Texish Tradition

Happy Halloween y’all - the festive season is upon us!  And, do I ever love the holidays – the apple crisp, smoky leaf and cinnamon bite of cooler days and cold nights.   Foggy breath mornings and fireplace nights…and all the parties: Halloween, Bonfire Night, Thanksgiving and Christmas.   And, what’s the best part about the holidays?  The tradition.  Yep, I’m a sucker for tradition.   Which y’all might think is odd, because I can’t seem to stay in one place long enough to create my own.  (Course if I did, I’d have to rename this blog Neighborhood Dropper.  Not quite the same ring, methinks)

But, I digress!  Because here I am, living the dream in the UK.  And you would think that you couldn’t get more traditional than the UK.  I mean, this was an empire, right?  It still has a monarchy,  old homes, castles and churches that date back hundred and thousands of years and has at any given time at least one period drama as one of the highest ranking television shows.   

So, when the subject of Halloween came up at work, I asked my colleagues at work what their plans were – none of them had any.  If they had a Halloween plan at all, it was to paint some fake blood and gore on their face and go.  This is not what Halloween is about.  We, Texans, know what it is really about, right?  Yep, candy.

And LOTS of it.

 

Who doesn’t remember counting the days until you got to bring home the mother-load, only to sort through it by quality: mini-fun bars of Snickers at the top, do-gooder toothbrush/floss combo at the bottom.   And, don’t even get me started on the people who give out apples.  The best thing that ever happened to Halloween was that urban myth that lunatics were putting razor blades in apples – never really happened, but it saved us from mushy, bruised, space hogging apples.  (I mean just think how many more mini-fun bar you can fit in the space one apple takes up – and don’t even get me started on how heavy those mofos were.)

And, of course, Halloween just kicks off the many months of the smorgasbord known as the holidays…just about when you finish your last few sad bit-o-honeys,  chick-o-sticks and cheap Tom’s candy style rejects, there is Thanksgiving time!

Mmm, turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, pecan pie, rolls and pumpkin pie.  Yep, it is all about the food….and then just a few days later, you guessed it - Christmas parties begin.  And the best Christmas party traditions? Cookies!  Both for Santa and also the time honored tradition of the cookie exchange party.  Fudge, divinity, iced sugar cookies in tree and reindeer shapes, peppermint candy cane cookies…the list goes on! 

And, I’m pretty sure I just gained 5 lbs thinking about that.

(BTW, I gave up drinking for a while in a bid to lose weight.  Didn’t lose a pound.  Decided I’d rather be fat than bored.  Bring on the mulled wine and egg nog.)

So, it’s starting to look like tradition is just code for food.  At least in Texas, that is. 

Because tradition and food in the UK?  Not so much.  Let’s take the quintessential tradition of all traditions – high tea.  Now, you might think that’s about food.  I mean the title does seem to indicate that there is at a minimum, some drinking going on.    But what do you get to accompany said tea?  Cucumber sandwiches?  With no crusts?  Is that even food? 

And, the highlight – scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam.  Well, let me tell you, this is just a fancy way of sayin’ dry biscuits with jelly.  (Note: the cream is just to make it a little less dry)  If you’re lucky they might throw a few raisins it. I mean, really. 

And, speaking of dry, let’s just talk about Christmas pudding – this is a completely foreign concept to me.  Somehow it starts with suet (I don’t even know what that is, but I think it is some kind of a pork fat thing.  Oh wait.  I think I am just confusing that with Sooey.  Damn those Arkansas Razorbacks.) But, I digress.

So, start with suet a month in advance and add some brandy and more raisins (what is up with the raisins?  I mean, c’mon on, they are just dried out grapes.  Chocolate chips; now that is a dessert additive.  Not raisins.  Those need to stay in the little red box and 8 year olds’ lunch sacks).  Anyway, somehow once Christmas arrives you get, wait for it…dry fruit cake.  That you add more cream to – only this time it is at least called custard and has some sugar in it.   Woo hoo. Gettin' crazy at Christmas!

