Just have your cake and hush up

I’ve never really felt a part of Britain. I am in no way patriotic, but at the same time, I would hardly call myself a turncoat.

As far as I understand ‘Britishness’ (answers on the back of a postcard please), it does nothing for me. But ‘nothing’ works both ways: nothing in the sense that no switches have been flicked, no sparks have been sent flying. But also ‘nothing’ in the sense that, for all that Britishness is (or isn’t), it doesn’t bother me to be around it. And so I continue to live perfectly happily amongst the hubbub of Britishness. Perhaps muted, respectful, measured ‘murmur’ is more apt.

There are, however, some habits that completely bamboozle me.

1) The inability to omit the weather as a topic of conversation with all and sundry.
2) The quasi-religious ardour with which queues are formed, yet, by and large, the inability to emotionally compute foreigners’ disregard for queuing.
3) The displeasure and grumbling that accompanies having to pay for an art exhibition.
4) The ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ Tourettes syndrome.
5) The apology given by a purchaser when pointing out to a seller that their product is faulty.
6) That stale bread soaked in milk with peppercorns and an onion constitutes a ‘sauce’ worthy of the largest, more celebrated meal in the calendar.
7) That the largest, most celebrated meal in the calendar is a roast, a meal which many households partake of every Sunday.
8) That ‘gastropubs’ have hoodwinked the nation into believing that their food is of a high enough standard that warrants the grossly inflated prices attached to their menus.
9) That, if we are to believe their proclamations, Costa is the nation’s favourite coffee shop.

I could go on, but I shall get to the point of this blog. A habit that bamboozles me more than JLS’s fame:

Dunking biscuits in tea.

Don’t recoil in horror. It’s odd. Not me being bamboozled, but you (whoever you dunkers are) intentionally making something that was once crunchy soggy. Why would you do that to anything?

A very British biscuit: understated and controlled but undeniably enjoyable.

Take the humble Custard Cream. Whilst it has more pizazz than a Rich Tea, it doesn’t flaunt it with gaudy packaging, an outrageously sized product or an over-embellished taste: there is a modest quantity of plain biscuit and a smathering of vanilla ‘buttercream’. (I think I just coined a new word there. A cross between ‘slathering’ and ‘smear’. Just call me Will.). This buttercream is no love child of The Hummingbird’s tooth-decayingly rich hell-paste. It is a buttercream from decades ago, somewhat artificial, but not so much as to make you fear for your heart after eating it. There is a crunch, crumble and smooth, all in one bite.

The very picture of peaceful harmony.

And now take a cup of tea – be it Earl Grey, English Breakfast, Green, Peppermint, Fennel, or Jasmine – whatever gets your bud blooming. Within your cup lie the Powers of Restoration, perhaps girdling your loins against an onslaught from Excel, or maybe soothing the toothache caused by an inimitably unproductive meeting - sup and thou shalt feel its balm. It is warming, it is hydrating, it is smooth.

Death by dunking.
R.I.P. Custard.

And now, pray tell, what madman decided that asphyxiating our poor Custard Cream beneath the hot swathes of tea was a beneficial idea for all parties involved: me, the C-C and the tea?!!?!

1) It renders the previously crumbly, crunchy and biscuity biscuit soggy, flaccid and decayed. There is a reason that we often use the adjective ‘biscuity’ to describe something crumbly and nibbly. (I think I made up another word there, didn’t I? Work with me here.)
2) It renders the tea all murky and funny-tasting. Who wants wet, pappy bits of biscuit floating in your tea, or, worse still, lurking at the bottom for when you sup in those precious last dregs and THWACK – crumbs have gone the wrong way down your throat and now you’re choking like a seal at your desk. Ideal.

I have yet to see someone submerge with glee a Tuc biscuit, handful of cereal flakes or lump of cake in their tea, so why on earth do they feel the need to drown biscuits?

Innards dribbling and oozing, a biscuit waning and crying "why?? WHYYYYY???"

I will fully admit that I am overly addicted to crunch – I don’t crave specific food items, I crave textures and colours. Red and green are favourites, and, 80% of the time it is a need for crunch, 20% of the time a need for pap, when I have red-carded the world.

That being said, however, I would never voluntarily make something pappy that was once crunchy. Nor would I attempt to make something ‘textured’ that was once lustrous. No, no, no. It would be like making a piece of toast or taking a beautiful flaky, crisp tart and leaving them in a sea of milk. Or intentionally boiling a crème anglaise until it curdles.

WRONG. Effort (to a greater or lesser extent) has gone in to making those items crunchy and crispy, or smooth and flowing. If you wanted a soft piece of toast, just eat bread, and if you fancied a soggy-bottomed tart, order one in Patisserie Valerie. They could probably provide you with the lumpy crème anglaise too. And, if you really wanted an uncrunchy biscuit, have some cake.