Over the past couple of days we have been lunching on haslet* sandwiches. And not just any haslet, I should point out, but haslet from Curtis’s butchers on Sincil Street. Only the best, naturellement.
As ever, however, all good things must come to an end. And that end came with the last of the haslet sarnies yesterday afternoon.
A little later, and just before starting our afternoon game of Scrabble™, I was making a couple of cups of tea, when Shana came into the kitchen and interrupted me mid-brew. Being the slovenly cow that I occasionally am, I still hadn’t cleared up after lunch, so I decided to try to make a virtue out of my failings and turn what was quite clearly a horrendous tip of a kitchen into an opportunity to show my generous and caring nature:
“Would you like one last lick of the haslet wrapper before I chuck it in the bin?” I asked.
As you can probably guess, Shana declined my offer. But it just goes to show: romance and the art of chivalry ain’t dead yet.
* The Great Haslet Debate continues:
- Is it pronounced ‘hay-slet’,
- ‘Hazz-let’ or
- ‘Arse-let’? And,
- Is it best cold or fried?
We need answers and we need them now.
