On Mushrooms, Marketing and Moistness.

Being a person who likes to boldly go where no man has gone before, I was just reading what it says on the Sainsbury’s mushrooms bag. They give you special bags for mushrooms in Sainsbury’s. They’re actually just ordinary brown paper bags; what makes them special is the fact that they have ‘Sainsbury’s mushrooms’ printed in black on the front. Black on brown, you see: redolent of woodland walks and forays to moist places (especially ones where no man has gone before.)

The best bit, though, is on the back, where it says:

‘At Sainsbury’s we value the quality of fresh fruit and vegetables.’

(Thinks: ‘So why don’t their carrots ever taste of anything?’)

You’re being cynical, JJ. You should smile more.

(That was my muse butting in again. She’s reminding me of the revelation she sprang on me earlier when I was listening to Luke Kelly singing Raglan Road in a Dublin pub. I realised what I’d been missing these past sixteen months, the last line of which was ‘you should smile more.’)

Anyway, the statement continues:

‘Mushrooms are grown indoors in the dark and are hand picked in conditions that replicate an autumn morning.’

This is typical marketing speak, and I’m tempted to call the Sainsbury’s Customer Helpline to ask just what, exactly, defines an autumn morning. What distinguishes it from a non-autumn morning? The only image that springs readily to my mind is one of wet cobwebs stretched across door frames. Is that it? Does that mean they breed spiders in the mushroom sheds? (Oh, and by the way: cobwebs are always wet, never moist. According to an editor I worked with once, only disreputable things are ever moist when it comes to the written word.) And what time of an autumn morning are they replicating here? Dawn? Coffee break? Just before lunch?

What the statement mostly reminds me of is another old Monty Python sketch, in which an interviewer is talking to a man who has invented a range of different centres for boxed chocolates, one of which is Lark’s Vomit.

‘Lark’s Vomit?!’ exclaims the incredulous journalist.

‘Oh yes, we take only the finest, dew-picked lark’s vomit, carefully seasoned and picked in conditions that replicate an autumn morning.’

I added the last bit, but it fits, doesn’t it?