Sometimes in life you gotta do what you gotta do and as they say “bite the biscuit”….
An article excerpt:
Sting has tantric sex, I have biscuits: a sublime pleasure that should be drawn out for as long as is humanly possible. In essence, there are two mains methods specific to dunking biscuits (ginger snaps, digestives, malted milk etc), and non-dunking sandwich biscuits, such as the custard cream and Oreo.
For dunkers, it’s a three-step process: 1) dunk half the biscuit, suck/eat that dunked section; 2) dunk half of the remaining piece (a quarter of the original biscuit), and eat that; 3) dunk final triangle of biscuit, whilst pinching one corner. If the biscuit is chocolate covered, you dunk but then lick off the chocolate at each stage before eating the biscuit underneath. It is a process fraught with danger, in that you may apply too much pressure with your tongue and/or overdunk, but persevere and, in time, you will achieve a level of biscuit Zen where, just by looking at it, you can gauge what stress or how much liquid a biscuit can take.
For sandwich biscuits, you must carefully prise off one layer of biscuit with your front teeth (do not use a knife!), and then lick the fondant clean off, until the final layer of biscuit is – oh, gastronomic joy! – nicely softened with your own spit. Heaven.
There are people who consider dunking declassé, rude even. Pity them and their joyless, frigid lives. For only in dunking (obligatory Peter Kay link here) do Britain’s two greatest biscuits, the ginger snap and the milk chocolate digestive, achieve perfection. After dunking, the ginger biscuit becomes a multilayered sensory adventure, its now soft outer pulp encasing a still hard core that has achieved an almost toffee-like texture and a new sharper, gingery intensity. The chocolate digestive, meanwhile, turns from dry, rudimentary snack, into a sweet, yielding embrace of molten chocolate and manly, reassuring wholemeal huskiness. Dunked, it is possibly the ultimate British comfort food.
Optimum Number of Biscuits at Each Sitting
Three. The first is a pure hit of pleasure, which the second extends. By the third, however, that arc has begun to plateau. A fourth biscuit will leave you feeling a little sick, guilty, somehow soiled.
Biscuits are what you eat between meals if you do want to ruin your appetite. They punctuate the day, these baked uppers, edible between 10.30-11.30am, 3.30-4.30pm and 9.30-11pm.
Essential, and critical (as you’re dunking) that it’s served in a wide-mouthed mug, and preferably (as you’re eating three biscuits) a pint mug at that. Beyond a whistle-whetting first slurp, do not actually drink any of the tea until you’ve finished dunking, as that will dilute the biscuit flavour. After three biscuits, though, you will need a full pint to clear your palate and quench your thirst.
Note: if you do suffer a dunking mishap and drop a piece of biscuit in your tea, stop immediately, park your biscuits and put the kettle on again. Otherwise that “session” will be ruined, right down to the last disgusting, bitty mouthful. People say that you can fish the piece of rogue biscuit out, but by the time you’ve found a teaspoon, it will already be disintegrating and (particularly if you don’t take sugar in your tea) your brew will be ruined. Accept it and start over. -T. Naylor, The Guardian
Thanks for reading—– in the words of Wayne Newton, “dunk”e schoen….