Opening my cakehole again about food


Rogers Rants: By columnist Kevin Rogers

What on Earth is all this cupcake business?

The Americanisation of our lingo is becoming more and more apparent as we become submerged under a deluge of transatlantic TV channels with Yank versions of our favourite snap.

What is wrong with calling them buns?

I suspect that term has been adopted by our friends in the USA for an entirely different purpose.

Attempting to rid myself of a few surplus pounds by undertaking a ‘shredding’ routine recently, I made the discovery that buns is another word for your gluteal muscles.

Its all my backside.

Cupcakes are de rigour these days - there’s no escaping them and bakers have cottoned on to the fact that they can be sold for a great deal of money.

There’s nothing to them - seems to me all they are little sponge cakes with fancy icing on them.

The sort of thing you used to pretend to like on a Sunday’s when visiting pretentious relatives in the 1970s. They called them fairy cakes then, which didn’t help matters.

Give me a proper sized bun any day, like the traditional butterfly cake with full fat cream and jam in it, which weighs more than a microgram.

Something you can have a bunfight with.

But instead we are being subjected to a deluge of these pastel shaded monstrosities, which are becoming the in-thing to present as a gift between consenting adults.

The more exclusive varieties can garner a price upwards of £10 each.

There are now entire afternoons and evenings of satellite TV channels dedicated to experts in their preparation.

Now I don’t have any objection to bakers and confectioners jumping on the bandwagon making their fortunes.

I guess it’s a gender issue. None of my business.

A cup cake obsession is a muse for the ladies I suppose, like going to Ann Summers parties .

But they aren’t for me I’m afraid - they are in the same league as a grown man wearing a onesie.

Different names for baked products - depending where you come from - is of course an old chestnut for a conversation piece.

I have had to separate people on the point of blows as they exercise themselves over the purely arbitrary differences between a bread bun, a balm cake, a bap and a teacake.

I displayed my own ignorance of what a teacake was - every where else except a distinct area of Wombwell - well into my 20s.

A chipshop owner in Cornwall looked at me askance when I asked for a teacake with my portion of chips.

I was presented with a toasted currant teacake - not what I had in mind, for my buttie - but it proved a winning combination and it is something I have since added to my personal culinary repertoire.

Other people I know have introduced me to more bizarre regional terminology.

In parts of Lancashire I am given to understand you can go into a chip shop and ask for a ‘babby’s ‘ead’.

I believe it refers to a meat and potato pie with a soft bit in the middle of the crust.

If I was to utter the phrase “Fanceh some babby’s ead and peas, luv?” in a South Yorkshire eating establishment, I think I would be greeted with a vacant stare,

Or have my attention diverted by the proprietor as his wife phoned the police from the kitchen.