Faggots

So, I’ve been holding off on one British story- which I will finally get off my chest today.

It all started innocently enough, at lunch.

It was right there, right on the menu, and I was taken aback.

“Faggots.”

Naturally I was in my finest polite mode and I didn’t say anything- but this seemed shockingly rude-especially in light of my earlier protests about the word. I whipped out my cell phone (mobile for the British, handy for the Germans) and texted (texted for the British, SMSed for the Germans) my pal Nick.

“What is a faggot?”

A few minutes later Nick replied to me that it was something made of “offal.”

I was still puzzled.

Later on, once I was back with the group, I asked more about Faggots. It seems they are a popular British delicacy, one with a strong traditional basis.

Searching Google with the word “Faggots” yields this gem as the first possibility: “Family of faggot fans fly the flag,” while a bit more searching finds a handsome recipe.

Before I left Britain we made it a point to buy a box of faggots and cook them for dinner. The faggot wasn’t actually that bad and I would eat a faggot again and I will seek out more “rude food.”

So yes, I ate a faggot in Britain.

Yum.