Written by my good friend and guest blogger Georgia G.  (Photo collage by  Mr. Brent Lambert.)


I cannot read Cooking for Cock without thinking about my experience with the ultimate of phallic foods. The sausage. Or as the Brits call them – “bangers.”

Growing up in Vancouver, I was always an eggs & bacon type of girl. The skinny, meager looking link sausages commonly served with breakfast never really appealed. Then I went to live in the UK for a period and had my first ever British Fry Up; an English classic. Eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, British bacon, black pudding (no thanks – I opted out) and of course big, juicy, British bangers. The key to this delicious, artery clogger is that everything is fried together in the same pan (even the bread, which is sometimes dripping with oil).

I loved everything on that plate, especially the sausages. And I loved the way the Brits just didn’t give a toss about eating all that fat! Maybe it’s the climate (damp and cold), maybe it’s the fact that they consume copious amounts of beer and need the grease to coat their stomachs the day after. Whatever the reasons, I went native and quickly became an avid sausage eater. I looked forward to going for those weekend fry-ups with my girlfriends, where we would spend hours chatting about life and boys (mostly about boys) all the while biting into those tasty mouthwatering bangers.


And so, with my newfound appreciation of all things sausage (Bangers and Mash-another yummy favourite) and perhaps a bit of British fever, I finally met my first British bang. Simon was the most British boy a Canadian girl could have met, from his classic name to his pale skin. An actor/writer/comedian, Simon was both witty and clumsy: the deliciously quintessential British stereotype. We fell for each other instantly. I remember our first night together when he whispered, “Have you ever been with an Englishman?” I thought “What?” Is this some sort of English arrogance coming out? Was I in for some unique experience my girlfriends had neglected to mention during our breakfast pow-wows? Something about the way he said this, his air of confidence, left me curious and excited. And just like my first taste of British bangers on a breakfast plate, I had my first taste of a British boy and was totally hooked. As if my whole sausage trajectory had led me to this point. Simon’s impressive English sausage made me drool, swoon, daydream…  During our love affair, any sausage shop window I passed, every banger I bit into would leave me thinking about Simon and his you know what.

But every delicious dish must come to an end.  I eventually left the UK and Simon and I went our separate ways but I still love a nice sausage served up either way: on my plate or in my bed.




Now In Montreal Georgia checks out the local sausage. The veal coriander at Le Maitre Gourmet is the hot ticket. (Yanick, the butcher, is not bad either.)

Now in Montreal Georgia checks out the local French sausage. The veal coriander at Le Maitre Gourmet, on 1520 rue Laurier Est, is the hot ticket. (Yanick, the butcher, is not bad either.)

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