Chapter 34
In which our hero suspects he has Middle-class children.
In which our hero suspects he has Middle-class children.
We bought white bread the other day. It was reduced to next to nothing in Tescos. We don't normally buy white bread but this was so cheap it would have been a criminal frivolity not to have bought it. It went on the table last night along with a huge vat of Veg Soup, some of it diced and fried for croutons, the rest of it piled on a plate for dunking. Daisy, who doesn't encounter the stuff that often, and only then out in cafes in the guise of toasties, picked up a slice and looked at it.
She turned it around and looked at the other side.
"Mummy?", she said eventually. "Is this brioche?"
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2 comments:
I remember something similar when at a friend's parents' house about ten years ago. A mutual friend had just come back from London where she now worked, all cosmopolitan and unused to the limitations of the sixty-something's larder in suburban Northern Ireland. Second friend was starving so first friend's mum heated up a microwave Indian meal for her. As she ate it she asked:
"Have you got any naan bread?"
First friend's mother replied, a little slowly: "...We've got some pan bread..."
(Suddenly realised that NI is probably the only place where yer standard doughy white loaf is referred to as pan bread. Never mind.)
Is Okay, I knew what you meant. Pan bread is Glasga too. Also used as a rhyming slang for 'dead'.
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