Like the vast majority of University of Bristol graduates – and, indeed, the vast majority of people from Hertfordshire – I am indisputably middle-class. Recently I cemented my place in this often ambiguously defined group by developing a moderately serious addiction to M&S beetroot and mint dip. Unsurprisingly, this didn't garner me as much sympathy as an addiction to, say, an opiate might have done. I suspect that this is because this problem stems from a mere lack of self-control rather than the overwhelming misery that drives most heroin addicts, and a little because my addiction is very unlikely to cause my appendages to spontaneously fall off.
Now, I don't think I need to tell anyone who follows this blog regularly that I am not a health nut. I know that "clean living" is the current fad-du-jour, but I just don't see the point in prostrating myself with guilt because I like pizza and cake. My health is something that I keep an eye on because I would quite like to avoid dying at age forty and/or having to have various joints and vital organs replaced – it is certainly not something I find interesting. While I love avocado, sweet potatoes, and asparagus, I also love a lot of things that are deep fried, and they bring me enough pleasure that I'm willing to take on the accompanying risks to enjoy them.
Nevertheless, I am aware that my lifestyle is not perfect and I believe in constantly pursuing perfection despite knowing full well that it is unattainable. In the absence of affordable rehabilitation, gentle public shaming seems to be a fairly effective way to get me to change my behaviour; since writing publicly about my addiction to leggings I haven't bought a single pair. I have also spent plenty of time around other people whose desire for nice food leads to negative consequences, most often a low bank balance and not being able to do all the buttons up on their clothes. So, in the interests of both healing and solidarity, here is a comprehensive list of very middle-class foodstuffs that I have eaten too much of at some point in my life:
Quiche
This is probably the most long-standing of these addictions, and instead of being a constant feature of my life it presents itself in occasional intense flare-ups, like herpes or the Olympic Games. My obsession with quiche began when I got my first job serving customers in a deli – a job that, now that I stop to think about it, is probably the main reason that this post exists in the first place. They used to sell an amazing quiche Lorraine, of which I used to eat at least two slices a week. The addiction came to the surface again after a period of dormancy when I was living in Aix-en-Provence, thanks to a bakery in the town centre that used to sell enormous slabs of the best quiche I'd ever eaten. Such was the intensity of my desire, I often used to leave my house and make the twenty-minute journey into town for the sole purpose of buying quiche. Moving back to the UK cut me off from my supply, but in my final year of university there was still a good month and a half during which I ate a quiche almost every day, sometimes two of them (don't judge me; I had ten exams and they were really small quiches). At the time of writing this I haven't experienced any severe quiche cravings in about a year; however, I know that it is a matter of when, not if, they will reappear and consume my life once more.
Rosary garlic and herb soft goat's cheese
A friend of mine once told me a story in which, through a strange series of events, they found themselves trying crack. I asked what it was like. They said, "It was wonderful. I can see why people get addicted to it." This is how I feel about Rosary goat's cheese (the garlic and herb one specifically, as I have discovered that there are multiple versions). I wouldn't even class my relationship with it as an addiction; it is more like due recognition.
Whenever I am invited to a cheese and wine night, which is probably more frequently than most people but still not as frequently as I would like, I bring this cheese. Before people taste it I assure them that it is the best cheese in the world. They look sceptically at me, but they agree to try it. They then invariably agree with me that it is the best cheese in the world. It is fresh, strong, light, and perfect. The only thing stopping me from spending my entire food budget on this cheese is the fact that the nearest place I can obtain it is a forty-minute walk from my house. God help me if the Arch House Deli signs up with Deliveroo.
Marks and Spencer sandwiches
This started when I was going to a lot of university open days by train and required some kind of snack. The delicious but overpriced and dripping-with-mayonnaise offerings of station Marks and Spencer's provided me with those snacks. The closure of the M&S Simply Food at Paddington has gone some way to solving this one, and, as much as it causes me a great deal of short-term distress when I am travelling in and out of London, I recognise that it is probably a good thing for both my overdraft and my cholesterol levels.
Tesco Finest 'Ultimate' pork sausages
I'm not apologising for this one, nor do I have any intention of changing. I don't see the problem in wanting to eat sausages that actually taste like pork.
Pâté
All the joy of meat but instead of having to cook it you can just spread it on a piece of bread. The pâtés that have been most responsible for my low bank balance are Ardennes and a delicious smoked salmon one that used to be sold at the deli I worked in (noticing a pattern here?). My addiction to pâté also enabled my not middle-class but no less serious addiction to pickles, particularly those little silver skin onions, of which I keep a constant supply.
Pret A Manger crayfish and avocado salad
This is both the healthiest and the most recent addition to the list. I recently went through a period when I was trying to be healthier and also had a bit of spare disposable income (it lasted roughly nine days), and therefore found myself in Pret A Manger on my lunch break looking at salads. I chose this one and never looked back. As it is full of nutrients and comes in at under 300 calories, you may be wondering what the problem is here. Because what is effectively a box of leaves costs about £4 a pop, that's what.
