Cullen Skink
Feb. 1st, 2011 08:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
davywavy"What on Earth is that you're eating?" I asked, looking at the bowl in front of her with concern. It was filled with a yellowish goo in which White lumps were listlessly bobbing.
"It's Cullen Skink"
"Cullen what?"
"Cullen Skink"
I thought on this for a moment. "Notwithstanding", I said, "that 'cullen skink' sounds like Glaswegian slang for a cheap prostitute, what the heck is it? It smells disgusting. Like" I took a deep sniff "like some has liquidised an over-ripe kipper."
"I know", she said. "Lovely, isn't it? It's a very fishy soup. Would you like to try some?"
"Not in the slightest."
"Oh, come on. You're always going on about how you'll try anything once. This really is lovely. You'll like it."
She was right. I do say that sort of thing, especially when I'm presented with the opportunity to do something which looks quite safe and fairly enjoyable. Still, I had to admit defeat. I nodded. "Go on, then".
She scooped up a spoonful of the oily slop and ladled it into my mouth. I swirled it contemplatively around for a few moments before swallowing.
"What do you think?", she asked.
***
The film 'The march of the penguins' follows the life cycle of antarcticas most famous flightless resident. The cameras, lovingly narrative by Morgan Freeman, watch as the penguins mate and lay their eggs on the frozen expanse of the Ross ice shelf. Then the mothers leave their eggs to be cared for and hatched by the fathers as they leave and walk miles across glacier to the sea where they spend months gorging on fish. Then, finally, some ancient instinct calls the mother penguins back. They clamber from the sea, tummies rounded, and walk through howling blizzards miles back to the hatchery where their mates and new-born chicks await them. It is here they see the chick for the first time and, in a remarkable act of maternal affection which some see as proof of a loving God, they promptly vomit a think broth of half digested and slightly rotting fish straight into their chick's mouth.
***
"David?", she said. "David? What do you think?"
"I shook myself from my thoughts.
"I feel like a baby penguin", I said.
"It's Cullen Skink"
"Cullen what?"
"Cullen Skink"
I thought on this for a moment. "Notwithstanding", I said, "that 'cullen skink' sounds like Glaswegian slang for a cheap prostitute, what the heck is it? It smells disgusting. Like" I took a deep sniff "like some has liquidised an over-ripe kipper."
"I know", she said. "Lovely, isn't it? It's a very fishy soup. Would you like to try some?"
"Not in the slightest."
"Oh, come on. You're always going on about how you'll try anything once. This really is lovely. You'll like it."
She was right. I do say that sort of thing, especially when I'm presented with the opportunity to do something which looks quite safe and fairly enjoyable. Still, I had to admit defeat. I nodded. "Go on, then".
She scooped up a spoonful of the oily slop and ladled it into my mouth. I swirled it contemplatively around for a few moments before swallowing.
"What do you think?", she asked.
***
The film 'The march of the penguins' follows the life cycle of antarcticas most famous flightless resident. The cameras, lovingly narrative by Morgan Freeman, watch as the penguins mate and lay their eggs on the frozen expanse of the Ross ice shelf. Then the mothers leave their eggs to be cared for and hatched by the fathers as they leave and walk miles across glacier to the sea where they spend months gorging on fish. Then, finally, some ancient instinct calls the mother penguins back. They clamber from the sea, tummies rounded, and walk through howling blizzards miles back to the hatchery where their mates and new-born chicks await them. It is here they see the chick for the first time and, in a remarkable act of maternal affection which some see as proof of a loving God, they promptly vomit a think broth of half digested and slightly rotting fish straight into their chick's mouth.
***
"David?", she said. "David? What do you think?"
"I shook myself from my thoughts.
"I feel like a baby penguin", I said.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 09:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 10:11 am (UTC)(appropriate icon is appropriate)
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Date: 2011-02-01 01:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 01:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 12:12 pm (UTC)(Anyway, how can you not like smoked haddock? it is very nice).
D
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Date: 2011-02-01 01:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 12:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 12:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 01:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 02:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 07:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-02 02:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-02 02:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-02 02:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-02 02:34 pm (UTC)However, I refuse to accept any cultural justification for eating anything which resembles penguin vomit. I just do, y'hear?
no subject
Date: 2011-02-02 02:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 02:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-01 07:01 pm (UTC)also, I LOVE CULLEN SKINK
no subject
Date: 2011-02-02 02:22 pm (UTC)