They were in a small plastic bag and I guarded them with my life. Breaktime or feast as it was known was a bunfight and keeping hold of your mid-morning snack was vital.Get your own feast, the four-year-old me would say to any pushy boy and wheedling girl who tried to get me to part with my precious treasure.
I wonder if it’s because I had to guard them so fiercely that my love for Rich Tea biscuits has remained for my whole life. They’re not a glamorous biscuit. They have nothing of the unctuous silkiness of an orange Club or the indulgent tang of a Jaffa Cake. Eaten alone they are pedestrian, dry, the sort of biscuit you would pass over in the tin for a chocolate digestive or, at the very least, a shortbread finger.
I’m not sure what possessed my mother back in the early 70s to first reach for the butter knife before handing me and my brother our biscuit elevenses, but who knows how genius begins? Because when you spread a Rich Tea biscuit with butter and add another Rich Tea on top, then you enter completely different territory. The mundane becomes heavenly your teeth crunching through a crisp layer to find a cool, salty creaminess lurking inside. This, my friends, is the Rich Tea Stacker.
Since those early days in the playground, I’ve tried to bring bit of myself to the Rich Tea Stacker, to make it my own. There was a brief flirtation at university with the Triple Stacker de trop, I decided in the end and then that regrettable Digestive Stacker episode in my mid 20s too buttery. I soon came to my senses: you can’t improve on the Rich Tea Stacker. Don’t mess with perfection.
Kindly submitted by Alex Mitchell (@alexmitchelleg)
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