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Preserving Condiments.


Storing squeezy honey next to barbecue sauce is an accident waiting to happen.

This photo is a waste of web space.
I never used to think they looked alike, but in the dingy light of my food cupboard the similarity is striking. It would only take a momentary lapse in concentration for my mug of redbush tea to end up with a distinctly South American tang, or my plate of chips to taste like a swarm of bees have sicked up on it. I’m all for experimenting with flavour, but there's a limit.

Every time I reach for one or the other, I intend to put it back on a different shelf, but then forget about it. It’s like my subconscious craves living on the edge. The risk of calamity makes it all worthwhile; you should see me on Heroin.

Don’t let it be said that I didn’t have any warning. Only with a foul taste in my mouth will I finally learn my lesson. Then I’ll make one of those foreboding ‘never retrieve a Frisbee from an electrical substation / don’t hold a sparkler without gloves’-style adverts about it..

I’ve just remembered that honey is often in barbecue sauce; I rescind this blog-post.

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