Euro Sizzle Contest - Part 2

The Euro Sizzle Contest - Part 2 By Jeremy Woolfe Continued from here. By now, all operations were top secret. At all costs the dreaded Lancashire folk must be stopped from counterfeiting their pudding. The Yorkshire fears were nearly justified. One evening, the lad, on saw sinister movements in the shadows. He reported the matter when he got to the hail. Brave Yorkshire men rushed out at the dark corner. The lad's suspicions were confirmed. Two prowling spies, from across the border, were caught in the act. Lancashire Jack and his evil accomplice were marched off to the police station. There, the trouble was lack of proof. The sergeant on duty asked: "How can you steal improvements to black puddings?' "But these men are from Lancashire" protested the villagers. Unfortunately, the villains had to be released. As he was let go, Lancashire Jack menaced "You'll see us at Eglise Les Deux Moutons and you'll see us WIN !". The final version turned out to contain: Blood from the Scottish cattle, fattened (as it happened) on lush grassland in central Ireland, fragrant Brittany onion, olive oil from Tuscany, sage from Sardinia, tangy white Mosel wine from the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg, garlic grown somewhere along a rocky coastline in Portugal, beer brewed by monks to a centuries old formula at a medieval monastery in southern Belgium (where else?), cornflower from Friuli, juicy citrus peel from Southern Spain, pearl barley from Ulster, a touch of minced bacon from Denmark, butter from contented Dutch cows, plus herbs and spices so secret that they can never be revealed but some sun baked patch of land on one of the Greek islands. Master sausage expert consultant was our friend Fritz from Frankfurt in Germany. Chief taster was Mrs Higginbottom. Said to be from Huddersfield in Yorkshire, she had a dark secret. Her birth place was Bolton right in the appalling Lancashire! "Having breakfast nowadays is getting to quite a geography lesson," remarked the lad to his mother one day. "If I had to give those sausages a name, I'd call them federalist' pudding," she replied. The lad wondered what she meant as he munched away. At last, at the international championships there was a splendid ceremonial opening. It included a march past with brass bands, the parading of flags, and a fireworks display. The lad was highly impressed by the magnificent sight of freshly sizzled sausages, glinting and shining. Judges found those from Flanders, northern Belgium to be light, friable and, ideally, accompanied by the 'Belgians' beloved pomme frites (potato chips). Some submissions, flying the light-blue and white chequered flag from Bavaria, south Germany, were dark red speckled with white. The redness was due to fresher than usual blood. The white dots were minuscule cubes of fat. Blutwurst, from Cologne, in the Nord-RheinWestfalen region was displayed, in accordance with local tradition alongside "Himmel and Erde" (Heaven and Earth) or apple puree and mashed potato. After much expert eating by the learned judges, it looked as if the contest were going to be a close run match between the entries from the red and white rose regions, Lancashire and Yorkshire. Then, to the intense horror of the lad and his friends it turned out that the Lancashire pudding won the day. Appearance was the final criteria. The skins of the Lancashire sausages shone like guardsmens toe caps. Lancashire Jack gloated at the poor Yorkshiremen. The Yorkshire lad made an ugly face. Then, to catch his own reflection, he leant closer over the Lancashire puddings. Immediately he noticed something that puzzled him. "It's very funny here," he remarked. "I can smell something!" Then the frown on his face cleared. "I've got it!" he proclaimed. "These smell of shoe polish. They have been polished with shoe polish. Have them checked! ". The laboratory confirmed the presence of the unnatural additive. Finally, on the grounds of sheer excellence the noble Yorkshire black sausage was hailed as the most exquisite pudding ever to grace a flying pan. Jubilation across Yorkshire was unbounded. Victory bonfires were lit in villages and town squares. On the Yorkshire Broadcasting Corporation news that evening the Yorkshire victory was given pride of place. In fact little else, not even gruesome murders, were reported that evening. A day or so later at home, the lad was savouring one of the many follow-up radio and TV programs. He smiled as the interviewer questioned butcher Fred about the contents of Yorkshire's winning entry. "Well, I don't know what you mean" answered Fred. "But, I'll tell you this straight" the village butcher added: "Thanks to some help from our friends in Europe, our new diversified recipe certainly makes black pudding that is absolutely scrumptious, delicieux, schackhaf and tasty." The End Copyright Jeremy Woolfe, all rights reserved.

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