Is it all a load of tripe?

Sue de Groot on the fact that there are an offal lot of idioms

One of the great mysteries of the modern world (apart from the mystifying appeal of a game where your phone searches for imaginary creatures in real locations) is tripe.

Tripe — the appetising dish made from the stomach of a ruminant — has been around since the 14th century. No mystery there. People eat all sorts of things, and perhaps the body part that once did the digesting is more digestible than the other bits.

What is strange, however, is how tripe came to be associated with worthless, foolish or offensive nonsense. As in “what a load of tripe you are talking”.

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This expression caught on near the end of the 19th century among English speakers who at the time were still largely united in their enjoyment of boiled stomach.

If they had come to loathe stews made of animal innards, it would be easier to understand why they turned against tripe. But they still loved eating it, so why use it to describe balderdash? Why not refer to idiocy as cake, beer or pizza? Or kumquats?

“Balderdash”, incidentally, is a word that in the late 16th century referred to bottles of beer, milk and wine all jumbled up together. From a disorganised load of liquids, it came to mean “a senseless jumble of words”.

Balderdash fell out of favour when tripe took over. As far as I can tell, only the English treat offal with such disrespect. The Italians do not dismiss silliness as trippa, nor do the Xhosas demean ulusu by making it double as an insult.

(There is the small matter of poppycock, a word of Dutch origin that marries porridge to excrement, but it’s still not tripe.)

“Hogwash” is another story. In the 15th century it was exactly what it sounds like: a sloppy mess fed to pigs. Hogwash evolved into cheap beer and then bad writing — what we might also call a sloppy mess, or twaddle or  tommyrot.

The origins of “twaddle” are  unknown. “Tommyrot”, however, is perfectly clear: it is nothing more than a “tommy” (a simple-minded fellow, also “tomfool”) who is talking rot.

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Very few English expressions are as logical as hogwash and tommyrot. Take the phenomenon of flying pigs, for instance: instead of telling someone they are talking tripe, you could express your contempt by saying: “Yes, and pigs might fly.” 

Swine flew notwithstanding, there is no clear reason why pigs were singled out as the best example of a non-flying animal. Why not elephants? Or platypuses?

Other languages have their own colourful idioms for foolishness. A Russian who suspects you are spouting garbage will accuse you of hanging noodles on his ears. This I learnt from amateur idiomologist Jag Bhalla, who points out on his word blog that the original meaning of  “idiot” was someone not interested in public affairs.

In his book, I’m Not Hanging Noodles on your Ears, Bhalla also shares the strange Spanish idiom “when snakes wore vests” (meaning a long time ago) and the Russian expression “when the crayfish sings on the mountain”, which means never but is far more fun than the English “when hell freezes over”.

But back to noodles. The noodle is more than a vital part of chow mein and a slang word for “head” (originally “noddle”). The Online Etymology Dictionary tells us that in the 1750s “noodle” was an insult for someone who talked a lot of tripe, or had tripe for brains.

It is still in use today, but “don’t be such a noodle” now has more affectionate overtones, describing a person who is not entirely stupid but occasionally does or says silly things. Which makes most of us noodles, doesn’t it? Which is fine. I like noodles. But I still think tripe has been unfairly treated.

E-mail your observations on words and language to degroots@sundaytimes.co.za

Follow Sue on Twitter @deGrootS1