Thursday, July 25, 2013

On The Rocks

The more I travel around the endless historical sights of England, the more I realize: I know absolutely nothing.
Between all the history, artifacts, languages, religions, traditions, and famous people I've been briefly exposed to over the past few weeks--wow. It's like eating a tablespoon of cinnamon: calming putting a docile spoonful into your mouth before panicking and spitting it back out.  So much history. 
But yesterday, I made my foreign-ish-ignorance crystal clear, as if I don't already scream "AMERICAN" when I stroll down the street in my snazzy Chaco shoes. We were standing at an ancient Anglo-Saxon burial ground near Huntingdon, and learned about the history of these ancient warrior people who gifted us with the English language and the "cheese and bread" combo. 
Our guide had mentioned, in the midst of his long but interesting discourse, something about rock cakes. 
Rock cakes? Without thinking, I raised my hand.
"Excuse me, sir--yes, me, sorry--but what is a 'rock cake'?" 
He looked at me for a moment; the other British people in the tour laughed with astonishment and pity. 
"Would someone like to explain to our American friends what a rock cake is?" He asked, barely concealing his laugh. 
Bottom line: asking British people about rock cakes is like asking a Southerner about a buttermilk biscuit. You can't live without trying one, and if you haven't, you certainly don't expose your ignorance in front of a group of British people. 
Rock on, my American friends, and 
Cheerio. 

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