As an Ugly American, I have to say that the word “faggot” written prominently on the arch was a bit shocking. You only say that here in the American south if you want to get beat up. (Or are in the process of giving a beating.)
I’ m guessing it doesn’t have the same meaning in Wales. I have heard the word used to mean a cigarette, and I’ve seen pictures of food products which resemble meatballs with that name on them. Wait, it says “faggot and peas” – I’m betting that’s the meatballs, yes?
A faggot here in the UK is a meatball to die for! What you guys have done with our poor old language is your affair…
In Norfolk, faggots are called savoury ducks! Or they were, in my childhood, when offal was not a source of BSE. They were made from the contents and meat around a cow’s head, basically. I worked with an older teacher who, it turned out, had been a lad working at the very butcher’s shop in Norwich’s Magdalen Street that my dad frequented in my childhood; indeed, it was near the house my father and his 10 siblings had been born and mostly raised in (some were farmed out as it was a tiny terraced house). By an extreme coincidence, it transpired my colleague had made the actual faggots we had relished so much all those decades ago. I can’t reveal all the secrets of course (hehe) but the unique mix of herbs and spices was a big part of the appeal. They were pretty amorphous but tasted fabulous.
As an Ugly American, I have to say that the word “faggot” written prominently on the arch was a bit shocking. You only say that here in the American south if you want to get beat up. (Or are in the process of giving a beating.)
I’ m guessing it doesn’t have the same meaning in Wales. I have heard the word used to mean a cigarette, and I’ve seen pictures of food products which resemble meatballs with that name on them. Wait, it says “faggot and peas” – I’m betting that’s the meatballs, yes?
In Norfolk, faggots are called savoury ducks! Or they were, in my childhood, when offal was not a source of BSE. They were made from the contents and meat around a cow’s head, basically. I worked with an older teacher who, it turned out, had been a lad working at the very butcher’s shop in Norwich’s Magdalen Street that my dad frequented in my childhood; indeed, it was near the house my father and his 10 siblings had been born and mostly raised in (some were farmed out as it was a tiny terraced house). By an extreme coincidence, it transpired my colleague had made the actual faggots we had relished so much all those decades ago. I can’t reveal all the secrets of course (hehe) but the unique mix of herbs and spices was a big part of the appeal. They were pretty amorphous but tasted fabulous.