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The garden of a Cornish pub on a sunny afternoon in May.

Two men, probably father and son, buy pints of lager and take a table. They sit waiting for someone, checking their messages, peering up and down the street.
After 15 minutes or so their friend arrives. Everyone shakes*hands and express their delight at seeing each other. The newcomer dishes out gifts one at a time — cans of Mythos lager, ouzo,*olive oil, and more. He is, of course, Greek.
His hosts offer him something in return: a pork scratching from the open packet on the table. He looks disgusted and prods with his finger, peering at the text on the packaging.
‘What is this?*Oh, God, no! No!’
The locals shrug and keep picking at the pile of hairy curls in the cellophane wrapper. Eventually, perhaps absentmindedly, the Greek guest does the same. A look passes over his face. His*hand dips back into the bag.
After a few minutes he goes to buy a round of drinks. When he returns, performing the traditional three-pint grip, there are two fresh packets of pork scratchings snared between his teeth.
Resistance is futile.
Pub Life: the Irresistible Appeal of Pork Scratchings originally posted at Boak & Bailey's Beer Blog