A whole lot of Pork

My friend Aramis introduced me to this British Pub. It's my new spot. More of a locals hangout. And not overrun by a sea of newly turned 21 year olds. When I brought along my girl friend Casey, a pilot in the Air Force, the English guys fell over themselves in admiration. "Don't be fooled girl, they're spies! Name! Rank! Serial number! DOB!"

I went there last Sunday, some dinner after work. Unwind. Relax.

I happened to be seated next to a group of men with (I'm going to guess Scottish accents.) Cheery men. Friendly. I couldn't understand anything they were saying. No matter. They were doing their thing, I was doing mine. Every now and then I made accidental eye contact and we swapped smiles.

Not really knowing English food, other than (Heinz) beans on toast, I've been trying things on the Pub's menu. Hit and miss. One item in particular caught my eye, the British BLT sandwich. "What makes it British?" I ask the (English) bartender, expecting a smart reply.

"It's made with back fat." The bartender says.

I don't eat meat (pork) enough to know the different or better cuts per diction. Bacon is pig. Steak is cow. That's pretty much all I know. I could have Googled "British pork back fat" but I would be too afraid of the websites Google might send me to.

I almost asked,  "Canadian bacon?" But if there's one thing I know about Europeans, you never compare them to Canada. Not even their bacon.

I ended up ordering a Banger sandwich. Food I'm familiar with. Growing up in MN, in a primarily German community, I like/and eat German food. Sausage and grilled onions was a regular meal. Pile on sauerkraut, raw onions, mustard and relish, and it's just like home.

I suppose in this regard, seeing an Asian girl in a British Pub drinking a Stella and eating a Banger sandwich must seem strange, but it's not to me. It's like being home.

Football games were blaring from different big screens, all but one, which was airing Funny Car races. The Scottish guys were big time into the Funny Car races, and a female drag racer named, Cortney Force. If ever there was an intro to "Have you seen the movie Rush?" this was it. Sadly no one asked. Damnit!

It was about this time some jerk started hassling a waitress, yelling obnoxiously at her, "They always make it that way for me!! I've been coming here for 10 years!!"

Without missing a beat, one of the Scottish men yelled back something insulting at the guy (I have no idea what) which made his friends roar with laughter, which made me laugh, which made the Scottish guys laugh louder, which made me laugh even harder. I have no idea what the Scottish guy said. Who cares. He insulted the jerk. That's all that mattered. The Scots and I sealed our understanding by clinking our drinks together.

And what's a British Pub without "a guy".

There's a guy.

American.

He's friendly/flirty when he sees me. Makes a point to say hello, and good night. He's got an "Adam Levine" look about him. Funny if he was Jewish, too. Nice, sweet, gentlemanly, respectful guy. I'm at the point now when I go to the Pub I hope I see him. I've told friends about him. (And now you guys.)

The Banger sandwich was amazing. Sausage piled high with grilled onions.

The little Asian girl, that went to the British Pub, to eat English food, drink Belgian beer, hang out among Scottish men, and meet a Jewish guy.

Only in CA.