I had to laugh when a read a blog, hopefully called "Eating with my ancestors," that said this:
"There is NO cookbook on Wales [in her library]. I mean, yes, they *exist* but they don't *exist* here, which is weird because there are a lot of Welsh descendants here. Heck, there is a Cardiff right down the road. You think they pulled that name out of their asses? No! They were Welsh!" -- (You go, girl!)
Her subtitle is: "Learning about the foodways of my ancestors, one plate at a time." I had thought of this the other night, and tonight found Gina's blog, which amused me enough to read it aloud to the disinterested *the sound of a lead balloon falling*
Our family didn't pass down any ethnic foodways, Welsh, English, Prussian, Polish, German, nuttin. But it doesn't mean I can't come up with something as a family tradition. Tradition starts somewhere! Traditions are adapted, right? Sing with me like Fiddler on the Roof: "Tra-di-SHUNNNN!"
I want to start when the sub-Arctic blast leaves us in the 30-plus temperature range, not this minus-zero malarky.
But here, these are Glamorgan sausages. No meat. Don't get too excited, men. They are shaped like sausages, but are leek and cheese patties rolled in breadcrumbs and panfried. I think I could do that.