

Oh they’ll know when the left get involved!
Oh they’ll know when the left get involved!
You don’t become trans by transitioning. You become trans by your brain being exposed to to much of the wrong sex hormone during early foetal development. It causes the wiring in the brain to largely develope according to the opposite biological sex. By the time gonads are present all the hormones in the world aren’t going to change what is hard wired into the brain. So if someone who is for example genetically and phenotypically male has a female brain, and they choose not to medically transition it doesn’t mean they’re cisgender. It just means they’re sad.
Um his supporters are all on the far right. They love children…In a different way.
Your mind is fine. No need to change it.
Pfft! My flags still at full mast! 🏳️⚧️
What exactly do you think British cuisine is out of curiosity? I know none of those countries have cake as good as black forest gateau so don’t even try to claim otherwise.
It is widely regarded as a British dish which British parents make for their British children in their British kitchens. When snack companies like pringles do a selection of British flavours tikka masala is included alongside marmite and roast beef. I’m sorry but there is absolutely no way you can convince me that specifically tikka masala isn’t part of British cuisine. Tikka masala sauce is available in many chip shops as a topping. You might as well tell the Irish that they can’t have potato bread because potatoes are from north America.
Portuguese food is good too! Love me a custard tart.
Wet food. But that’s cheating.
Just so you know. Jollof rice is either Ghanaian or Nigerian depending on the nationality of the person feeding it to you and their version is the original and best. They’re quite serious about it.
French food is complicated to make compared to other European countries and looks very fancy but it really isn’t better than Italian, German, Spanish, or indeed British food. Don’t get me wrong, I still make the odd quiche, crème brûlée, or sole meunière, but it’s just to change things up when I get bored of making my usual repertoire of dishes. It’s nice but more labour intensive for what it is. OP didn’t say you’d be getting it from a restaurant every day. Your probably going to be making things from scratch a lot. Do you even own a blowtorch for caramelising deserts or a water bath for sous vide?
At least you now have access to deep fried pizza and mars bars. And buckfast “tonic wine”. And let’s not forget the Glaswegian munchie box!
Vindaloo is from Goa. If that were the only dish from India, I’d still pick India.
Tikka masala for example.
Scotland takes curry very seriously. But also I’m pretty sure tikka masala was first made in Britain so technically you want British food. Sorry about that.
It counts. It’s still 1 country. It might be cheating a bit but it still counts.
Ok so british fast food is definitely very heavy on meat pies and chips (although I should point out that there’s a lot of crossover with south Asian fast food and there are other fast food standards like baked potatoes and various sandwiches). And where the confusion lies is that Brits only really eat British fast food or foreign restaurant food because why would you go to a restaurant to eat the same food you make at home? But there’s a whole load of really nice food that just never gets sold in the restaurants. It’s definitely British cuisine. British Christmas food is heavily spiced full of dried fruit and marinated in rum or brandy (rum is better), There are few deserts that can measure up to a well made apple crumble or sticky toffee pudding, and haggis is such a satisfying dish that it’s inspired poetry.
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race! Aboon them a’ ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy of a grace As lang ‘s my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, Your pin wad help to mend a mill In time o’ need, While thro’ your pores the dews distil Like amber bead.
His knife see Rustic-labour dight, An’ cut ye up wi’ ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like onie ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an’ strive: Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve Are bent like drums; Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, Bethankit hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout, Or olio that wad staw a sow, Or fricassee wad mak her spew Wi’ perfect sconner, Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash, As feckless as a wither’d rash, His spindle shank a guid whip-lash, His nieve a nit; Thro’ bluidy flood or field to dash, O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his walie nieve a blade, He’ll make it whissle; An’ legs, an’ arms, an’ heads will sned, Like taps o’ thrissle.
Ye Pow’rs wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o’ fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies; But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer, Gie her a Haggis!