The English breakfast is a massive undertaking. While its exact composition varies across the British Isles, ordering a full fry-up will get usually you bacon, eggs, sausages, potatoes, baked beans, mushrooms, tomato, and toast, at a minimum. And on this piled-high plate sits the brekker’s most notorious member—thick slices of black pudding. Translation? Blood sausage. Good morning, indeed. I’d lived in London for several months before I first tasted black pudding. The idea of blood sausage had never appealed to me, and since I cooked for myself in my little flat kitchen, I hadn’t yet confronted the full-on breakfast. Until I visited an Irish friend, that is. He opened his refrigerator one morning to find it nearly empty. “All...
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