And, what about the mother of all festivities -- weddings?  What is more widely known than the taste of a triple tiered buttercream white wedding cake?  So widely recognized and appreciated, I have owned candles and drunk martinis that are wedding cake flavored.  YUM.  Guess what you get at a British wedding?  Yep.  Dry fruit cake. This time with a thick sheet of, well, I won’t even call it icing, because it has the consistency of marzipan.    But, regardless, dry fruit cake all the same. 

Am I the only one seeing  a trend here?

And, it’s not just holidays and festivities. Let’s take sports for example.  What comes to mind when you think of baseball? Hot dogs, beers, peanuts.  And, cricket? 

Well, honestly, I got nothin’.    At least at Wimbledon, there’s pimms and strawberries with cream. (Again with the cream?)  For those of you who’ve never been fortunate enough to sample pimms, it is pretty much a minty cucumber and fruit salad in a cup with seven up and some mildy alcoholic fruity syrupy stuff.   Sold?  Yeah, not me either.   If I am going to take in 200 calories a cup, I better get a buzz off it.  And, I’m not talking sugar high.  

But, if you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you will know that drinking is actually pretty central to most traditions in the UK .  Now, the pimms and tea prove that it doesn’t have to be alcohol related.  Of course, let’s not forget the hub of every village is the local pub.   I need not remind y'all what you do in a pub.  I mean there is a TV show called Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps – clearly, the dinner of champions.  (I can only imagine if you tried the Texas version – two longnecks and a bag of fritos.  Not quite the same ring to it.)

And, if you had to pick a hub for a small Texas  town,  traditionally, it would have been  the church. And, before, you think “Aha! That isn’t about food!”….just think about one of the big draws of church….the post Sunday service potluck, the cake walk and bake sale fundraising efforts  and coffee cake prayer groups.  I mean, I so much as hear a hymn and my mouth starts watering for fried chicken. …

 So,  the more I think about it, the more I don’t need to stay in one place to honor my Texas traditions.  So long as I have my Texas shaped cake pan, Better Homes and Gardens red-checked cookbook and a steady supply of Crisco, pecans and marshmallows, I can whip up any tradition I need.

And, luckily for me, I get to combine that with my favorite British traditions …..the liquid kind.

Cultural Puberty

I’ve been feeling pretty homesick this summer – primarily as the weather hasn’t cracked 70 degrees and the sun has been an elusive myth, all the while Texas has been having months of over 100 degrees and a historic heat wave.  Now, I know everyone has been complaining about that, but I am used to the heat.  Summer is supposed to be hot!  It is supposed to remind us that we packed on the pounds in the winter and we don’t need them anymore.  (Nor can we hide them in baggy sweaters and coats)  We are supposed to get a healthy tan (yes, I know that is an oxymoron; but admit it, pale people look sick.  And, you DO get Vitamin D from the sun, so really you NEED to sit by the pool with a crappy book and a daiquiri (which, with the lime and strawberry adds even more vitamins.  Well, look at me – I am a total health nut, after all!)).

But, no, I've had none of that this summer.  I stayed white and fat – pretty much like a big glow worm.   And, let’s not even get into the cobwebs on my grill and the state of my backyard garden.  My health is not the only thing suffering.  So, imagine how excited I was to head to Texas for my annual pilgrimage to Austin City Limits!  Now, I have a new job and I work too much so it had to be a really short trip, but I fully intended to pack in all the steak, sunshine, margaritas, music, friends and family that I could.  Not to mention shopping!  Which, I did the minute I got off the plane.  Headed right to the mall and Banana Republic where I saw a totally cute cardigan in purple, which I wanted in black.  So, I asked the sales lady if they had it in other colors.   To which she replied, “Ohmigod, where are you from??  England?!”

Cue shock, surprise, horror and dismay.

