Yesterday I found myself in the right place mentally for a certain experience. I was not hungover, yet my insides betrayed a certain post-alcohol delicateness. I was in that right place where it's too late for breakfast but not yet time for dinner.*
And I found myself in the right place physically, for there are only 4 institutions where you can sample this wonder of culinary engineering.
I found myself in Electrik in Chorlton, a convenient stumble from my flat. It's Danish inspired cafe by day and bar by night, with a free jukebox that only has good music on it. It's the kind of place that has worked very hard to look very low key; lots of bare wood and smatterings of bold orange.
And on its food menu, in the light bites section, is the Manchester Egg. The Manchester Egg has its own website on which it describes itself as "a hearty commodity worthy of a gentleman". It's a pickled egg wrapped in Bury Black Pudding and premium sausage meat with a golden crumb. It's a Scotch Egg, but better. It will make you look upon Scotch Eggs in sorrow for their blandness; lacking in the warmth and gentle spiciness of the Mancunian version.
I'm biased of course. I live in Manchester and I hail from Bury. Bury only has two things to be proud of: firstly it was the birthplace of Prime Minister, Corn Law Repealer and founder of the police force Sir Robert Peel and second, of course, the Bury Black Pudding. The Peel family soon moved away from the mills and soot that brought their fortune - the pudding at least stayed put and two companies fight it out on Bury Market with a third elbowing in on the trade.
Pictures of this wonder are here:
Needless to say it did the trick and set me up for the day. I sat in Electrik for a while longer and enjoyed a mint and chilli tea from Mr Scruff's range. Good times!
*a.k.a. lunch
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