Never Had a Crumpet?

It can seem strange that something as basic as breakfast should vary so much across cultures. But the French are boggled by bagels, and Americans would never go for salad before noon, though Israelis happily start the day with a bowl of cucumbers, watermelon, and feta. When the food itself is the same, the way it's served often isn't: my Slovenian homestay family found it extremely bizarre that I liked cold milk on my cereal, as opposed to room temperature.

Even countries that share a native tongue can surprise each other. When my cousin foisted a plate of crumpets on my roommates, they looked suspicious, but accepted, and later told me to "thank her for the...strumpets?" I actually have a hard time comprehending why most Americans have never had a crumpet. The English muffin made it over, so what happened to its pock-marked cousin? I worry that somewhere along the line, an influential American made a fateful mistake: he tried a crumpet without toasting it, spat out the mealy crumbs in disgust, and vowed never to allow the things to be imported to U.S. soil.

You see, crumpets transform magically in the toaster. At room temperature, their texture is, frankly, intolerable, but after a few minutes in the glow of the electric coils their edges crisp up, encasing tender, piping hot insides. They have a tangy taste that goes perfectly with tart jam or slightly salty butter. Anything you spread on top will inevitably seep into the many holes on their surfaces, turning them into something closer to a glaze-soaked tea cake than a boring breakfast toast.

One more thing: after a lot of thought, I've come to the conclusion that crumpets would not, in fact, be improved by the American tradition of putting peanut butter on everything. Their subtle sourdough taste would be completely overpowered by something so rich. But to the English people smirking right now: just wait and see what I can do with Hobnobs.