Travesty!

So I was grocery shopping this morning.

(Which was a nonstandard schedule as I usually go on Thursday nights. Which is why I didn't realize that the average age of Cub shopper is inversely proportional to how early in the day it is, which value is then also inversely proportional to the speed at which one can travel down the aisles.

Which is to say that early Saturday morning = elderly shoppers in motorized aisle-wide shopping vehicles + free coffee and cookies = an excellent exercise in patience.

Which is why I see so many other harried, young working parents on Thursday nights, because we'd rather lose precious sleep than meet the same blue hair and sweater set plodding at a merciless snail's pace, sipping coffee and consulting each and every item in the sale flyer whilst travelling down the centre of Every. Single. Aisle.

But I digress.)

So I was grocery shopping this morning, and this is what I found:


In yet another breathtaking example of culinary imperialism, the United States (here represented by one Pepperidge Farm - if by "Pepperidge" you mean faceless conglomerate and "Farm" you mean stainless steel mass manufacturing) has taken a country's prized epicurean export, removed its soul, retained a nod to its exotic origin (Australia's Favorite Cookie!), and released it to the masses.

(See also: ketchup chips. They carry them here now - or something that looks like them - but the taste is criminally inferior. Also they are *always* crushed for some reason.)

Harumph.

This is where I discovered Tim Tams:


It was glorious. Every convenience store had shelves piled high with them. There were about 18 different varieties - and we tried every single one as we made our way up the west coast of Australia. They bound the country together - trendy, artsy Melbourne; historical, harboured Sydney; and sun-soaked, sea-breezy Cairns - all linked by that almighty melty-messy chocolate coating.

And then imagine our delighted shock to find them in none other than The Real Canadian Superstore. Not some sort of Canadian knock-off version - the *real* deal these were. Made by Arnott's, complete with lengthy unpronouncable ingredient list.

It being Superstore, actually having them on the shelves was always a gamble. More often than not, there was a bare space on the shelf and a "Sorry, We're Out" sign. So when they were there, we had to load up and stock the cupboard.

And each time we raided that stash, we were reminded of our adventure halfway around the world. They tasted of wineries and Great Ocean Road and Ned Kelly.

Not a stupid [airquotes] farm.

Harumph, I say.