Peel the biscuit in half, eat the drier side, the one without the chocolate cream stuck to it. Then nibble at the tastier chocolate cream side. Two biscuits were never enough. If I could eat a bowl of that Bourbon biscuit filling I would.
My nan used to say that I would turn into a Bourbon biscuit because of how many I ate. But she had an obscure view on body image, so in hindsight I shouldn’t have taken her comments or critique seriously.
Leftover mince from my mum’s bolognese. Sometimes she would cook a batch of the bolognese mince so that my nan could just reheat it for us when she cooked us dinner. It was served with overcooked mashed potatoes, the potatoes boiled until they crumbled. It was then mashed, dry. No milk or butter, my nan hated any dairy products. Peas on the side. My brother and I would layer them up; potato, mince then peas sprinkled on top, and call it a ‘pie’. It somehow made it much more appetising.
the ice-cream machine at pizza hut
Somebody’s birthday party, we were teenagers that were so chuffed to be dining out on our own, like a real girl’s night out. I had stuffed my money in my bra (I had seen somebody do it on TV). Managed to lose £20 (don’t ask me how – the only possible answer I have was that my bee-sting boobs were too small for whatever garish “grown-up” bra I was wearing).
The ice-cream machine was American elegance, a buffet of comfort for hormonal teenagers. I took part in an ice-cream eating competition that evening, challenged by other friends at the table to eat as much ice-cream as I could in order to win a chocolate eclair. I think the birthday girl and I managed to demolish three highly-piled ice-cream bowls each, and so both were victorious (either that or, we both won a chocolate eclair because there were two in the pack from Sainsbury’s). We ate them on a bench on the high street, and I laughed so hard that the whipped cream filling managed to shoot out of my nose (again, don’t ask how).
I bunked off school a lot during Sixth Form. My parents would drop me off around the front of the school, in-between the tree-lined, ultra manicured part of my hometown. Mansions modern and old in perfect lines with pristine gardens and shiny cars. I would walk through the outdoor path of the school, past blocks of classrooms, and out the side gate parallel to the art department.
Down the road, through the town, and up a long, steady hill. Around 45 minutes of walking to my best friend’s house, in which she was skiving from college or had quit altogether, and we would spend our school day watching Harry Potter movies, random Youtube videos, and of course, ordering two large Domino’s pizzas and a tub of Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream. This was a weekly thing at one point, became a main expense that came out of my weekly wages from my Saturday job. Worth it though, even if most of the ice-cream ended up melting and inedible.
Or a fancy cheese sandwich with ham. Not ham-ham though, proscuitto was our preferred choice. We watched the movie Chef and how he made these god-damn beautiful sandwiches, so we had to try it for ourselves. Easy enough to do. Plenty of butter, cheese cut into medium-thin slices, bread, proscuitto if you want it.
As time went on we skipped the fancy ham (it’s expensive). Somewhat a symbol of the start of a relationship; you go all out and do special things fairly often, you spare no expense, but after a while you don’t necessarily need those extra treats, or maybe you don’t have the energy for them, I dunno.
I fried a few of these bad boys up for a friend of mine, it was the last time I saw her. I was planning to move away and things between us had become awkward. I still think about her though sometimes.