a bit 'o Yorkshire

Today I have indulged in one of my new favorite foods. It's hardly new to the earth, and is quite an old staple of many in the land of poor dental hygiene, naval supremacy, and polite deference. Many of my ancestors were British, and likely gave me their horrible teeth, alabaster skin, and love for all things melancholy; a place that produced the Romantic poets, The Cure, Eeyore, and Puritans can embrace the sadness like nothing else.

I digress. Centuries of genetic programming have finally caught up with me, giving me mad cravings for everything from tea and toast, to baked beans and fried tomatoes with breakfast. Not to mention sausages and "puddings" made of I know not what, and am afraid to inquire. So today I made roast beef in the crock pot, and served it over a large helping of Yorkshire pudding with gravy. What is Yorkshire pudding? To me, it is as if a pancake and a dumpling had a love child in a tablespoon of bacon grease. If you're into dough, and bread-y heavy dour-faced pale foods, it's a bit of heaven. James Herriott would certainly agree. If I ate this every Sunday like a good Yorkshire farmer's wife, I might actually begin to resemble the pudding. But I feel like I have gone to an ancestor-worship temple and presented a humble offering when I pull this golden lump out of the oven. I'm a complete novice, and just read this article with loads of helpful advice at the bottom, so next time I'll try a different technique. Too bad I don't have a manky old pan as suggested. Hmm. That should be easy enough in time.