A dissenter writes in:

“Many, many years ago, whilst I early in my commissioned career as a naval officer (I was previously enlisted), I was conducting an inspection of our pre-BRAC submarine base in Holy Loch, Scotland. We occasioned to dine at a unpretentious pub on the fringe of the base and upon hearing of my earlier, unsullied stint as a non-commissioned officer, the publican, a retired Royal Navy enlisted man himself, offered the best fare they had—Scotch Eggs and Ale. I stupidly tried to match him on both counts and lost, tragically. I cannot recall I time, short of a gunshot wound to the low belly suffered in a hunting accident, that I felt worse for the experience.”

This grumbling gourmet goes on, however, to confess that still eats Scotch Eggs once a year on Burns’ night followed by haggis and cholula hot sauce.

Haggis and cholula hot sauce.

Think about that for a moment, and once the retching and nausea have passed, take time to understand that that astonishing revelation could in itself be enough to trigger hundreds, maybe thousands, of learned articles about the globalization of culture.

Then continue retching.