It started innocently enough. We decided that we'd like to try an English dinner, something that the Brits would refer to as bangers and mash. Bangers are sausages, and of course mash is mashed potatoes, preferably with gravy. They are often accompanied by other things, and we decided to eat ours with a very British side of baked beans. So we headed off to the supermarket to acquire the necessary ingredients for our dinner.
The potatoes and gravy and beans were no big deal, but what to get for the sausage? Trent made the mistake of speaking The Queen's English to a store manager, asking what we should get for bangers and mash. The very nice gentleman had no idea what Trent was talking about, and, with a slightly panicked look, suggested going to the meat counter so that they could special-order somefor us. They're not a specific kind of sausages, so I suggested to Trent that we simply peruse the sausage offerings.
There was quite a variety, as I am sure you could imagine. Naturally, one of the best bargains in the store was on bratwurst, but I refused those without a second thought. How could you have an English dinner and include German sausages? Winston Churchill would be spinning in his grave in shock and anger. I saw some delicious-looking smoked sausages, and they were very reasonably priced since they were a store brand. In fact, they were such a great price that we decided we'd buy three packages and set two aside in the freezer for later feasts. We headed home to prepare our English comfort-food dinner.
As the potatoes and gravy (we skipped the beans) were finishing cooking, I got the lovely sausages cooking in a skillet. They were fully cooked and only needed to be heated through. They smelled tasty and slightly smoky, and we were excited as we sat down to our plates of sausages, potatoes, and gravy. And then the joy died. Seriously. It didn't just leave the building like Elvis after a great show. It crept into the corner and expired. The sausages were dreadful!
Let me clarify. These lovely-looking sausages made we wish I had no taste buds. Their flavor was not as good as, but reminiscent of, a very cheap hot dog. A hot dog with a rather mushy texture. And with bits of stuff in it that you couldn't chew, much less even dream of swallowing. I ate a slice, choking it down while I glanced over at Trent's progress. I ate some potatoes, hoping that would improve the situation, but no such luck. I tried to be brave, but I didn't last very long. I went from disappointment to depression. My mouth and stomach told me that they wanted to cry. Then they threatened that if any more came down, it would be sent back up. Uh-oh. I managed to eat my potatoes, but the sausage just wasn't going to happen. I told Trent to stop trying to be brave and just quit eating that awfulness. He did, with quite a bit of relief.
I think it will be a good while before we are ready to try bangers and mash again, especially since we felt sick for a day or two after eating just a small amount of these monstrosities. We don't blame it on British cookery, just our bad luck with the sausages. We'll make sure to choose them more carefully next time. Heck, I think breakfast links would have tasted like the food of the gods compared to what we put ourselves through. The unopened sausages have been returned for a refund, and the clerk even refunded the price of the ones we had to discard, which was very kind of him. Trent was compensated for all of his suffering by getting a delicious double cheeseburger, and I was glad to have the evil sausages gone from the refrigerator. And now that it's all behind us, at least it's given us something we can laugh about!