Why is it......?

Why is it.......

....that we eat food that we would in every other circumstance consider inedible, just because someone has tarted it up by adding equally vile and unappetising ingredients and called it a delicacy?

Imagine the scene. Scotland, like, a really long time ago:

Jimmy: "Och, hey, Hamish? Y'know how we've no' got onythin' tae dae wi' that half ae rotten sheep we found?"

Hamish: "Aye?"

Jimmy: "Weel.... ah wiz messin' aboot, and ah put thae guts inside it's ain stomach, an' added a wee bittae oats and spices tae disguise the minging smell, boiled it intae oblivion and ah'm thinkin' o' callin' it a delicacy. Yon English'll eat it droves, so thae will.... We could mak' a shite-load ae muny."

Hamish: "Gran' plan there, ye've got Jimmy. Might even keep thae troublemakers fae botherin' us. We can pay them off in sheep's guts."

Jimmy: "Och, hey. Best no' tell them it's actually sheep's guts. Why no' pretend it's a wee animal we've hunted off thae hills ower there?"

Hamish: "That's bloody magic that idea! Hey - whit tae call it?"

Jimmy: "Wee anymul?"

Hamish: "Too simple - they'll never fall fir it."

Jimmy: "Sausage?"

Hamish: "Already done."

Jimmy: "Puddin'?... Ayebody loves pudding, do they not?"

Hamish: "Aye, true....Haud oan... Rabbie...?"

Rabbie: "Aye?"

Hamish: "See this boiled bit o' guts. Whit wid ye call it?"

Rabbie: "Ah'd ca' it the chieftan o' the puddin' race, ah would."

Jimmy: "Well, he's got a way wi' wurds, that wan."

Hamish: "Aye, no half."

Jimmy: "Ah got it!"

Hamish: "Whit?"

Jimmy: "We'll call it 'Haggis' - that's yon name o' Morag MacDougal's wee dug. Ah quite fancy her, ye ken. She'll be dead pleased that ah'v invented something named after her wee dug."

Hamish: "If it'll get ye intae her good books, then ah'v got nowt against tha' plan. All in the name o' love, eh wee man?"

Jimmy: "Och hey, you'z a real pal, ye ken tha'?"

Hamish: "Ah ken... an' while yer at it - how aboot we add some coo's blood tae a bit o' oatmeal, make a wee sausagey thing, and ca' that wan a delicacy tae?"

Jimmy: "Nah, let's let thon English dae that."

Hamish: "True, aye. We've got tae gie them something that they think they've actually invented fir themsels."

Meanwhile, in Taiwan:

Beauraucrat 1: "OK, I've got it!"

Beauraucrat 2: "Got what?"

Beauraucrat 1: "I've got a way of making this island seem as unappetising for invaders as possible."

Beauraucrat 2: "And...?"

Beauraucrat 1: "We make something that smells so repugnant and horrid that it causes the nostril hairs to literally singe, curl up, and die."

Beauraucrat 2: "What? We don't wash our feet for a month whilst wearing synthetic fibred socks?"

Beauraucrat 1: "Don't be riduculous, man... no-one's invented synthetic fibres yet - we're still pre-industrial revolution."

Beauraucrat 2: "Sorry. Getting a bit ahead of myself there. (Note to self - must remind myself to invent synthetic fibre socks once the industrial revolution takes off.)"

Beauraucrat 1: "No - I say this will be something that is a million times more offensive to the nasal passages than even the smell of vomit, brewed for a week in the confines of sweaty shoes worn by a rancid, rapidly decomposing cadaver."

Beauraucrat 2: "Why, that would keep the invaders away for sure... what's it going to be called?"

Beauraucrat 1: "I call it... tofu."

Beauraucrat 2: "Tofu? Sounds kinda pleasant and squishy to me. I think we need the brand-managers to get some marketing guys onto that. Let's think of a more... uh... appropriate name."

Beauraucrat 1: "OK, OK... stinky tofu?"

Beauraucrat 2: "Perfect! We'll be left alone for sure."