Crispbread. It’s not bread. And even if it was, nobody wants crisp bread. That is toast. So what they’re selling you is effectively low-fat, cold toast. Mmm.
Crispbread. It’s just a great big cracker. A giant savoury biscuit. But without any salt. So what’s the point?
The good people at Ryvita did once put sugar on a crispbread which I quite liked. But mostly I liked it because it looked like a giant biscuit. Which I enjoyed because it made my hands look dainty. This new craze for miniature food is all very well. Yes it is fun to grasp a mini cheeseburger at a party and pretend to be a giant. But really, you’re a monster. It’s not attractive. Buy giant food. Look petite. Much better.
Once in France I went to a mussel restaurant, (not a muscle restaurant but just imagine that!). And all of the forks were tiny. Especially small to fit into the mussels. It was like using Prince’s cutlery. And because it was a celebration there were photographs and so in all of the photographs I was holding a teeny tiny fork and I looked like some sort of giant-handed monster. It was awful. Now am always photographed with giant crockery and cutlery wherever possible. Even at home I always drink my coffee out of an oversized cup because it makes my hands looks smaller.
Anyway, crispbread. We’ve all seen that Ryvita advert. Where all the ladies in the office sit down for lunch together every day and discuss different things that they can do with their Ryvita. Like put some olives on it. Or maybe some cheese. Or dunk it into some soup. WHAT? Yes, you heard me; she likes to dunk it into her soup. This is because she is on a diet and cannot put bread into the soup or she will die of fat. ‘Mmm’. Says everyone. Soupy crispbread. Wonderful.
Those Ryvita ladies must have much better jobs than me. If the highlight of my day was dipping a savoury piece of cardboard into a bowl of low-fat tomato soup I would accidentally fall down the gap between the train and the platform on purpose on the way into work. I’m sorry, that was overdramatic. But please.
And also, that communal soup dunking they do is very unhygienic.
Another thing. Why are there only women in this crispbread loving office? I work in an office. Men are allowed in too. We have a hellish place called a ‘break out’ room where we can go and eat our lunch and read Take A break magazine or watch Sky News. Or bitch about our colleagues. It’s a little bit like an asylum, but only for an hour a day.
We all go there to eat because we have to. Like a family. The women eat salad in the summer and soup in the winter. The men eat Chinese food and samosas and Subway barbecue baguettes all year round. None of them eat Ryvita. Even the ones who have a packed lunch. If their wife made the packed lunch it’s a salad. They’ll eat it and then have a Chinese takeaway. If their mum made it they’ll eat it and then not have a Chinese because they are afraid of her and should have moved out a long time ago.
One day they will move out and marry a girl who eats crispbread and makes them a packed lunch which they will throw away and eat a Chinese take away instead. Then they will go home and lie about it. This is called love. Until one of them gets fat. And the other one gets unhappy. Then they will both eat crispbread.
Don’t get me started on rice cakes. They’re not even cakes.