The year is 1993. Teletext has just been launched, the Ford Mondeo has just been released, John Major is PM and in between Princess Diana wanting a divorce and United lifting the inaugural Premier League trophy, I’ve just seen an advert with excitable cavemen and breaded sausages and am convinced my life has changed forever…
I cannot tell you how much I wanted to have these sausages for my tea. I became borderline obsessed with having these sausages. They were going to be smothered in ketchup and served alongside potato waffles and peas. I was planning to ignore the peas. But would my mum buy them? NO SHE WOULD NOT.
Either she couldn’t find them in the shops or she just didn’t want to encourage the consumption of breaded pink sludge, but I remember feeling personally targeted every time the ad came on telly. It was mocking me. It knew I couldn’t have them.
A few weeks later (obviously it felt like a lifetime) I was staying with my grandparents in Chester and I got to accompany my grandmother to their magnificent Safeway on Liverpool Road. It is now a Morrisons. You may be familiar with it.
There is something entirely wonderful about being six years old in a supermarket from a distant land. I was familiar enough with this branch of Safeway as I’d been a fair bit, but obviously you behave much better when with your grandparents as opposed to your parents. Whilst I wouldn’t be given a baguette (or “French stick”, as it was affectionately known) to gnaw on to keep me quiet, I would stay in sight and not dawdle as I knew that Nanny always had a packet of Munchies in her handbag and behaving well would be rewarded.
As I traipsed around the aisles looking for luminous orange Kia-Ora and chocolate Nesquik, I suddenly had the foresight to ask for the magical breaded sausages. Mum wasn’t there. This was going to be perfect!
We headed to the freezer section and there they were, in all their glory. I probably acted out the inane caveman song right there in the aisle before heading home in the Rover Metro with the promise of having them that very evening.
It’s hard to describe how excited I was at this point. If it was today I’d have probably had a Whatsapp group dedicated to the big event with constant countdown updates til tea-time. But I was six and this was the early nineties, so I probably just did some colouring and watched Fireman Sam on VHS.
When the triumphant moment arrived, I could barely contain myself.
The breaded sausages from the TV were on my plate.
I WAS GOING TO EAT THEM.
Devastatingly, they were horrendous. You’d think a six year old couldn’t feel deep shame and sorrow but I could and I did.
I didn’t even want to finish them. I could barely even look at them once I’d tasted them.
The dream was over.
And of course here I am at 29, having been vegetarian for sixteen years or so. Could the Wall Bangers be partly to blame? I’m not sure.
They were certainly a great disappointment though…and I will remember them forever.
Did you catch the last Friday Food Memory? Head on over here to remember the goodness of Sara Lee Chocolate Gateau.