I just got back from my local grocer (the same one that shocked me last year by stocking rambutan in their produce section), and boy, have they done it again. Okay, so it wasn’t quite as unexpected as seeing dark red spiky orbs of pure pleasure, but even still… I discovered the British foods section.
Well, actually, section is a bit of a misnomer, implying at least a full aisle of products. The reality was more along the lines of a portion of one side of an aisle, 3 feet wide by 7 feet tall. But who cares? I was gazing upon food I hadn’t seen in years!
Okay, so I’ll admit I’ve never been to the UK. Though my ancestry traces almost exclusively to the British Isles, I’ve not stepped foot on them. I have, however, lived in Australia, and as some of you might know, they kind of have a bit of a strong tie to the motherland (and its consumable products). It also helps that my brother spent a few years living in England and Wales during my teenage years, and he got me hooked on the weirder little bits of British fat-inducing foods.
I’m still not wild about clotted cream, but there it was on the shelf. HP Sauce! Galaxy chocolate bars! AERO BARS (though, sadly, not the minty variety that I ate with gusto in my Australia days)! Even silly wine gums had me drooling. There were many other names I recognised, chuckled at, and moved passed until I came across a name that causes my salivary glands to kick into heavy production: Hob Nobs. Yes, a simple chocolate digestive. I can’t help it. I love ‘em, and it’s not often I can lay my hands on them.
And lay my hands on them I did. And a Yorkie (I am a guy). And a Galaxy Caramel. And some PG Tips (had to balance out the junk food, you know). I was grinning like a fool as I finished my shopping—I almost grabbed some poor older lady and exclaimed, “They have HOB NOBS! Isn’t it wonderful?” but I’m certain this would have lead to a stroke and numerous lawsuits. I was even giddy as I drove to the nearby petrol—excuse me, too much pome talk—GAS station and went to fill up. Then, to my disgust, I found someone had clamped the pump handle in its bay, causing me to unexpectedly spill the gasoline on my car. My furore was only exacerbated when I looked at the final total for my fill up.
“Shit… did they have to import that from England too?”