The All-mighty Spud

British people love their potatoes. Mash, hash browns, jacket potatoes, chips, fries, crisps, for every single meal or every single snack, practically every single day there are potatoes and more potatoes. I thought Americans were bad but this is almost a religion. If it weren't for the historical evidence I would say that the great potato famine was caused by the English stealing all the Irish potatoes. Needless to say it's been nigh on miraculous I have made it this long in England without having the all-mighty spud à la cheese and beans.
When I first saw people gorging on jacket potatoes smothered with redish beans and white cheese I sat aghast thinking "My God! What are you doing to that baked potato?" Only, this isn't a baked potato. It's a jacket potato, and as I sat there for the first time looking at it with its brown waistcoat all smothered in a pool of beans it called to me. "Eat me," it said. And as I took the first bite I asked myself, "why hadn't I tried this earlier? Why had I wasted my time with warm paninis who could only wish to be all that this mere potato was?" It was fluffy and the cheese was gooey and sharp and tangy and the beans were runny and tomatoey, and I inhaled that potato as if it were my first and last. I loved that potato so much I essentially power-walked to the library so that I could write my experience down. A new world has opened up to me: little jackets dancing about with not only cheese and beans, but tuna and mayo, and chicken and mayo, and any other thing the English could possibly put on the white fluffy little bastards.