I’m not sure of the territorial extent of this one. I don’t think it’s even pan-northern and may even be limited to Tyneside. So first let me explain.
A saveloy is an uber-processed sausage of some sort. Its texture is suspiciously smooth but it comes wrapped in a peelable skin. The monopoly vendor - at least so far as I’m aware - is Dickson’s, half way between a butcher and a deli. They must have a Royal Warrant or something. You can buy them to take away or to eat there and then, usually as a sandwich. When I was a kid, you would just be handed the saveloy wrapped in a piece of kitchen roll, to nibble on like a more sophisticated lolly.
As a fully grown tax-paying citizen, however, the lady will ask you, rhythmic as a gatling gun, “pease pudding, stuffing, mustard” and you must know to which parts of this holy trinity you subscribe doctrinally (everything for me please). Then the apogee: “you wannit dipped, pet?”. If you assent, as you should, the top half of the soft white bun is dipped in what might for convenience be called “gravy” but I understand is in truth an altogether fattier, saltier, more sacred liqueur of oil, pig juice and gravy. Yes is the only acceptable answer, even if it leads inevitably to the the disintegration of the structural integrity of the thing. It’s really magic, messy stuff. Filling too.
If anyone has heard of them being sold elsewhere than on Tyneside please let me know, that I might, King Herod-like, go and pay a visit myself.
Anyway, here is an ode I have written to the saveloy dip.
Saveloy dip within my grip,
Melting gravy, stuffing, mustard,
Microwaved pease pudding please
It’s the only way, trust us.
I once was a boy and new to the joy,
That salty pork products can hold,
Holding mam’s hand I was perfectly grand,
With a sausage in kitchen roll.
But now I’m a man with a taste for fine scran,
My advice for a true Tyneside trip?
There’s nothing can quite equal a bite,
Of a South Shields saveloy dip.
Saveloy dips. I love saveloy dips.