Did you ever cut open a brown scone, butter it and reach for the marmalade only to find the orange spread you ladle on is Apricot jam masquerading as marmalade?
The illogical anger as your taste buds struggle and yearn for the zest and buzz of marmalade is matched only by the disappointment that your breakfast on your breakaway has been partially spoiled. The anticipation of the perfect breakfast scone has been unfulfilled and you look around for someone to blame.
How could anyone think the bland smoothness of apricot would fool me? Who actually made the decision to substitute the real thing with an inadequate replacement. Better by far to say ‘We do not have marmalade’ than to lead one down or up the garden path and lull one into a false sense of consumable confiture.
It is actually not jam at all or jelly as they call it in the US. The real thing was sliced in a manual slicer attached vice like to the kitchen table Seville oranges came in once a year and the annual ritual would rotate between the Rayburn where the slices would bob around in the preserving pan, pounds of sugar added until it was decanted into sterilised Jam jars and oh the smell!
In times of need when the real thing was all eaten, mother would make it out of a tin . Delicious ! Only when all else failed did we buy a pot of marmalade.
The sausages are eaten, the second cup of coffee is poured but its all gone up in a puff of smoke.
Is it worth talking to the waitress? Will this only serve to fuel the anger, underlining the unfortunate start to the day.
Or does one just bottle it up and buy ones one jar of the real stuff at the local shop.
Did you not know that ‘I was a morning grouch – until I discovered Little Chip marmalade ‘. One of the best pieces of advertising ever.
So remember- serving Apricot Jam can be responsible for morning grouches all over the world.