HIGH prices of fancy foreign muck post-Brexit means it’s time for Brits to return to our world-beating condiments. Proud patriot Roy Hobbs explains:
Colman’s English Mustard
The name tells you everything you need to know – ENGLISH mustard, not poncy French Dijon crap. Granted it burns your palate to buggery and there’s always twice as much left on the plate than you’ve actually eaten, but the glow of national pride more than makes up for that.
Foreigners wouldn’t have the culinary imagination to create a watery sauce of molasses, vinegar and anchovies, named after a great English city I think is in the Midlands. Lasts for ages so is great value – I’ve still got a bottle in the kitchen from 2003.
As British as shit summers and supermarket panic-buying, ketchup goes with absolutely everything, from chips to loads of other things. And tomatoes obviously all come from Britain because Tom next door grows them in his greenhouse. That’s cast-iron proof to me.
I’ll admit I haven’t got a clue what’s in salad cream but it’s probably mayonnaise, sugar and some custard for colour. Nothing brings out the delicate flavour of an English summer salad like smothering it in this deliciously gloopy, additive-laden goo. And mayonnaise might sound French but I asked a Frenchman and he wouldn’t touch this shit.
Invented by our great entrepreneur Richard Branston, the first Brit in space, I’ve never actually tried this one but I don’t have to to know that it’s bloody great and better than chilli and garlic and that bollocks. I bet there’s still plenty of this on the shelves.
Nothing epitomises the peak of British culinary perfection like Marmite. Made of beer leftovers and saltier than a lungful of seawater, spread on toast it’s Britain on a plate. We should make every immigrant eat this at customs and if they so much as pull a face they’re out.