Eat This, Not That

In praise of the humble digestive biscuit, England's main contribution to the world.

One thing I am missing after my months in London is the humble digestive biscuit. We don’t have these teatime cookies in America, and no wonder: they’re called “digestives.” What a horrendous name. I could see if you had a blockage in the colon or something, the doctor might order up a digestive, but it doesn’t sound like something you’d want with an afternoon hot beverage. It honestly doesn’t sound like something you’d want at all except in an emergency.

It's strange to me that the Brits accept suck a clinical name because most of their food names are infantilized to the point of absurdity. Every item of food sold in England sounds like something mummy made up to coax a recalcitrant toddler into eating. “Would darling like a Jolly Dodger? Would lovey enjoy yummy veg? What about runny eggs and soldiers? Does boo-boo want rocket? What about a chippy?” Just ridiculous. “Bangers and mash,” another one.

Grow up, England.

A side effect of the biscuit’s clinical name is that it gives the snack a gravitas that other cookies do not have. One doesn’t take Teddy Grahams seriously. Because of its no-frills name, however, the digestive imparts the eater with a certain elan. “Here is an eater of purpose,” declares the digestive. “Here is a snacker of distinction.”

The digestive biscuit was created by two Scottish doctors in 1839 for the purpose of aiding digestion. Well, they don’t. They don’t aid anything except that aforementioned cup of afternoon tea. Somebody should have renamed them a long time ago but nobody thought to do so and now we’re stuck with it. Regardless of the name’s inaccuracy, digestives are enormously popular in the UK. Everybody’s got them in the pantry. It is a slightly sweet, slightly nutty disc that would just be big enough to use as an impromptu saucer for your cuppa. One dunks a digestive in tea, then takes a bite before the liquid disintegrates it. Delish. Two of those will get you through a cup of tea. Any more than that and you’re dawdling.

The experience is ritualistic. Tea is prepared. A splash of milk applied. While the drink steeps, two digestives are removed from their sleeve and set beside the cup. And here is where the art comes in: while the tea is still too hot to drink, begin consuming one digestive. Dunk as much as - but no more than - one third of the biscuit into the tea. Let capillary action suck tea into the biscuit for the merest of moments, then remove. Quickly pop the affected portion of the cookie into the mouth. Savor, enjoy. Once the first digestive is consumed, the tea should be cool enough to begin drinking. Enjoy half a cup of tea, then begin working on the second digestive. Soon, your cookies are gone, your tea finished. One only needs two digestives to get you through a cup of tea. Any more than that and you’re dawdling.

The key to the digestive is its lack of sweetness. Most American cookies are over-sweetened to the point of cloying. These are cookies that pander. Their packaging is a miasma of over-caffeinated cartoon mascots begging you to take them home for a cheap fix. You don’t eat Nutter Butters, for example. You get off on them. The word “nut” is right in the name. But a digestive is savored. When one finishes their Nutter Butters, one feels cheap. When one finishes a digestive, one feels fortified.

One may even find oneself releasing a perfectly-formed bowel movement after consuming, not because of any inherent laxativial qualities o the digestive, but through the power of suggestion, the placebo effect, and the hot tea loosening up a grippy intestinal tract. A child may prefer the sugar high of the Nutter Butter, but the adult relishes the subtlety of a biscuit that promotes regularity.

I ate a lot of digestives in London. I returned to the States bereft. What would I do for afternoon now? A Biscoff? Too sweet, too crumbly. Pecan sandies? Déclassé. But it occurred to me that I didn’t have to give up the habit. No, my local grocery store doesn’t carry them but a certain online retailer does. I ordered myself a three-pack of McVitie’s Original Digestives at about triple the price they would be at the local Tesco in London. Worth it.

Here’s the problem: America needs to create a domestic digestive market. The closest relative we’ve got is the Graham cracker, which shares the digestive’s nuttiness and general texture but the flavor profile is sweeter and corrupted with cinnamon. It’s a snack that certainly has its place but let’s not kid ourselves. The Graham cracker is, at best, utilitarian. It’s an accessory to s’mores and crumbled into pie crusts. But are you really going to sit there, on a foggy fall afternoon, dunking a frigging Graham cracker into your tea? Of course not. The very idea is absurd. No, what this nation needs is the digestive.

Now, I recognize that the American afternoon beverage palate does not mimic the Brits. That’s ok. One does not need to use tea as the digestive’s conveyance. Coffee works just as well. Maybe you prefer a soda pop like Mountain Dew; a nice digestive would counterbalance your fizzy drink with aplomb. If I can just get enough people to start eating digestives, we could inspire an American digestive biscuit manufacturing boom the likes of which this nation has never known. Domestic digestive prices will fall. A chicken in every port and a digestive on every saucer. We don’t even have to call them “digestives.” We could slap a Keebler Elf on the package and call it a “dirty pinwheel” or something. Not sure why I’m the one who has to figure this stuff out, but I’m willing to do it. For you. For America.

Nobody’s saying we have to get rid of our garbagy cookies and foodstuffs. Chips Ahoy, you’re ok by me. I’m just saying I think there’s space on the American tongue for a new-to-us biscuit experience. One that promises to transform your afternoons from blah to boo-yeah! Am I overselling it? I am. But only to make a point. I’m not sure what that point is other than I like digestive biscuits.

The UK has given the world three important gifts over the years: The Magna Carta, David Bowie, and the digestive biscuit. That’s it. Let’s not turn our backs on their contribution to mankind, not from a nation who has so little else to offer. It's a simple gift, no more than some wheat flour, sugar, malt extract, a little oil, a smidge of sodium bicarbonate, and salt. It’s hardly anything at all, really. But it’s the perfect dunking biscuit. And anybody who says otherwise is a filthy liar.