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Don’t Dunk The Bikkie!

by Anita T. 2 years ago in fact or fiction


I prefer NOT to dunk the biscuit


But, no. Some-one, somewhere had to take the good quality biscuit out of the special bikkie tin. Or the packet and drown a portion of said biscuit in a hot drink, served to them. Or that they made for themselves. The dunked biscuit is now soggy and unappealing, to me. Ingredients practically separating, . Then the person bites the wet part of the biscuit that was submerged and is some how satisfied with this tea-time. The biscuit, also.

What are we? 97 years old and toothless.

I love a good teapot. Serving from a teapot is dainty. Tea cups and saucers. Milo can be in an extra big mug. Or hot chocolate with frothy topping.

Seriously, I like biscuits the way they come. I enjoy the warmth of my mouth wearing down chocolate, until it melts. Gingernuts, akin to a tin-lid but nevertheless it’s in the design of this baked goodness to bite and hope a tooth has not become part of the meal. The gingery flavour spreading. The teeth working away at the biscuit, doing their bit for the body. It is a satisfying effort, with reward. You know, like a cat catching a mouse and doing the circle of life thing. Not eating mush from a can. It is using the teeth as intended. Grinding and gnawing and gnashing.

“Another biscuit?”

“Oh, yes please.” Acting politely surprised that another was on offer. Of course I will have two.

Dip, dip, dipping biscuits into drinks and sipping floaty tea is NOT my cup-of-tea.

Now, in Australia is the Tim-tam. The beautiful chocolate biscuit. There is a technique where you bite either end and use the biscuit like a straw to suck up milk. Then it is a yummy, chocolate milk with this yummy Tim tam.

Eeeee. No Thanks!

What am I? Three years old.

If I want a chocolate milk, I will have a chocolate milk. Not a milk with floaty specks of brown, dry biscuit regurgitated from a back alley pelican. I will not be sucking up, from a biscuit -milk.

I love Tim-tams by the way.

Now my nana dunked. My mum has. I have DUNKED. And I’m officially now a non-dunker.

Biscuits that are freshly baked or bought are meant to be enjoyed, as is. Melt a little in between fingers, on a hot day. Enjoyed for the baked factor. A crunch, a texture. Chew it, explore it and discover and bite again.

Not, gasp, put into a state of near-porridge-like-substance-somewhat-keeping-it’s-shape-while-you-quickly-gum-it-to-oblivion.

“It tastes nice this way.”

No. No!

You bite the biscuit, then sip the drink to wash it down. No-one wants to finish the warm drink and find cookie carcass pieces in the bottom of the cup.

Oh, yes, leave it over night on the coffee table and see how the person scrubbing up goes with that dried on biscuit, now.

What happens if you dunk and that part of the biscuit falls in. Then what? You’ve ruined a good biscuit, a good drink and embarrassed yourself. Unless you’re three or 97, as discussed above.

Now. Soup. This is different. Putting bread into a bowl of soup, because it’s absorbing the meal. Combined, it’s a melody of eating the bread and using it as a scoop for the soup. It is a satisfying technique. This DUNK is different.

But cup of tea just drips off the biscuit. Ew

and one bites into mush. Not good, everyone.

A biscuit is a mini moment of pleasure. Of decorum in the eating. Then we enjoy a Milo. Have a sip. Then place back down with biscuit still in hand, pinky out. Enjoy the biscuit with your eyes and enjoy with your taste. The texture.

I love gingernuts. I grew up with them. I don’t know if the secret is to bake them for 17 hours, but they are hard. They are delicious. I love all ginger things. But here is the thing.

“Put them in the tea, a moment. Then they’re softer.”

EAT A MARSHMALLOW! If I wanted something soft, I’d eat something soft.

So, NO, I do not dunk my biscuits. I will watch you dunk, possibly leave the room. But you may dunk and ruin both your drink and bikkie. This is of no consequence to me, really. While I enjoy the moment, the biscuits and the hot drink as it were intended.


fact or fiction

Anita T.

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