On Bloomsday
So the mutton kidney, which has assumed totemic importance as the symbol of Joyceana on Bloomsday, mechanically reproducing the squeamish disgust at offal as a lower-middle-class food that Joyce clearly meant to provoke and perhaps neutralise (or satirise), is not even the authentic item of Bloom’s meal. Besides which, before eating or even preparing it has to be physically purchased, as “his hand accepted the moist tender gland and slid it into a side pocket” - not something I’d imagine many Joyceans would do with their fancy dress linen suits.
A couple of things I wrote last year about Bloomsday breakfasts which I think were rather good and capture some of my ambivalent relationship with the celebration.
I’m a Bloomsday Breakfast #Truther
