It's an accolade reserved for food, generally baking. It's the highest accolade and one inherited from my Aunty Winnie, who used it regularly to praise my mothers baking. At first my mother winced a bit then accepted that this was indeed fine praise and used it herself in a loyal way, indeed if something bought was not up to scratch she'd describe it as "not as good as bought". Winnie, her cousin, was a stalwart Lancashire Lady, and a confectioner by trade, so she knew about cakes. She also made an incomparable meat and potato pie, which she would bring in a huge dish to us whenever we moved house, generally on the day of the move. We moved often. My father , a policeman, was constantly being transferred to various parts of Lancashire, sometimes with promotion, sometimes for reasons unclear to us. We even moved next door once, from the right side of a semi detached to the left. My brother and I were charged with moving the coal over the back garden wall, it kept us busy and we got very dirty, but no matter. Transfers to further afield were made by the police horsebox truck, they did not like to waste money and no one thought it odd. They did make sure the horsebox was clean. The side entrance where a horse could walk in came in very handy.
Winnie featured in every move walking up to the house with the pie in her hand and the first phrase she generally uttered " Ohh Ello, mi feet are killing me". she varied it once when corsets were the problem.Caught us all off guard. Thankfully the menu of pie never varied. She is the sort of person that has disappeared these days and the world is poorer for that.
What brought on this train of thought. Marmalade. I'm a fan, if the house has no supplies I get nervy and irritable. It does not have to be expensive, in fact I've seen it at 80p for a jar, but that tends to be just sugary fruit jelly. The best I've ever had was one from Fortnum and Mason bought for me by my daughter which cost her far too much. It was Spanish in origin which helps, being close to the oranges, but I suspect the makers made considerably less than the store. If I'd known the price at the time I'd have spread it a little thinner. My standard marmalade of choice is one that says "proudly made in Mancheste" on the label, as if that makes a difference to the taste. Perhaps it does, that clean northern industrial air wafting through the factory from the local orange groves of Higher Openshaw imparts a flavour unheard of elsewhere. Or perhaps it's said in defiance, so that when said the response might be: "nowt wrong wi that".
Whatever the reason you can take my word for it, it's "just like bought".
Not exactly like Aunty Winnie bur similar stance.
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