Friday 21 January 2011 7.51pm
Back in the 1950's when I was a kid, (yawn,) the local delicacy in south-east London was rock and chips.
'Rock,' being an abreviation for 'rock salmon.' A euphemism for dogfish. I used to eat it coz I knew no different. The only good thing about it was the bone down the middle which I used to toss to the cat and enjoy watching him chomp on. I then converted to cod, and that's about as adventurous I got with fish until this product of the Council house system, who failed his eleven-plus and left school at fifteen, suddenly found himself working in the money market with an expense account. I then discovered the delights of such things as tuna steaks, sole bonne femme etc. However, you can take the man out of the Old Kent Road
, but you can't take the Old Kent Road
out of the man. I still prefer tinned tuna. A good helping of mayo, a handfull of the sweetest sweetcorn, slapped between two slices of the finest wholemeal bread. Wunderbar!
I never aquired the cockney penchant for shellfish and the like: winkles, cockels, whelks etc. Yuk!
Standinmg next to my toothless grandmother at the stall in East Lane Market, as she chewed on a jellied eel while I gagged at the whiff of it all, may have had a deep, psychological effect on me at a very early age.