Well, you see, it was like this. After depositing a goodly proportion of my family onto the docks at Southampton, I proceeded to spend the rest of the weekend at my pals' remote rural idyll in Darkest Dorset. I was told that for our Sunday lunch dessert, and as a treat for behaving myself, there would be rhubarb crumble with, wait for it, Bird's Custard. This was a nod to my O.B.E. (blogs passim: Old Brand Excess) where life is enriched by certain pantry staples. I refrained from asking to see the tricolour packaging, but as the moment drew near and I adjusted my serviette tucked into my shirt collar, Mrs. Pal appeared at the dining room door and quietly mumbled that she'd just realised that there was in fact no Bird's Custard in the Pal Pantry. A silence descended over the table, just the sound of a blackbird in the privet hedge coming in from the open window. "But I have got this!". The above receptacle was deposited in front of me. I can't remember the last time I had condensed milk, but I have to say it was a very evocative (and sinfully sweet) accompaniment to the delicious rhubarb. For the technically minded, the lighting rig was two Maglite torches held by my hosts, and the drip of milk echoing the printed version was entirely accidental. Honest.
11 comments:
Always worth keeping a tin of Carnation up your sleeve, for when the hordes descend from Leicestershire. To be kept alongside the golden syrup.
Really Mr.A, you can't be left alone for five minutes without some sort of self-assault on your delicate system. Firstly you were gorging on Asparagus and its attendant killer, butter. Now you're swilling down condensed milk of the most damaging kind...there is no hope. Shame about the custard though.
Be careful with that custard, Eugene.
As a child conni onni(?) butties kept my mother quiet during the may blitz in liverpool...god bless carnation.
About a year ago I had a Carnation moment (and no, it's not like I crashed my yoghurt truck) when I met a chap who works for Constellation, a huge Yank booze company with a big UK operation. We got talking about brands (yawn) and I started on about old kit like Cherry B, Babycham and Pony and "where are they now?" was the gist of my dull enquiry. "Where are they now?" he replied, "they're in Scotland and the north of England, that"s where! We still make 'em...and how!" Sorry to be so regionalist, but it just goes to show.
I once bought a Babycham in a filthy pub in Ilkeston about '79 - did the trick
And for ten points Ron or Diplo- where in Somerset was Babycham made? The first time I'd ever heard of it was reading it on the label of the single bottle my father allowed my mother to drink at Christmas.
Shepton I seem to recall - I think they used the Mallet to stopper the bottles.
I knew you'd be first. Correct of course, my son. And whilst we're on about Old Brands, do they still do that Heinz Salad Spread that looks like sick?
If not I've a half-full one dated 1979 at the back of the pantry.
I'd have been in with Shepton but I have had the Intrepid Explorer Savage here, working his steady way through my wine cellar.
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