Ach, Mate, Say “Australian for Beer”. Please?

I have a friend who married a Scot and moved away to Scotland. In fact marrying men from exotic locales seems to be a trend amongst my female Russian friends – another one married an Australian.

It’s almost ironic that my favorite bar in New York is a Scottish bar called St. Andrews (which is also a place in Scotland where my friend used to live). St. Andrews the bar is characterized by an amazing selection of whisky, good atmosphere, good food (there’s a restaurant in the back), moderate prices and friendly kilt-wearing waiters with Scottish accents.

Recently I braced myself and ordered haggis. It’s a widely known “scary” dish which is a sausage made out of various organ meats. It is served with obscene sounding “neeps and tatties” (mashed turnips and potatoes).

At St. Andrews it was served the following way : a layer of the abovementioned “neeps and tatties”, then a layer of contents of haggis sausage (which is somewhat similar in texture to ground hamburger), then another layer of “neeps and tatties”.

It certainly did not smell as some cartoons would make you believe. In fact it was very tasty. The puree/meat combination was very nice. The haggis itself tasted like very tasty hamburger. Low grade meats rule!

St. Andrews bar is located at 120 W 44th St, Between 6th & Broadway.

The most exotic Australian thing that I had was kangaroo jerky that my friend brought me from her trip to Australia. It tasted a lot like chicken jerky :)

Bonjurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, Ya Cheese (ok, you know the rest)

From an article called The Problem With the French by Gene Weingarten. Washington Post, Sunday, September 7, 2003; Page W14

… “Well, we like big portions back in the States,” I say, patting my tummy. “I was wondering if you agree that American chefs are better than French chefs because they give you more food.”
Maurice listens to the translation. There is a moment of silence. And then he begins to speak very rapidly.
“He says French chefs make love to their food . . .” Jerome translates.
And American chefs? I ask.
Now Maurice is really elocutionizing. His hands are flying. He appears to be pointing to . . . his derriere. I don’t really have to wait for the translation, but when it arrives, it does not disappoint.
American chefs, he says, make love to the food, too. But in a most unnatural and deviant way.
VoilĂ . …

They are just jealous that they did not come up with deep fried Oreos.

Little known fact about : during his tenure at Nathan’s Famous at Coney Island sometimes worked at the seafood station, where among other things he deep fried and served frog legs. They taste like something that was breaded and deep fried.