The Staffordshire Oatcake

I hail originally from Stoke-On-Trent, in Staffordshire.

People from Stoke can generally be recognised by their very dodgy accent (can be mistaken for Liverpudlian, in my own experience), their strange fixation with looking at pottery stamps on plates and mugs to deem if it is ‘proper’ crockery from Wedgwood or one of the other ‘proper’ potters (i.e. made in Stoke-On-Trent), and their obsession with oatcakes.

I’m not talking those weird Scottish oatcakes here, oh no. I am talking about the mighty Staffordshire Oatcake.

One oatcake, served with cheese and lots of bacon, ready to accept some ketchup. Yum!
One oatcake, served with cheese and lots of bacon, ready to accept some ketchup. Yum!

Since moving down south, I have missed my oatcakes. I now live over 100 miles away from where I grew up, and it seems you can only buy fresh oatcakes in the Staffordshire area. I did look into buying oatcakes online, but the delivery costs on fresh food are sky high. Oatcakes spoil fast, though freeze well. As much as I love my oatcakes, I’m not sure if I love them enough to pay over £5 for the cost of getting a pack of 6 delivered. This means that when my family come to visit, they must pay me the toll of a pack of oatcakes to get through the door.

This weekend, over the course of trying to clear out my freezer, I decided to introduce the bloke to the Staffordshire Oatcake, since he is a southerner born and bred who has never sampled this delectable awesomeness.

Here’s the dilemma. If he didn’t like the oatcakes, I would have to question his lack of taste. That said, if he didn’t like them, that would mean I’d get to eat them instead. After his first bite, I (hopefully) said to him that if he didn’t like them, that was fine. I’d eat them to avoid waste! I got a resounding ‘bugger off!’ in response. Which – let’s face it – is the perfectly appropriate response to someone trying to muscle in on your oatcakes.

So, his taste is good. But now I’ll have to start sharing my precious oatcakes, or become a secret oatcake eater.

Odds are I’ll be doing the latter.

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