Brits, settle a thing for me.

Most of us prefer to acknowledge where the food comes from. We aren't savages.

Like Brie for example. Or Parmesan. Or Champagne.

We don't call it "creamy salty skin cheese" or "salty cheese" or "disgusting overpriced bollocks - would you pass me a fucking Victoria Bitter, cunt" beverage.
 
French Fries aka Freedom Fries?

Chips weren't invented by the French, but the Belgians.

Chips from a Belgian roadside stall are usually divine but they tend to eat them with mayonnaise...
 
French Fries aka Freedom Fries?

Chips weren't invented by the French, but the Belgians.

Chips from a Belgian roadside stall are usually divine but they tend to eat them with mayonnaise...

Fries are Yank.

Praps not originally, but they definitely are now. McDonald's.
 
excuse me?

we do know what they are called over there and can order them with no issues

but when you fuckers come over here, yall cant name the foods correctly

We can, we just don't. Because we're right and you're wrong.
 
Fries or chips? Who cares? But look the wrong way in UK traffic - and you're dead...
 
we had to take a language and make it better

Better?

Almost every country in the world has its own version of 'English'. Good, better, best? It is all a point of view. What is true is that English adapts infinitely to suit local needs. As it has done throughout the USA. You'all don't speak the same English.
 
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Ask for gravy in a chippy in Glasgow and the same thing happens.

Ask for anything in a chippy in Glasgow?

Are you Rangers or Celtic?

Either is wrong...

PS. A few years back we went into The Tiger's Den football supporters pub in Hull. It was sited where immigrants from Europe had been processed in the 1850s and my wife's great-grandfather had passed through there.

Despite obviously not being local - in fact bloody Southerners - we were treated with courtesy and humour. One of the ancients showed us where the railway line had been where the immigrants' coaches would have unloaded.

We have pleasant memories of that pub and the supporters.

Even earlier we were in North Wales, looking for my maternal grandfather's grave. He was in the churchyard of a long-demolished church. We wanted to ask at the parish church but it was locked. In the graveyard were some young locals drinking cheap cider. We asked them and got clear and concise directions using public houses as landmarks. I think they were surprised to be addressed politely. We found the grave and had a pint in the nearest pub.
 
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