Jif

Pictured: Jack holding the jar of Jif in my sister’s horribly decorated hallway.

As I opened the jar with one motion and pulled the seal with no left torn pieces left over, I knew I was in for something special. Jif stared up at me and at once I knew it would fulfil the jar’s promise of ‘extra crunchy’ and reports I’d heard that it was extra flavoursome. Pushing the knife in was like digging a hole at the point where the ground gets stony – totally firm in a way I hadn’t seen before.

Spreading on the toast was hard work, the army of crunchy pieces protecting the land from total occupation. It couldn’t hold my expert spreading skills too long though, and next came the taste test.

The first bite took me by the throat ‘This is how we do flavour’ it said in an aggressive American accent like from a movie trailer.

Primarily I noticed the sugar, like the big kiss you get from a spoonful of honey, before strong undertones of salt bit down, rising up and quickly ducking back down again beneath the sugar. A slight sour note chimes in, coming from I don’t even know where. Edit: I’ve gone back for a late night spoonful of this and I still don’t know what that sourness is. 

Jif is like a loud, brash friend you’ve invited over from the States for a house party. No one’s quite sure where he’s staying (could be weird first thing in the morning), and with those bright clothes and crazy dance moves, everyone’s noticed him. He’s kind of fun, but maybe you’ll cope with not seeing him for another few weeks, preferring to spend time with your milder, safer (peanut butter) friends.

Texture: abrasive, crunchy, thick

Salty/sweet scale: 8

6/10 Henrys

£4 for a 454g jar (£0.88p per 100g) from Tesco.