I committed a cardinal sin at supper time and now the man of the house is in a sulk. It’s perfectly fine to incorporate rice into certain dishes, and it’s even finer to serve up a hearty rice pudding for dessert. But never, never, never, serve rice as a side offering on his plate. Any kind of pasta meal is bound to get the same reaction. Apart from my baked macaroni and cheese dish, which passes inspection for some unknown reason. Maybe it’s the stodge factor. He’s English, after all. 😉
The rice/pasta aversion seems to be a common thing among the England-born of my acquaintance, especially of the male gender. A meal isn’t a meal without spuds in one form or another. Back in my nurse days, I worked in a long term care facility which was home to a sizeable population of English transplants. Pasta was pretty much removed from the menu because of its unpopularity … and the abuse hurled at kitchen staff when it was served. But they stubbornly refused to give up the rice option, despite the predictable verbal opposition.
Most shifts I ended up feeding supper to a lovely gentleman in the advanced stages of MS. Brilliant man, interesting life, wicked sense of humour, stimulating conversation guaranteed. He wasn’t English, but his table, and those in close proximity, tended to be popular meal congregation spots for the Northern England contingent. When the plates started to come out from the kitchen on rice nights, he and I would exchange smirks and an unspoken “wait for it.” Kitchen staff distributed the loaded plates as fast as they could, but it was never quite fast enough!
“Nay, nay, lass. Rice is for puddin’, not for eatin’.”
“Ay up …mumble mumble … bloody moock …mumble mumble … throw it oot bloody winda … mutter mutter … I fought in the bloody war … mumble mumble …”
“Eeeh, hinny, what’s this? Ah canna dee a day’s worrk on this, like. Weor are the tetties? Ahm gannin ta me room and yee can flush tha muck doon tha netty!”
The Essex/Suffolk border transplant I live with doesn’t lapse into colourful dialect after so many years in this country, but he doesn’t need to. The hang dog look when the bowl of rice appears says it all.
Wait until the leftovers hit the table tomorrow.