We were
married in Nova Scotia in July 1998, at a place memorably called Murder Point,
and honeymooned in Halifax, where I ate seafood at every meal, including
breakfast, for the remainder of our stay. Such a cuisine is alien to most American
palates but suited mine perfectly. I don’t eat cereal, pancakes or eggs. My
first meal of the day is usually a banana. “Dried haddocks broiled,” as described by Boswell on this date, Aug. 26, in 1773, in The Journal of a Tour to the
Hebrides (1785), sounds intriguing. How much Johnson’s disgust is related
to his general contempt for anything Scottish is not known. In Croker’s 1831 edition
of Boswell’s Life, Sir Walter Scott defended Scottish cuisine in a footnote
to the passage quoted above:
“A protest may
be entered on the part of most Scotsmen against the Doctor’s taste in this
particular. A Finnon haddock dried over the smoke of the seaweed, and sprinkled
with salt water during the process, acquires a relish of a very peculiar and delicate
flavour, inimitable on any other coast than that of Aberdeenshire. Some of our
Edinburgh philosophers tried to produce their equal in vain. I was one of a
party at dinner where the philosophical haddocks were placed in competition
with the genuine Finnon-fish. These were served round without distinguishing
whence they came; but only one gentleman out of twelve present espoused the
cause of philosophy.”
Some years
ago I was in conversation with an anthropologist who noted that humans have
more deeply rooted, even fanatical convictions about food than about any other
subject, including sex. Such convictions are both cultural and personal in
origin. Subsequent observation confirms this. In his essay “The Anthropology of
Table Manners from Geophagy Onward” (The Geography of the Imagination,
1981), Guy Davenport writes:
“Eating is always
at least two activities: consuming food and obeying a code of manners. And in
the manners is concealed a program of taboos as rigid as Deuteronomy.”
2 comments:
Johnson's reaction makes me wonder when the English kippers-for-breakfast first came in, for they are fundamentally the same "dried haddocks broiled," pace Scott his intense localism.
But then, Sir Walter . . . hold my beer:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pYfkk8bSuyM
I always wondered what "Finnon haddy" was in My Heart Belongs to Daddy.
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