The pub snack. There are the obvious staples – the standard crisp or variations of this theme, such as twiglets, bacon rashers, or even the scampi “I can smell you from here” fries.
Alas, these are but a non-entity when it comes to the might of the pickled egg.
Truth be told, I’ve never had the courage. I’ve never wanted to enter through the looking glass and into that medicinal remedy that has laid them to rest.
The fateful day begun unremarkably; I believe it’s called ‘hair of the dog’. Nevertheless, a generic form of the pub snack journey ensued.
From beer to crisps, back to beer, maybe a pie back to beer then onto peanuts. But once such a standard has been set in one sitting – there is only one way to go. And it isn’t up. It’s down. Way down in that jar on the counter – you know, on top of the meat counter. Oh, meat raffles don’t happen in your local? Still, the deafening silence engulfed the trip to the bar, not to mention a rubber band or two to get the welded lid off. The face that took in this time bomb resembled a crumpled piece of paper; which said more than words ever could. But then they did, and those words? “It tasted of age…”
The Go! Team are signed to Pickled Eggs Records
On November 23, 1997, a previously healthy 68-year-old man living in Illinois became nauseated, vomited, and complained of abdominal pain. During the next 2 days, his symptoms worsened and he experienced trouble breathing, necessitating hospitalization and mechanical ventilation. Physical examination confirmed abnormal nerve functioning and some paralysis. Possible botulism was diagnosed, and an antitoxin was given. A food history revealed no exposures to home-canned products; however, the patient had eaten pickled eggs that he had prepared 7 days before onset of illness and symptoms of illness began 12 hours after eating the eggs. The man recovered from the poisoning after prolonged supportive care