Grant
Region: GB
Thursday 23 July 2026 19:16:50 GMT
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Barry Devlin :
1 cracker some cheese and 3 pickles for 1.30 😂😂😂😂
2026-07-25 18:48:37
0
Cazza :
I love these I've got them
2026-07-23 20:10:07
3
Jason Maddock :
fucking love these x
2026-07-24 16:08:20
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savvysarahfinds :
get it all in lad
2026-07-23 20:27:04
0
Sarah Grace Kelly❤️ :
loveeeeeee themmmmm
2026-07-23 20:20:59
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BLACK ™ ★🦇 :
Pickled onion would be so good rn with cheese and onion pasty
2026-07-24 12:43:52
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yes_i_am_henry :
My heart genuinely soared to unprecedented heights of culinary euphoria when I first laid eyes on that magnificent ploughman’s lunch bundle, an absolute masterpiece of rustic midday dining that promised a glorious, sprawling symphony of sharp, crumbly mature cheddar, exceptionally crisp and tangily pungent pickled onions, a perfectly golden-brown scotch egg with a flawless crumb coating, and rich, savoury individual pork pies that had my mouth watering in pure, unadulterated anticipation of what I was entirely convinced would be the ultimate traditional British gastronomic experience. I spent several blissful, deeply romantic minutes completely idealising every single component of my upcoming feast, mentally pairing the thick slices of crusty, flour-dusted farmhouse bread with generous, decadent slatherings of salted dairy butter and a deep, dark dollop of sweet, tangy Branston pickle, feeling an immense, self-satisfied sense of triumph that I had somehow secured the absolute pinnacle of lunchtime comfort food to rescue me from the mundane reality of everyday eating. But then, in a sudden, horrific, and utterly shattering subversion of my illusions, my eyes closely scanned the fine print of the ingredient manifesto on the packaging only to realise, with a sickeningly sudden drop in my stomach, that this bundle did not include a single, solitary slice of smoky, paprika-stained, garlic-infused chorizo. This devastating realization immediately plunged me headfirst into a deep, dark abyss of burning, visceral humiliation as the blinding light of historical accuracy woke me up to the undeniable, deeply embarrassing fact that I had foolishly expected a deeply traditional, centuries-old English pub staple—rooted entirely in the agricultural heritage of the British countryside—to automatically and magically feature a cured Iberian pork sausage native to the Iberian Peninsula of Spain and Portugal, leaving me utterly, profoundly ashamed of my own staggering culinary ignorance, my shockingly uncultured palate, and the sheer, unmitigated audacity of my misplaced, geographically confused excitement that exposed me as a total fraud in the realm of food appreciation.
2026-07-25 12:28:35
0
user5lkc4tsmsg :
😁😁😁
2026-07-23 20:09:49
0
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