There comes a time in a man’s life when he must settle down and turn his thoughts to biscuits, biscuits that he has known and loved. Rather than focus on a single biscuit, this post is a melange of broken-biscuit memories. Recalled in much the same way that the smell of madeleines (a posh French word for biscuits) brought back memories to Marcel Proust.
Chez Happymouffe and SomeBeans the ginger nut lies in the uneasy ground between animal and human food, much like peanuts for the birds*, Happymouffe maintains they are “horse biscuits” because they were the favoured food of her ponies. SomeBeans says “nom nom nom” (I’m no good at this phonetic stuff – that’s the sound of me eating the ginger nuts).
Cheddars are surely the crack-cocaine of the biscuit world? Who amongst us has not taken “just one” of the little fat / salt / industrial cheese flavour bombs and twenty minutes later found themselves holding an empty packet feeling a strange mixture of satiety and nausea.
One of my abiding memories of my first few weeks at university (Bristol – where I met Happymouffe eating a daffodil and wearing a DJ), was the currency of the hobnob. Hobnobs were new at the time, and certainly the classiest sort of biscuit readily available to students; people who had hobnobs were people of quality.
*the editor asks me, for reasons of ‘ealth and safety, to state quite clearly here that people SHOULD NOT eat the peanuts for the birds: they’ll get worms and probably hallucinate a cause de the aflotoxins.
Ian Hopkinson (Somebeans/@smallcasserole)