Let me drop the aboriginal child sex abuse issue for a while to tackle something really important. When I was in Belgium, I used to buy honey from a specialist shop that sold nothing but different types of honey from all over the world. I managed to try about ten types, but nothing compared with my memory of Australian red gum or blue gum honeys. The honey in Bhutan was delicious, but I still craved my gum honeys. Back in Australia, my long term hosts had their own preference in honey that was probably more driven by specials, so the craving continued.
Last month, when I moved into my own flat and began to stock the cupboards, I knew it was time. There was a shelf set aside purely for honey. Blue gum honey on the left and red gum honey on the right. I marched off to the supermarket to hunt down the old favourites, but ended up spending over ten minutes in front of the honey section going through all the different brands, unable to find a jar of honey that came from a particular type of tree. And then, finally I found it. There on the bottom shelf. Blue Gum Spreadable Honey. I bought a loaf of bread to go with it and raced home to try it.
You can imagine my disappointment when I opened the jar, stuck in the knife and found… no resistance. No sticky grabbing of the knife. No general motion of the surrounding honey to be first to leave the jar. The knife speared in and lifted out a chunk. I lifted the jar to my nose. It didn’t smell off. I spread the lump onto a slice of bread and took a cautious bite. It tasted like honey. But what had happened to the texture? I looked back at the jar and noticed the word ‘spreadable’. The small print read ‘spreads just like jam.’ What the %&^*?
Isn’t honey spreadable enough already? The sticky drippiness of it is half the experience. Why would anyone want to go and make it like another spreadable condement? No wonder it’s on the bottom shelf.