In almost every British pantry you will find a jar of something called Marmite, a yeast extract that has the consistency and smell of an industrial lubricant. You spread it on toast or crackers. I have never met a foreigner living in Britain who could stand the stuff (and I make it a point to ask). The British, it goes without saying, adore it. Nor have I yet found a foreigner (or come to that many English people) able to muster any real enthusiasm for haggis, the national dish of Scotland. A haggis is a bloated sausage stuffed with oatmeal and minced sheep’s heart. The most remarkable thing about it is that it looks and tastes even worse that it sounds. The Scots eat haggis in huge quantities on New Year’s eve and then, I can only presume, spend the rest of the year feeling grateful that December 31st comes but once a year.
