I very much only have myself to blame.
One of the less heralded aspects of running a business is that one is, regrettably, obliged to maintain a social media presence, it's just expected. And, if I have to do it, I'm going to do it very much in my own voice, as I don't tend to have time to stop and think when I'm bunging something on Insta. It seems to have worked okay so far. But, as a man better versed on the online world than he would prefer, I should have known better than to stick up a picture of our bread rolls, fresh out of the oven.
In my defence, I did preface said picture by saying "one of the most tedious debates on the internet is what these are called...". Doubtless you've seen the argument somewhere, it's one of the workaday tropes that shithouse FB pages use to drive engagement. Need a few thousand clicks to raise the profile of your godawful local radio station/page about how everything was better in the past/shelter for confused cats? Put a picture of some bread rolls up and say the magic words "lets settle this once and for all...what do you call these?" Cue a slew of replies from people who clearly can't their heads round the concept that things can be called different things in different parts of the country.
To be clear, I don't care what you call them.
It was a steady morning, my prep was mostly boxed off and the young lad who does most of the baking pulled these out, all I wished to do was highlight that we bake our own bread, that was all. Despite me making it clear that I was disinterested in the naming debate, debate still occurred, is still occurring now, a week on. I sighed, and berated myself inwardly. Still, it did the job, we had a busy week, I also put up pictures of our Focaccia and some beer at the same time, both got a smattering of attention, but nothing anywhere near the traction of a picture of some bread rolls.
I....don't understand the fascination. Roll, barm, cob, batch, breadcake (teacake is a bit weird, because that to me is a very specific thing, but if that's what you want to call it, knock yourself out), who gives a monkeys? I assume the roots lie in a particularly English form of parochialism, but it just seems a giant waste of energy.
Nor, for that matter, do I get terribly exercised on the subject of what constitutes a full English, another argument I inadvertently got caught up in (this time it was Gary Usher of Sticky Walnut fame's fault, I assumed he was trolling to drive engagement, as I inadvertently did with the rolls). Another staple of eye-clawingly dull Internet Discourse is the picture of a cooked breakfast and the question of what's missing and/or needs removing. I am fairly particular about my own cooked breakfasts, mostly because I'm very good at cooking them (and so tend to avoid having one unless I've made it), I've had a fair bit of practice, don't take it personally. But, crucially, I don't care what you have on yours. There is no ideal breakfast everyone will agree on, there are too many variables. Personally I regard hash browns as a war crime, but I won't think less of you for liking them. To my mind the carbs should come from Fried Slice/Bubble and Squeak/Refried Roasties, whereas Hash Browns are abominable Americanisation that look like a scab. But to each their own. I like haggis on mine, and like to fry the mushrooms with a bit of spinach, most won't, that's okay.
One acquaintance of mine expresses his frustration with the Full English as being the expression of a bunch of entitled whining children. As a chef, I'm inclined to agree, breakfast services are always a shitshow, because no two are the same. To black pudding or not to black pudding (OF COURSE YOU SHOULD BLACK PUDDING)? Beans or no beans (Traditionalists are anti-bean, I don't mind them, but wouldn't be upset if they weren't there)? This is before one gets onto the vexed question of eggs (Duck, and poached, please, though I prefer hen for scrambled).
Personally I incline towards the view that we should embrace the variety. I always look forward to trips to Scotland, as tattie scones and haggis are more likely to enter the equation (I remain unconvinced by the square sausages though, that's a thrill which is maybe too cheap for me these days, in much the same way as I can't look doner meat in the eye any more). As an aside to this, I prefer the term cooked breakfast to Full English, which is a little too country specific for my liking. Full British would be more accurate, but that makes it sound like you're about to march on the Cenotaph. I gently took the piss out of this for ten years at my last gaff, where I named the breakfast the Full Lancashire, it sold by the bucketload, which basically proves nothing other than people really like a selection of pork products and egg in various configurations.
The third one I haven't, fortunately, encountered recently, but seeing as how I was doing the first two I thought I might as well chuck it in. As an exiled Cornishman I am supposed to get exercised about whether jam or clotted cream goes on a scone first (I also don't care how you pronounce scone, differences in regional accents are a thing, please stop arguing about it). Jam first, the Kernewek argue vociferously, Devonians respond with equal passion that no, it's cream first, and actually they invented Cornish pasties, actually. I do cleave to the mother country's view, but I'm not about to get into an argument on the internet about it. It may sound trivial, but it's another little line between us and them, and I've known enough virulently anti-Devon Cornishmen (and vice versa) to know that if you're jaundiced enough, literally anything can be taken as proof of the inherent evil of someone who committed the cardinal sin of being born ten miles down the road from you. I do not understand the impulse to define yourself by what you're not, and I suggest that anyone who does needs to get out more.
There are many others, of course, seeing that steak chart with insults appended to the better done end of the spectrum is an instant unfollow/block/mute/snooze, for example. But those are the three which bore me the most. I understand that arguing about little things means that we don't argue about big things, but it seems such a waste of energy. Plus, for everyone knowingly laughing along haha yes-it's-a-barmcake and-I'll-die-on-this-hill, I suspect there are people who genuinely believe that you're an agent of Satan if you put beans on your breakfast. I like devilled kidneys on mine, so you can make of that what you will.
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