Yes! Worcestershire Sauce, the very essence of flavour, used to improve the flavour of British meals for millions of years.
'But Daystar, my liege, how is it even possible to make British cuisine taste even better?'
It's quite simple, lesser mortal.
The answer is cunningess.
More cunning than a fox that was just appointed Professor of Cunning at Oxford University. /Blackadder joke
'But that doesn't make any sense', I hear you cry.
Well shut up and let me finish!
We must go back to a time of war, the second one to be precise.
Old Blighty was under constant threat of a Nazi invasion, the blitz we could handle, stiff upper lip and all that, but a far more sinister threat was amongst us...
Spies!
'Gentlemen.'
Spies eveywhere! More spies than you could shake a stick at, which was a problem in of itself, with spies being difficult to identify and all. They were free to perform all kinds of skullduggery, nothing could stop them...
Except there is one they fear...
In their tongue, they can't pronounce it...
Dragonborn!
Our Ace in the Hole!
You see, anyone not born and/or raised in Blighty, their eyes stumbling upon a bottle of the cunning elixir, will only be able to make out an incomprehensible jumble of letters, impossible to pronounce, in fact, many of you will assume I have gone mad, your foreign eyes unable to translate the first word of my thread title.
If you had even an inkling that someone was a spy, you would just wip out a bottle of the old Lea & Perrins and ask them to read the label until they fell at the most cunning of all English words.
Worcestershire.
Looks like one word, sounds like another.
And that is the secret flavour in all meals prepared with this sauce.
The taste of cunning and victory.
'But Daystar, my liege, how is it even possible to make British cuisine taste even better?'
It's quite simple, lesser mortal.
The answer is cunningess.
More cunning than a fox that was just appointed Professor of Cunning at Oxford University. /Blackadder joke
'But that doesn't make any sense', I hear you cry.
Well shut up and let me finish!
We must go back to a time of war, the second one to be precise.
Old Blighty was under constant threat of a Nazi invasion, the blitz we could handle, stiff upper lip and all that, but a far more sinister threat was amongst us...
Spies!
'Gentlemen.'
Spies eveywhere! More spies than you could shake a stick at, which was a problem in of itself, with spies being difficult to identify and all. They were free to perform all kinds of skullduggery, nothing could stop them...
Except there is one they fear...
In their tongue, they can't pronounce it...
Our Ace in the Hole!
You see, anyone not born and/or raised in Blighty, their eyes stumbling upon a bottle of the cunning elixir, will only be able to make out an incomprehensible jumble of letters, impossible to pronounce, in fact, many of you will assume I have gone mad, your foreign eyes unable to translate the first word of my thread title.
If you had even an inkling that someone was a spy, you would just wip out a bottle of the old Lea & Perrins and ask them to read the label until they fell at the most cunning of all English words.
Worcestershire.
Looks like one word, sounds like another.
And that is the secret flavour in all meals prepared with this sauce.
The taste of cunning and victory.
