You know how it goes: You eat your GÜ desserts; you wash the little glass ramekins they come in; you think ‘ooh, they’re nice – they’ll be handy for something’; you stack them at the back of a cupboard – the only dilemma being whether to put them with the glassware or the crockery (they’re actually made of glass, but you eat out of them so they’re not really
glasses as such…). And there they sit in the cupboard. Untouched. Untouched, that is, until the next time you buy a little box of GÜ desserts (probably on special offer – c’mon, admit it). You eat your GÜ dessert; you wash the little glass ramekins; you think ‘ooh, they’re nice – they’ll be handy for something’; you put them in the cupboard…on top of the previous ones. This continues over a period of time until you’ve constructed a row of small glass versions of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.And one day, in a moment of complete madness, you think ‘I should get rid of some of these’. So you take one off the top of a tower and then you’re faced with the next dilemma: how to dispose of it. It’s not technically a bottle or a jar so you can’t put it in with your recycling for fear of attracting the council’s yellow sticker of shame on your recycling box – ‘YOU ARE A NUMPTY. DO NOT PUT UNAUTHORISED ITEMS IN THE RECYCLING’ and you can’t just throw it away as the rubbish goes straight to landfill and you
really care about landfill and the legacy you leave to future generations. So you pursue the only sensible option open to you: you put the ramekin back on top of the little glass tower from whence it came.And this is how it goes. Forever. You can’t break the cycle: you buy GÜ dessert; you eat GÜ dessert; you put glass ramekin in kitchen cupboard. There’s no way out. One day your whole kitchen will be full of ramekins – piled ceiling high. Across St Albans the same problem is encountered by many ramekindred spirits and whole sheds and garages will soon be stocked full of towers of glass ramekins. People will get ever-more imaginative as to what to do with the out-of-control supply of ramekins: they’ll be made into serviette holders – the napkin ramekin; people will sculpt them into Hobbit figurines – the Tolkien ramekin; KFC in Marshalswick will start to serve food in them – the finger lickin’ ramekin; they’ll be used for snacks after sunset during the Muslim holy month – the Ramadan ramekin; Amazon will even launch one you can read e-books on – the Ramekindle.
Ultimately, across our fair city, loft conversions and cellar playrooms will become rammed full of ramekins. Necessity being the mother of invention, some bright spark will find the solution: every evening after nightfall you’ll hear the gentle chink of glass as people sheepishly put two empty ramekins out on their doorstep ready for collection early the next morning. All the old electric milk floats will be brought out of retirement to hum about in the half-light of dawn collecting glass ramekins while we all sleep safely in our beds resting before another busy day waiting for the Waitrose home delivery man to drop off fresh supplies of GÜ.
(Actually, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but if you look closely at your
mywaitrose loyalty card, you’ll see there’s even a 24hr ramekin hotline should you have need for any late-night glass receptacle-related advice – Have you or anyone in your family been affected by issues surrounding ramekin storage?)Anyway, the First World problem outlined above was all a long-winded way of explaining that how many ramekins you own defines how middle-class you are:
0: You are upper class. Your chef decants home-made chocolate dessert into bone china receptacles that have been in your family for generations; your butler then carries these on an engraved silver tray to the west wing to the least formal of your three dining rooms. You don’t even own a mywaitrose card. 1-5: You are middle class. You moved to St Albans from a town north of Coventry. If your great-grandparents were alive today they would be shocked and proud in equal measure that you not only now say ‘dessert’ rather than ‘pudding’, but that you also buy these sweet courses ready-made rather than cook your own using the mixing bowl that lovely cousin Julie bought you as a wedding present. 5-10: You are very middle class. You are part of the 1.3% of people in AL1-3 who have actually lived in St Albans their whole life. 10-30: You are extremely middle class. One day you will move to Harpenden. 30+: You are upper class. You probably own a ramekin-making factory.Our survey findings also revealed a few supplementary ways to accurately confirm middle-classness:
- If your first name ends in a consonant, but your first child’s name ends in a vowel then you are definitely middle class.
- If you have ever been to a Center Parc, you are, without doubt, middle class.
- If your heart missed a bit when you discovered that a Farrow & Ball shop had opened right by Caffè Nero in town then you are probably middle class (sooo convenient – coffee and colour-matching charts so close together). And if more than 11.6% of the wall-space in your home (excluding stables and staff-quarters) has been decorated with F&B paint then you absolutely are middle class.
And there’s nothing wrong with being part of the muddled class. Well, not too much.
About the author:
The author has no connection whatsoever with GÜ and has not even been covered in goo since that unfortunate incident all those years ago with the lamp-post and the 21st Birthday cake. However, the author does own eight glass ramekins (empty), has two rooms decorated with a colour called ‘Pointing’, has an older sibling living in Harpenden, a vowel/consonant combo…and a small scar on the left elbow from an over-enthusiastic descent on an indoor water-slide somewhere near Ampthill.
I fill mine with beer and leave them for the slugs around my pots of herbs on the garden. How middle classed am I?
Now that is middle classed: not only do you feed your slugs fresh herbs daily, but you also provide an accompanying alcoholic beverage. No wonder the slugs keep coming back! However, if you really want to impress your neighbours (and give the slugs a weekend treat) why not spoil the slimy visitors (that’s the slugs, not the neighbours) to a nice ramekin of Prosecco for a change? A bit of fizz would go particularly well with basil or mint, we think. Just a thought, Annie, just a thought.
This is the funniest thing I have read in a long time! I have many of these in our cupboard, collected originally when I lived up north, and then travelled across the Atlantic to Canada and then back again! I love your whole blog! I think it should be essential reading for anyone new to St. Albans, your observational comedy is spot on!
Comedy? Comedy? This is supposed to be a factual resource…Anyway, thank you for your kind words, Kiki – very much appreciated. AL3 WTF is (reasonably) confident that you’ve got the most well-travelled ramekins in town. And, if you’re new in these parts yourself, that’s the kind of claim-to-fame ice-breaker that will impress people, open doors and help you settle in smoothly. However, don’t go boasting about how many air miles your ramekins have collected to people from Harpenden as theirs will all have been round the world on private yachts. And each ramekin will have its own leather carry-case. Or something.
Fab… Although my problem is not Gu ramekins but the Unearthed terracotta dishes…
Thanks, Saleema. The two serving receptacles are probably more closely related than you realise: the terracotta dishes were the means by which Qin, the first Emperor of China, ensured that his Terracotta Army received their rations of Salted Caramel Melting Middles. As you’d imagine, they needed quite a few dishes each, what with being underground for over 2,000 years.
Another 1400 warriors were excavated just a few weeks ago, which probably explains why the unearthed terracotta dishes are currently giving you such cause for concern
Brilliant! One thing though – mine always get collected in the recycling. Does that make me less middle class or are the recycling fellas middle class sympathisers?
Thanks for the compliment, Helen. AL3 WTF likes the idea of a hard-line recycling faction known as R.O.A.R (Recycling Operatives Assisting Ramekins). We’re envisaging that your under-the-radar disposal technique involves smuggling them out hidden deep in your green wheelie bin. This is naughty. But very middle-class behaviour.