There is a farm store in the town where I work that has tall ceilings, thick black and white stripes of paint on the wall, large glass cases of food and space to walk around. It has a British feel to it, and on certain days it isn’t uncommon to meet staff who speak with a thick British accent. One day in this store, the name tag of a dish in the large glass case filled with prepared foods stood out and made me smile. I smiled because it had been a long time since I’d seen that dish much less taste it. It was a childhood favorite, inseparable from a family scene filled with happy expressions towards a clearly non-traditional dish.
