TimYang.com ::: The Geek Blog

Wednesday August 11

Pangkor #3

There is actually no such thing as English cuisine. Nor Irish. Nor Scottish, for that matter. Since time immemorial, the cooking for the residents of the British island have always consisted of anything they can fit into a pot of boiling water. Whatever they've learned about cooking, they've learned by taking away. Indian takeaway. Chinese takeaway.

The English breakfast, however, is all English. Because nobody in the rest of the world could possibly conceive anything so vilely fatty and inedible. And nobody would eat it either. Except me. I eat it every day. Just goes to show my taste in food.

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I've realised a strange thing about myself. Whenever I read a book, a voice in my head reads along with me. And the accent is invariably British. Oxford English, to be precise. It doesn't matter whether the character or the author or the context of the book is American, Australian or French, the voice is always English. It's even more perplexing when you also know that your own accent is American to begin with.

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