Yorkies, Aeros & Hob Nobs… OH MY!

I just got back from my “local grocer”:http://www.harmonsgrocery.com/ (the same one that shocked me last year by stocking “rambutan”:http://www.rambutan.com/ in their produce section), and boy, have they done it again. Okay, so it wasn’t quite as unexpected as seeing dark red spiky orbs of pure pleasure, but even still… I discovered the British foods section.

Well, actually, section is a bit of a misnomer, implying at least a full aisle of products. The reality was more along the lines of a portion of one side of an aisle, 3 feet wide by 7 feet tall. But who cares? I was gazing upon food I hadn’t seen in years!

Okay, so I’ll admit I’ve never been to the UK. Though my ancestry traces almost exclusively to the British Isles, I’ve not stepped foot on them. I have, however, lived in Australia, and as some of you might know, they kind of have a bit of a strong tie to the motherland (and its consumable products). It also helps that my brother spent a few years living in England and Wales during my teenage years, and he got me hooked on the weirder little bits of British fat-inducing foods.

I’m still not wild about clotted cream, but there it was on the shelf. HP Sauce! Galaxy chocolate bars! AERO BARS (though, sadly, not the minty variety that I ate with gusto in my Australia days)! Even silly wine gums had me drooling. There were many other names I recognised, chuckled at, and moved passed until I came across a name that causes my salivary glands to kick into heavy production: Hob Nobs. Yes, a simple chocolate digestive. I can’t help it. I love ’em, and it’s not often I can lay my hands on them.

And lay my hands on them I did. And a Yorkie (I am a guy). And a Galaxy Caramel. And some PG Tips (had to balance out the junk food, you know). I was grinning like a fool as I finished my shopping–I almost grabbed some poor older lady and exclaimed, “They have HOB NOBS! Isn’t it wonderful?” but I’m certain this would have lead to a stroke and numerous lawsuits. I was even giddy as I drove to the nearby petrol–excuse me, too much pome talk–GAS station and went to fill up. Then, to my disgust, I found someone had clamped the pump handle in its bay, causing me to unexpectedly spill the gasoline on my car. My furore was only exacerbated when I looked at the final total for my fill up.

“Shit… did they have to import that from England too?”