There is some discussion about the public's understanding of nutrition and which of two rival labelling systems will help them understand the complexities and subtleties of organic chemical compounds, organic farming and 'organs may have come from mechanically reclaimed meat'. We know nothing about these things and until nutrition in schools is better, the supermarkets stop asking for straight cucumbers and our chickens can actually stand on their feet to 'free-range' we are fecked on this anyway. I challenge any labelling system in the land to say 'this chicken is medium fat, low in salt but was fucking miserable its entire 6 month life'. Then we might see a change in dietary habits.
I feel we are missing a trick here. The government should demand that serving suggestions make things clearer. Oven chips are for mums with 2 or more children, or anyone who regularly has cause to wonder if their teenage offspring could possibly be trusted with a deep fat fryer. Tesco value burger buns are for anyone who regularly takes hoards of cub scouts on camp. Individual frozen steam packs of rice can just have my face on, as I'm sure I buy more of them than is good for me. You get the idea.
If you have a laughing dinner party of 6 slightly portly couples all of retirement age, complete with bingo wings, 'festive' hats, stretchy twinsets and smart Christmas jumpers, on a jumbo cream trifle and that *still* doesn't deter the single, white female (recently ditched) from buying it, then I'm not sure a traffic light coloured pie-chart with a fold out venn diagram of other likely life candidates for this (over-sugared, over-coloured, empty-caloried) dessert is going to put her off either. Clearly, she needs some saturated fat with raspberry ripple effect sauce and she needs it before Desperate Housewives starts.
In Making The Cat Laugh, Lynne Truss discusses her habit of recreating serving suggestions going so far as to track down a red-and-white checked tablecloth on which to serve her 'authentically Italian' frozen pizza. I noted today that the 'Tesco Finest All-Butter' croissants my husband has bought for breakfast (no doubt convinced they are a health food and/or will impress me into some sort of before midday bedroom activity that doesn't involve me quietly snoring with my head under a pillow (not likely on either count)) has the serving suggestion 'delicious served warm with finest conserve'.
Now, this is how to accutely miss your audience. Your audience for 'Tesco Finest All-Butter' croissaints is not a couple sat on a sunny Sunday morning in light cotton pyjamas, on a balcony overlooking the sea doubtless with a large pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, fresh coffee, casting an eye of the papers with a jar of finest preserve readily to hand. It is men from about the age of 22-45 who still believe that croissants bought from the Tesco Metro before the new squeeze/ new girlfriend/ new wife / new mother is up means she will be fooled into thinking she is part of a couple sat on a Sunday morning in light cotton ... well, you get the picture ... and she will suddenly throw off the imaginary light cotton pyjamas flapping in a light breeze (actually more likely to be tartan with teddy on them somewhere and thicker than a nun's cassock) to have sexual intercourse with the bringer of croissants. Really the pictorial serving suggestion should be croissants on a plate, a cheap valentines card, and a man looking hopeful.
If said male was to read the current serving suggestion, 'delicious served warm with finest conserve', I forsee only confusion (or giving up and proffering a box of pop tarts (under my new scheme of accurate serving suggestions on the box, depiction of hungover first years in a student kitchen)). Obstacle one, he has to warm the croissants without setting off the fire-alarm. Obstacle two, he then has to find some 'finest conserve' in a kitchen cupboard consisting of marmite, Robinson's shredless, the last scrapings of some honey and a tin of golden syrup that no-one can now prise the lid off of but isn't thrown out because it's three-quarters full.
Obstacle three is not immediately obvious to the eye. It is that, if he ever wants her to embrace the croissant trick and give in to morning sex again, he has to do all this without leaving the kitchen looking like -well- like a bloke who doesn't often prepare crossaints opened all the cupboards and left knives covered in honey glued to the surfaces. This is all the more confusing because while she was new squeeze / new girlfriend this wouldnt have been a problem (or at least, wouldn't have been her problem) but as soon as they co-habit in some form would mean a very frosty reception by lunchtime and problem ruin most of Sunday.
In conclusion, along with picture of hopeful bloke, the serving suggestion should be 'will be alright if you serve on a tray (she keeps one in the cupboard under the stairs), a carnation nicked from the garage would be a nice touch, and a glass of orange juice is essential (see chilled section). Serve with some jam. And if she complains about the fat content it was never going to be your morning.'
