From my three-day trip to Estonia
So I’m at this café at Oslo airport, right? I’m there for nothing but a cup of coffee, and standing in line there, I notice these huge chocolate muffins the size of a sheep’s head, which costs nearly fifty NOK each (that’s about ten dollars). They are big, of course, and the looks of it reveals quite a good mocca fill. Anyway, the tag next to them wants me to believe they are ‘homemade’.
Now, this is not a local vendor, it’s a chain, baby. I’d like to see the home they were made in. That’s what I’m talking about. There’s no respect these days, when you can call pre-fabricated shit that only needs ten minutes in the oven ‘homemade’. It’s OK that they say it’s "nearly as good as homemade", ’cause that’s a comparison in accordance with Einstein’s theory of relativity, and far from stating that it actually was made in an actual home.
And I’m not one of those who care so much about where stuff is made. All you need is common sense. If it’s cheap, an Asian kid made it. But homemade food is something different, not just expensive.
‘Homemade food’ has love, security, family and all other sorts of positive relations bound to it that I refuse to just give away to Corporate Crap, Inc.
‘Homemade’ is not some brand you can buy. Because of the economical world thinking different, we now have to introduce ‘levels of authenticity’ in regards of items matching the critereas of being homemade.
I am aware of the public relations that these companies need, and I understand that "pre-fabricated then heated in a genuine stove" doesn’t have a nice and appetizing ring to it, but there’s a line here and they’ve crossed it!
Mika, the Finnish, lesbian waitress coughed.
"Oh," I said, realizing it was my turn. I cast a hateful glance at the quote unquote homemade muffins and smiled to her. "Just a coffee, please."
Want to read more? Check out my three day trip to Estonia!