The forgotten magnificence of a great choc bar
Back in 2008, when the world was on its knees on account of a credit crunch rather than a coronavirus, Interestment sidled into view. Or vaguely into view. In fact, for many it probably wasn’t in view at all, it was jumping up and down beneath their eyeline with its hand desperately thrust in the air wanting to be in view, but for some it was right there – a newborn website with a weirdly shiny bottom, brimming with things like verve and promise.
The idea back then was to celebrate the smaller things in life, to understand that none of us really had any money so we should take an excessive (and yes, hilariously ironic) amount of joy in the little wins that life occasionally coughs up. The surprising finds in charity shops (kids now call it ‘thrifting’), the unearthing of once-revered beautiful (and also, yes, a little bit objectified) specimens (both male and female, I should add) who had long since disappeared over the horizon, their gorgeousness granted another big blast of sunshine. Hip hop album covers were analysed and appreciated like they were Renaissance paintings, the best pub garden drinks were compiled in full, with each one very clearly an iteration of a pint of lager.
Something else that was rife at the time was the elevation of newsagent snacks to something approaching fine dining – the choosing of which could make or break your day. We knew then, as now, that getting the right snack to jam gracefully into your gob is a big fucking deal.
Point being, PICNICS. Have you had a Picnic bar lately? Sweet holy shitballs, they’re an absolute work of genius. It’s like if a Lion bar had a really hot sister.