miércoles, 12 de febrero de 2014


Whenever an exotic rarity is available at the nearest Lidl supermarket for a limited period of time, I tend to go for it.
I do still remember that, six or seven years ago, I had my first serving of peanut butter in a lifetime. Until then, I had only heard of the shiny cream on screen, and read about it in books. Good Lord, what did it taste like! The result: a pathological addiction, followed by a long period of abstinence after it was taken away from Lidl.
Last autumn, it was Bavarian mustard, golden and sweet and ostensibly without an equal.
This winter, I have gone for a more Victorian English treat.
I have known mince pies and their fruity filling as long as I have known peanut butter, and from the same sources to be more exact. Though mincemeat may be out of season in the UK in February, I do not really care that much. What I care for is being in possession of a one-litre glass jar of the spicy, fruity, fleshy treat.
Tomorrow in the morning, my baptism of mincemeat will take place. I will have it with warm milk and ginger snaps, and then comment on the experience in this very blog.

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