My mother liked the simple things in life. Yes she was a matriarchal powerhouse, single-handedly steering the ship of domestic and social bliss while my father immersed himself in the sanctuary of corporate revelry, but beyond all the glitz and glamour of subdued 1980s suburbia, all she really wanted to do was to spark up a fag and do the crossword.
She was accomplished in the kitchen, having honed her gastronomic prowess through an appreciation of cultural diversity and an ability to blend and marry flavours, however, she also had an uncanny ability to generate a comprehensive spread in haste. You could say, she was a master of conjuring culinary satisfaction on the fly. But coming up with a multitude of dishes in short shrift could sometimes prove to be a challenge. Fortunately, the eighties saw something of a revolution in pre-packaged foodstuffs, a technological advancement that my mother fully embraced, and which lent itself to bringing perfectly formed dishes into a social dynamic in short order.
There was some degree of experimentation of course; Findus and Birds Eye for example did not have the gravitas of a Sainsbury’s chicken Kiev, however, there was always a dessert staple that she could rely upon. At Christmas in 1982, Walls released a dessert so unique and refined that it revolutionised the social dining circuit and changed the face of what was acceptable to unveil, post main course.
The Viennetta was unashamedly distinctive, with thin sheets of delicate chocolate sandwiched between layers of creamy ice cream, somewhat reminiscent of Italian Stracciatella. It was impossible to embellish, transform, disguise or pass off as anything else, which led dinner party hosts the length and breadth of the United Kingdom (my mother included) to throw caution to the wind and brazenly unveil the Viennetta at the table, box and all. I mean, it is what it is…fuck it.
And what should have been met with utter derision was almost universally accepted as a sign that the hostess was willing to sacrifice outward displays of culinary virtuosity for the good of the night. Yes, we can all appreciate the debut of a strong homemade dessert, but what every well-meaning dinner invitee from York to Yarmouth really hankered after, was a cheap, mass manufactured frozen slab of ice cream that could only be served by going at it with a fucking carving knife.
It wasn’t quite ice cream, yet it sort of was. It wasn’t quite cake, yet you cut it like one. It wasn’t quite a loaf, yet it was almost reminiscent of one. It was frozen, yes, but that honest, somewhat over embellished faux Italian edifice of E numbers, had the ability to thaw even the frostiest of conversations. In a world of homemade lemon meringues, baked alaskas and arctic rolls, the Viennetta changed the game. It was a life saver.
Of course, the Viennetta was so good it stood the test of time and is a dining table mainstay to this day (despite the fact it looks like Liberace’s doorstop). It was also spelt with two ‘n’s’ and two ‘t’s’…so, grammatically it’s a bit of a joke. From a taste perspective it is certainly hard to surpass; as a pre-made dessert it is perfect. And yet despite this, Walls decided to fuck it up by adding mint.
