Читать книгу Eating for England: The Delights and Eccentricities of the British at Table - Nigel Slater - Страница 16

My father loved a plain digestive, though is it difficult to think of him and the iconic biscuit without conjuring up a picture of him trying to slip an entire, unbroken one into his mouth in one go. I can’t remember him ever actually succeeding, and if he did it was probably something he did in secret.

It is funny how, whether you had them in your kitchen or not, the digestive always manages to taste of ‘home’. It has a unique ability to take you to a safe place, to somewhere you think you remember fondly, even though you may never have even been there. The smell alone, wheaty and sweet with a hint of the hamster’s cage about it, is instantly recognisable as a good place to be.

It has been said that this is one of the great dunking biscuits, but I have to disagree. The digestive is altogether too risky. If ever a biscuit will let you down on the way from mug to mouth it is this one, its open, crumbly nature being just not strong enough to hold a decent amount of liquid before it collapses in your lap. But then, like not using the zebra crossing, some might welcome such risks to inject a bit of danger and excitement into their day.