Of Sausages and St David’s Day

I do not, so far as I know, have a drop of Welsh blood in me, but I wish those of you who do a happy St David’s Day. I read that Welsh recipes have something in common with poetry (not surprisingly I suppose!) in that they were saved from dying out during the Industrial Revolution, when farmers turned from the land to the factories and mines, by oral tradition, one generation passing them to the next, until they were written down. As food does get caught up in class struggles too, I guess these more humble dishes would also have risked loss by having given way to more ‘elevated’ fare cooked in French-influenced English kitchens of the time.

If you want to celebrate today with a particularly good dish, I recommend Glamorgan Sausages, which you can probably make well enough with Feta or Lancashire if you are in a Caerphilly-deprived area.

Speaking of sausages, before I left Saskatchewan, I was directed by two independent and reliable gastrophiles (Dee and Glen) to the town of St Gregor

and the red and white striped home of Prime Meats.

Glen has been a loyal customer for at least 30 of the 31 years the company has been offering local employment and high quality smoked locally-reared meats to smoked German sausage fans far and wide, and so I accepted his judgement. The odour of woodsmoke, which Dee commented on, was most appetising, and you can peek behind the counter to see men in action on sawdust floors. Long may they continue!.

And for those who wish to celebrate Welsh heritage in poetry, why not try your hand at three classic Welsh poetry forms? (Though I am a bit dubious about the Welshness of Terza Rima… was Dante a Welshman?)