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Guilty Pleasures

November 19, 2010

Friday nights. I love them. I adore them. I get ridiculously excited about them. Sometimes I look forward to them. Other times they just creep up on me.

Either way, the night begins with the journey back from work. And, since London Bridge’s WHSmith has been closed so that the Shard can be built it, it normally involves me stopping off at Waterloo tube station for a bit of a jostle around one of the three WHSmiths up on the station in search of some magazines for the weekend.

Tonight, I followed the same ritual I did last Friday, this time purchasing the heady concoction of History Today and Attitude Magazine (unimaginatively billed this month as ‘The Sex Issue’). And I found it almost impossible not to resist one unquestionable guilty pleasure as I queued to pay for my weekend reading.

Ladies and Gentlemen. My guilty pleasure is … the Ginsters Buffet Bar.

Guilty Pleasure

Don’t be fooled. The dry breadcrumb encrusted sausagemeat shell filled with what is described on the wrapper as “crispy coleslaw” isn’t anything special. It’s not going to win awards It’s dirty food. Mucky food. Bad for you. Naughty. Snacky. Probably packed full of sugars and almost certainly high in calories.

At least, that’s what I’ve thought everytime I bought one. But, now I look at the Ginsters website, I see the crunchiness is achieved by the inclusion of water chestnuts in the coleslaw recipe and that the total 259 calories per buffet bar makes it a surprisingly OK snack to indulge in.

Mind you. I don’t care really. I love my Ginsters Buffet Bar. Always have.

I know what you’re thinking. I’m a wild man on a Friday evening. That’s because it’s the weekend.

:: The picture at the top of this blog post (assuming you’re not reading this on a mobile) was published on Flickr by graphic designer Simon Batt and is used here under license.

:: The other picture of a Ginsters Breakfast Bar wrapper was taken by me in front of another commuter who understandably wondered why on earth I wanted to take a picture of a piece of rubbish. Bless him.


From → Naval Gazing

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