I Love a Box!

Chinese version of British chocolate digestive biscuits, which I love. In China it  becomes Diget, and I'm a bit leary about eating them. And, of course, they don't taste like the British ones.

Chinese version of British chocolate digestive biscuits, which I love. In China it becomes Diget, and I’m a bit leary about eating them. And, of course, they don’t taste like the British ones.

I’ve always loved words. I ate up all the books I could get my hands on, and when I couldn’t get books, I read candy wrappers and labels on cereal and toothpaste boxes.
–Judy Holliday

I love words too, and boxes. In fact, packaging of all kinds. I’ve been known to buy stuff just for the package. Like these Chinese versions of British digestive biscuits. That is one great graphic.

Bold on the top of the box, that industrially perfect ring of chocolate, and the artistic shadowing and texture. Plus the interesting name of Dr. You. Is that me, making myself healthy or them, getting me to buy their biscuits? A twisty treat with a cup of tea.

So, everywhere I go, I bring back bags and boxes. I tuck them into my suitcase and when I get home, tuck them into my desk drawer. And every once in a while, I take them out, smooth them and return to market day in Chalkis or teatime in Vienna.

Not a bag, but the most elegant in a city of elegant cafes. Sigh.

Not a bag, but the most elegant in a city of elegant cafes. Sigh.

 

I'm feeling a bit seasick and salt-sprayed just looking at the package. Thank you, studly sailors, for bringing in tuna that tastes like butter.

I’m feeling a bit seasick and salt-sprayed just looking at the package. Thank you, studly sailors, for bringing in tuna that tastes like butter.

Even at IKEA, you can find great graphics. See how the bolt that holds on the opening tab doubles as the fish eye? Love that.

Even at IKEA, you can find great graphics. See how the bolt that holds on the opening tab doubles as the fish eye? Love that.

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About Appetite for Books

read, cook, eat, repeat
This entry was posted in cultural, ephemeral kitchen, memoir, novelty, travel and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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