What?? How could I be confused as English?  When my work nicknames are Texas Tornado and Texas and I am constantly told that I need to tone down my “Texas-ness” when giving bad news or disagreeing with people at work.  When my phone ring tone is Texas Fight and I wear my cowboy boots on Fridays?  When I constantly amuse people with my Texas phrases – come to Jesus, crazier than a sh*thouse rat, drunker ‘n Cooter Brown (not that these are all used in the same sentence, but, given some of the people I have to deal with at work, they SO could.) and, not the least of which, the omnipresent “y’all.” 

And, yes, people, I put that in work emails, lest anyone forget that, while I may have to tone down the “Texas-ness” at times, it is lurking there below the surface, just in case I ever need to “open up a can of whoop a$$.”  So, turns out maybe my little work reputation (which, I have been told “precedes me, but in the nicest possible way”) may not be unwarranted.  But, I digress.

So, if I am more Texas than pecan pie (see what I did there?  Clever, clever!), how could this poor fellow Texan think I was English? 

Well, as it turns out, it was the way I asked the question.  Not, “hey, does this come in other colors?” but “Have you got this in another colour?”  Tell the difference?  (other than the superfluous “u” that indicates this was spoken in a British accent.  And, don’t get me started on the inappropriate use of the letter “s” in place of the perfectly good, but oft neglected, letter “z” ( NOT zed.  What even is that?).  Come to think of it, I don’t even think they use the letter z in England.  They certainly never say zany or zilch.)   

So, yes, I realiZed that it must have been my intonation since I ended my sentence with an upturned accented question – as in, have you got this in another COLOUR?  See, Americans, say everything as if it were already a fact.  The British seem to almost apologiZe for speaking up.  (and, don't even get me started on the affected stutter or over-use of the passive voice.  Headline, Brits -- no one FALLS pregant.  Things do not GO missing.   Surely, I need not explain why.)

But, in any event,  I think all of this belies a much bigger cultural difference.

We, Americans, are always noted for being uber confident.  We are brash, outspoken, emotional and  operate in obvious-ness and  extremes.  The British are  timid, restrained, subtle and operate in skepticism and cynicism.    I wonder if this reverts back to our histories – we Americans think we won the last two world wars and are now the only super-power in the world.  The British think they ran the world into the ground through imperialism and colonialism and are embarrassed by the legacy of this domination.  It is as if Americans are the dumb teenagers who don’t yet know the effects of getting into bar fights while the British are the grown-ups who just got released from jail after being rehabilitated.   In one, the hormones are in the driving seat, while the other has the brain is in over-drive.

Never is this more obvious than on the new import into the US of a British show – The X Factor USA.   Now, I love the X Factor here in the UK, but I am annoyed to no end by the X Factor USA.   Why?  Well, not just because the complete and utter lack of personality or intelligence exhibited by Nicole Sherzinger who astounds even me with her complete vacuous-ness.  (But, then again she did get famous by wearing underwear and singing about slagging off some guy’s girlfriend.)

No, actually, what annoys me is how everyone LOVES each other.   And, yes, they had all just met.  Now, the British would say that dilutes the value of the word “love” while the Americans think, “hey that just really means I’m a fan.”  (who can forget the “I love you man” beer commercials?)   So, here I am annoyed as all get out by this gushing of emotion that seems totally fake.  But, the thing is, it is not.   I know that those people sincerely felt what they were saying.   Just like a 14 year girl really DOES love  Zac Efron or New Direction (for you Americans, this is the latest boy band craze brought to us by X Factor – see how I bring this full circle? ;)), Americans really and truly think they feel this way.

And, there is something to be said for this youthful open and guileless sharing of emotion.  Not to discredit the benefit and maturity of being a little skeptical and cynical –not always taking things at face value.  

I think my challenge is to retain both – almost like going through cultural puberty.

So, back to being Texish. 

I am going to keep my margaritas like a good Texan, but, like a good Brit, I’ll have it with a grain of salt.