COLUMN: March 7, 2013

WE have run out of food. I am not talking about an Old Mother Hubbard situation, I just mean that all the food has now been invented.

All we are doing is stalling for time until the scientists finally stop divving about on BBC2 in front of lavishly filmed vistas and get around to inventing magic food pills.

In the absence of actual innovation, the manufacturers of our food are playing around with already existing grub and it’s about time they stopped.

It all started with the Chunky Kit-Kat. The Kit-Kat was a perfectly decent bit of confectionery. Yes, it didn’t stand up to heat, and it was always a little frustrating if it had been just that bit too close to your cup of tea, meaning that half the chocolate got stuck to the foil, but that was part of the hedonistic thrill.

And we even had a choice regarding the size of our wafer-based chocolate treat. If you were some sort of miserable vinegar-faced puritan, or a catwalk model, you could have the two-fingered variety, while normal people could opt for a proper four-fingered Kit-Kat. That was all the choice we needed.

But then some complete idiot decided that what we really needed was a gigantic Kit-Kat, and somehow managed to smuggle that idea past a meeting, and now it’s Kit-Kat anarchy. There are too many flavours and varieties and I am worried that one day there will be a beef Kit-Kat, and what if it isn’t beef, but it’s horse?

And other manufacturers have looked at the terrifying array of Kit-Kattery and decided they would do the same.

I saw a particular chocolate bar on sale today being advertised on the grounds that it had a new shape. That is a little like an off-licence boasting that it is “Under New Management.”

What sort of person is tempted to buy a chocolate bar based on the fact that the shape of the individual chunks has changed? It is hard to imagine, but I will have a go…

CHEZ CHARLES AND EDDIE. (Charles and Eddie are a gay couple, but their sexuality is not an issue in this context. I am just being modern.)
CHARLES: Edwardo, I have just popped to the shops and picked you up a treat.
EDDIE: I wish you wouldn’t call me Edwardo just because we are now gay married. What is the treat?
CHARLES: It is a Fruit & Nut bar, of the sort Frank Muir used to advertise.
EDDIE: Ugh! I cannot believe you have done this to me. I want a gay divorce.
CHARLES: But wait, Edwar… Eddie. Hear me out. I wouldn’t inflict a traditional Fruit & Nut bar upon you. This one is new, and has a curved aspect to its individual pieces, rather then the harsh lines of memory.
EDDIE: Hand it over immediately. I have been waiting even longer for a lozenge-shaped chunk than I have for equal marriage under the law. Then rush back to the shop and buy ALL the Fruit & Nuts. I must have them all.
CHARLES: You really are very high-maintenance, aren’t you?

But all of this nonsense is over-shadowed by the recent faffery surrounding pizzas, and I think we have finally reached the tipping point.

It started with the stuffed crust pizza. I don’t mind a stuffed crust pizza. It is just a way of putting more cheese on a pizza. Who could object to that? If you don’t like cheese on your pizza, you don’t like pizza, so it’s none of your business.

But what we did not realise was that the stuffed crust pizza was the Chunky Kit-Kat moment for pizzas. And it led to the abomination I experienced a few nights ago.

I returned from work to find pizza had been bought for dinner. You don’t need to know why. But I slipped open the lid, noted the tell-tale bulging rim of a stuffed crust pepperoni pizza and lifted a slice to my mouth. I bit into the crust…

It was not cheese. Some imbecile had decided that it was perfectly all right to stuff the crust with hotdog sausages smeared with American mustard, and nobody had the intelligence or the gumption to stop him.

This is how the Roman Empire ended. It is just a matter of months, possibly weeks, before Western Civilisation crumbles. And then we really will run out of food.

And it’s all Professor Brian Cox’s fault.

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