Opinion of black pudding

[Wake Me Up When The Hard Border Ends]

Freedom food for me, love the smell of it cooking, and its flavourful taste. Also a fan of white pudding, and would love to try other blood sausages (e.g. boudin, blutwurst and morcilla to name three).

[Why]

Horrible Food

[DavidB.]

Horrible food. Blood =/= kosher, and the idea of eating blood is gross anyway.

[Green Line]

😋

[SUSAN CRUSHBONE]

i used to like it, before i stopped eating pork (and i know non-pork varieties exist, i just haven't come across any)

[Wake Me Up When The Hard Border Ends]

i used to like it, before i stopped eating pork (and i know non-pork varieties exist, i just haven't come across any)

Here's a vegan black pudding, made from beetroot juice. Can't say I've had it, although I'd give it a go.

[angus]

i used to like it, before i stopped eating pork (and i know non-pork varieties exist, i just haven't come across any)

dim sum restaurants usually have a big plate of cold duck-blood pudding, although technically it is a very dark shade of red, not black.  Often it is served with pork intestine and beef tripe, although you could probably ask them to hold the pork bits.

Voted FF.

[Grumpier Than Uncle Joe]

FF, no doubt.

[I spent the winter writing songs about getting better]

Never had it. Just hearing about it is nauseating.

[Lexii, harbinger of chaos and sexual anarchy]

Meh

[politicus]

Never had it. Just hearing about it is nauseating.

[angus]

This thread reminded me of a poem I read in one of my Freshman English classes at university.  I couldn't remember the name of it, but the "black pudding" question kept tugging at my brainstrings. Today I performed a search on "first they ate the white pudding and then they ate the black" and hit the name of it.  It is Get Up and Bar the Door, an anonymous medieval scots ballad.  It is also one of the Child's pieces, which reminds me of Michener's The Drifters, which I just finished re-reading recently, and I tried to imagine Gretchen singing in her hoary voice and strumming along on her oversized spanish guitar.   Anyway, here it is:


Get Up and Bar the Door.

It fell about the Martinmas time,
And a gay time it was then,
When our goodwife got puddings to make,
And she ’s boild them in the pan.

The wind sae cauld blew south and north,
And blew into the floor;
Quoth our goodman to our goodwife,
“Gae out and bar the door.”

“My hand is in my hussyfskap,
Goodman, as ye may see;
An it shoud nae be barrd this hundred year,
It ’s no be barrd for me.”

They made a paction tween them twa,
They made it firm and sure,
That the first word whaeer shoud speak,
Shoud rise and bar the door.

Then by there came two gentlemen,
At twelve o clock at night,
And they could neither see house nor hall,
Nor coal nor candle-light.

“Now whether is this a rich man’s house,
Or whether is it a poor?”
But neer a word wad ane o them speak,
For barring of the door.

And first they ate the white puddings,
And then they ate the black;
Tho muckle thought the goodwife to hersel,
Yet neer a word she spake.

Then said the one unto the other,
“Here, man, tak ye my knife;
Do ye tak aff the auld man’s beard,
And I ’ll kiss the goodwife.”

“But there ’s nae water in the house,
And what shall we do than?”
What ails thee at the pudding-broo,
That boils into the pan?”

O up then started our goodman,
An angry man was he:
“Will ye kiss my wife before my een,
And scad me wi pudding-bree?”

Then up and started our goodwife,
Gied three skips on the floor:
“Goodman, you’ve spoken the foremost word,
Get up and bar the door.”


raw, isn't it?