One of the more durable misconceptions among travelers is that it isn’t possible to get a good meal in Britain. This simply isn’t true. I know. I’ve lived here almost 20 years and I recently had one.

I’m only joking, of course. I love British food, and will not hear a word against it. The British, after all, are responsible not only for possibly the single finest foodstuff ever invented (the chocolate digestive biscuit, a sort of British equivalent to the Oreo cookie), but also countless other wonderful and distinctive gustatory delights: Yorkshire pudding, hot cross buns, sherry trifle, crumpets, scones, mince pies, plum pudding, toasted teacakes, veal-and-ham pie, Lancashire hot pot, a galaxy of noble cheeses like Stilton, Wensleydale, and the obscure but delectable Dorset blue vinney, not to mention the ever-reliable cheddar and double Gloucester, and countless other scrumptious comestibles that have made me the indolent and contented lump I am.

Admittedly, to the unaccustomed stomach, some British food can take a little getting used to. Actually, it can take a lot of getting used to, and some of it you would never get used to at all.

In almost every British pantry you will find a jar of something called Marmite, a yeast extract that has the consistency and smell of an industrial lubricant. You spread it on toast or crackers. I have never met a foreigner living in Britain who could stand the stuff (and I make it a point to ask). The British, it goes without saying, adore it. Nor have I yet found a foreigner (or come to that many English people) able to muster any real enthusiasm for haggis, the national dish of Scotland. A haggis is a bloated sausage stuffed with oatmeal and minced sheep’s heart. The most remarkable thing about it is that it looks and tastes even worse that it sounds. The Scots eat haggis in huge quantities on New Year’s eve and then, I can only presume, spend the rest of the year feeling grateful that December 31st comes but once a year.

But apart from these and a few other curiosities like kippers (a kind of shoe insole masquerading as an edible fish) and beef-flavored potato chips, British food is not nearly as eccentric or dismaying as it is sometimes made out to be. Often it is outstanding. The traditional British breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausages, fried bread, cups of tea, and a rack of toast remains eminently hearty and satisfying, if not notably healthful. The invariable Sunday lunch of roast potatoes and steaming vegetables is one of England’s glories. And the traditional afternoon tea of scones and clotted cream, delicate sandwiches, and agreeable little cakes is a standing rebuke to those who contend that British cuisine never rises beyond a pallid blandness.

Then how, with all this good food about, are we to account for the unshakably dire reputation of British cuisine?

Well, first there is the problem of the names. Even when it is quite delicious, British food often sounds frankly silly. Just consider the names of some classic British dishes: bubble and squeak, toad in the hole, brown Windsor soup, gooseberry fool, bangers and mash, flannel cakes, faggots in gravy. No one, as far as I can tell, has ever satisfactorily explained why the British insist on endowing their food with such strange and arresting names, any more than anyone has explained why they give their towns names like Great Snoring and Chew Magna, or why they make their judges wear little mops on their heads. It is just one of those oddly British things that remains a mystery to foreigners.

The upshot is that it is hard to take seriously the culinary habits of a nation whose noblest dishes bear names like bubble and squeak and toad in the hole. (For the record, bubble and squeak is leftover cabbage and potatoes fried together, toad in the hole is sausages baked in batter, and both are delicious.) If the British had given these dishes respectable-sounding names like, say, “vegetables Wellington” or “seasoned pork cartridges en croute,” people would be clamoring for them and no one would joke about British cooking.

To understand British cuisine you should know that the British have never been terribly comfortable around food. (Sensual pleasures of all types make them uneasy; I think it has something to do with all those years spent under Queen Victoria.) Unlike the Italians, for whom every meal is a joyous and boisterous occasion, or the French, for whom dining is a religion, to the British eating has always had the air of a necessary duty, something to be gotten though without fuss or emotion, like jury service or a visit to the dentist.