A love letter to the potted perfection of Gü | Jack Marshall's column
Is there anything fancier than Gü?
Genuinely think about it. Take a second. Think about all the fancy things. Ferrero Rocher? Nope, not as fancy as Gü. Nice clothes? Often uncomfortable. Not as fancy as Gü. Diamonds? Overplayed. Not. As. Fancy. As. Gü
Those asking ‘what is Gü?’, move on, this is not a column for you. I’m sorry, but we’re about to get serious about Gü and I can’t be having any stragglers.
Gü is so fancy it inverts the dessert paradigm. With other desserts, it’s about volume, scale, size. Rivers of thick custard with hot apple pie crusted with glistening sugar. Ice cream mixing slowly with syrup from a sticky toffee pudding. The give from a slab of cake to the push of a fork.
But with Gü, everything is about less. This is a dessert presented in a stupidly tiny glass pot which offers an amount which could satisfy no human who is actively looking for a dessert. But it does satisfy. And therein lies the beauty of Gü.
Massaging the ‘less-is-more’ section of our monkey brains, this precious thimble of chocolate mousse, salted caramel, or lemon drizzle is suddenly enough. It’s more than enough. You’re, frankly, lucky to be getting this much, you animal.
Peeling back the tin foil with more care than would be afforded to any other food product bought from a provincial Morrisons, you’re met with the flawless, seamless, perfect top layer. It’s too perfect to disturb. You feel stupid with your stupid spoon. Where to start?
That first blemish carved into the superb little pot of joy is tentative. If you hack at a Gü, you’re a Neanderthal, I’m sorry. You’ve shown yourself up and you don’t deserve Gü. Put it back and go think about your behaviour. Show some class and decorum.
An important note: as demonstrated by every ice cream and Greek yoghurt ad, such delicately exquisite food is to be consumed with the back of the spoon pointing up so as to remove the tiniest possibility that any Gü should remain on the utterly undeserving utensil.
These are merely the rules. At this point, you’ve forgotten entirely that you paid £3.30 for a small pot of sugar. The Gü has you. You quietly smack your lips to taste things more and better and again.
Swallowing food is usually a pretty standard part of the eating process but, with Gü, it’s the sad end. Tragically, all Gü must go to a place where no flavour exists. But not before coating the tongue in its entirety. Only then…
God bless Gü, truly the fanciest of foods.