
The Celia lager is very much worth drinking and I’m starting to add used bottles to my recycling box.
As it’s also available in some pubs, you can actually try before you buy, as I did a few days ago.
It’s also better than the Estrella Damm Daura, that I have to carry home from Waitrose.
Food Wars In Israel
Most stories to come out of Israel are not about how well Orthodox Jews and Muslims get on, but this one from The Australian is. Here’s the introduction.
IT was meant to be a battle for supremacy in the kitchen and, perhaps, for the right to claim ownership of the cuisine.
But Israel’s most popular cooking contest has achieved what decades of peace talks have failed to do after turning an orthodox Jew and a Muslim Palestinian into firm friends.
As Jackie Azoulay and Salma Fiyumi completed their dishes in the Masterchef final on Wednesday, they cheerfully embraced on national television.
It’s just a pity that the leaders of both sides can’t sit down with these two women and have a really good meal.
My next door neighbour years ago, had been a Colonel in the British Army. At one time, he had been enforcing the British mandate in Palestine, so he knew the area well.
He said that the only way to tell if the various people in the area, were Jew or Arab, was from their surname. It would appear, these two women have performed that wonderful feat of turning the clock back constructively.
The Anonymous Widower 