… like glace cherries?
I mean, honest to God, who could take a lovely, lovely gorgeous scrummy thing like a cherry (they are my desert island fruit, after all) and make a slimy, chewy, sickly, fakey abomination of it and then expect people not to notice?
I’ve not yet met a single solitary person who actually likes them. Not everyone, admittedly, runs screaming from the room whenever they’re mentioned, the way I do. But most people at least prise them from whatever they’re eating and leave them pointedly on the side of the plate.
So how, pray, has the glace cherry industry survived all these years? I can only conclude that glace cherries are a by-product of some other process – you know, like flouride was with uranium mining, or whatever – and some clever dick has managed to persuade the masses that they actually had a use. Maybe it’s those cherry stone heated pillows that you can buy at Christmas markets up and down the country.
It’s the only explanation.