Sunday shortie.

I realise that buying a uterus is not very high up on most people’s bucket lists. But if you want one, Cambridge is a good start point.

The city is awash with some fearsomely good oriental supermarkets. Every other corner shop will be Chinese, or Korean, or Malaysian, or Indonesian. It’s fabulous for that.

In the good old days when I used to do a lot of Chinese cooking, Cambridge was my first port of call to get what I needed. My mate Mr Hong, down Mill Road, if I wanted something, he’d point me in the right direction. He was also terribly impressed I had never, ever, cooked sweet’n’sour. He was a bit of a purist, and despised this fake Cantonese monstrosity.

I was knocking around in his delightfully eccentric shop one day, just rummaging, looking for inspiration. Some things I genuinely had no fucking idea about. Not a fucking clue.

But even I knew what a cow’s uterus was/is. It does not take genius level IQ to work that out. And my mate Mr Hong had an entire freezer full of them. I rather admired him for that. There’s an old saying, ‘The Chinese will eat anything with four legs, apart from a chair, and anything with wings apart from an aeroplane.’ Yeah, they will. I spent a month in China. You eat what you get.

There’s no inherent reason not to eat a uterus, is there? It’s just a bunch of muscle. If you eat meat (I don’t any longer, but I used to), why is the very very muscular uterus a no-go zone? I’ve eaten some weird stuff in my time, some very weird stuff. Draw the line at uterus? Why?

Without going into graphic detail, I’ve eaten some living human ones in my time. Am I going to get offended by a freezer full of dead cows’ ones? No.

I do draw the line at eating your child’s placenta. There are entire cookbooks on how to serve that delicacy.