Deleted Notes & Queries response: Why does tinned food come in a 400g can?
Below is a response to a question that appeared on the Notes & Queries page of The Guardian website on 5th June 2022
The comment has since been deleted from the website.
This blog is obviously not affiliated with The Guardian. Its reference to a question that appeared in Notes & Queries is presented under the terms of fair use.
I recently spent just under an hour in the company of Patrick Ruff, while he waited for a connecting train at York Station.
Even though we had not seen one another in over four years, and had seldom communicated during that time, he spent most of our precious minutes together expounding upon a great list of small woes that plagued his daily existence. Chief among these was a recent discovery that his favourite game soup was no longer sold in tins, but in what he described as “a sort of biodegradable laminated pouch”.
“I couldn't find it anywhere on the shelves in Farthings,” he reported, in abject disbelief that such a thing could occur. “I mean, it was right in front of me all along – well below my line of sight – in its floppy new packaging, bedecked in new postmodern livery. Meanwhile, I was looking for a tin with a pheasant on the side. In the end I had to ask one of the shop girls. She was new, so she didn't know. There was this big palava.”
He flapped his hands about limply on the end of his wrists.
“The floor manager weighed in, to no obvious benefit. Much head scratching. Then the girl picks up a pouch from the bottom shelf. She holds it up, pinched between her thumb and finger and says to me: 'Do you mean this?' And there is was: No longer worthy of a tin can. The pheasant's toddled off as well – retired probably. A lot of tedious waffle on the back regarding 'heritage moorland' and 'game bird curation'. I think the last time that I consumed anything from a pouch was after I fell off Aescwine, when he took off through some trees, and my jaw had to be wired.”
“It's what you get when you name a horse Aescwine,” I remarked. “There is bound to be resentment.”
“A cautionary lesson,” he agreed. “When they teach Old English at school, which I very much doubt they do anymore, the classes ought to come with a strong warning about using it as a source of names for children and horses.”
“How is Collibe?” I enquired.
“If recent credit card statements are to be trusted, she is with her mother in Kensington, spending all my money on antique fireplaces for her new digs. She communicates using text messages - Collibe, I mean. Rachel limits her communication with me to ransom notes from her solicitor, demanding optimistic sums of money.”
“So, do you think that you can move with the times, into the brave new world of hand-curated soups in NASA packaging?” I enquired.
“I wrote to Saltman's,” Ruff answered indignantly. “I asked them what they were playing at. I received what at first glance seemed to be a handwritten reply from the family patriarch, Eddie Florence.”
He attempted to roll his eyes, but age intervened.
“That offered a glimmer of hope until I reached the end and discovered that his secretary had compiled the response from Florence's notes and drawings on the matter' and had written and signed it on his behalf.”
“To be fair, he has a lot of bright red sports cars and young blonde women monopolising his attention,” I noted.
“Anyway, the gist of it is that it's been done for the sake of the turtles,” announced Ruff. “It seems people have been picnicking on cold cans of Saltman's Game Soup on the beaches of Southwold and then discarding the tins, which are carried out to sea, where they are preyed upon by turtles who can't resist the gamy taste of pureed pheasant. Unfortunately they have been cutting themselves on the sharp edges, so a biodegradable pouch has been adopted as a substitute. I've noticed that Saltman's have taken the opportunity to knock 25 grams off a serving. Same price, naturally.”
“When you're decanting soup from a tin to a pouch you are bound to lose a little in the process,” I rationalised.
Ruff, patted his stomach which, in the aftermath of lockdown, had assumed the springy surface-tension of a beach ball.
“I could stand to lose the weight I suppose,” he acknowledged.
“Plus, in these environmentally-conscious times, we have to think of the turtles' waistlines,” I said.
The comment has since been deleted from the website.
This blog is obviously not affiliated with The Guardian. Its reference to a question that appeared in Notes & Queries is presented under the terms of fair use.
~
Why does tinned food come in a 400g can?
 |
| image generated by Craiyon |
Even though we had not seen one another in over four years, and had seldom communicated during that time, he spent most of our precious minutes together expounding upon a great list of small woes that plagued his daily existence. Chief among these was a recent discovery that his favourite game soup was no longer sold in tins, but in what he described as “a sort of biodegradable laminated pouch”.
“I couldn't find it anywhere on the shelves in Farthings,” he reported, in abject disbelief that such a thing could occur. “I mean, it was right in front of me all along – well below my line of sight – in its floppy new packaging, bedecked in new postmodern livery. Meanwhile, I was looking for a tin with a pheasant on the side. In the end I had to ask one of the shop girls. She was new, so she didn't know. There was this big palava.”
He flapped his hands about limply on the end of his wrists.
“The floor manager weighed in, to no obvious benefit. Much head scratching. Then the girl picks up a pouch from the bottom shelf. She holds it up, pinched between her thumb and finger and says to me: 'Do you mean this?' And there is was: No longer worthy of a tin can. The pheasant's toddled off as well – retired probably. A lot of tedious waffle on the back regarding 'heritage moorland' and 'game bird curation'. I think the last time that I consumed anything from a pouch was after I fell off Aescwine, when he took off through some trees, and my jaw had to be wired.”
“It's what you get when you name a horse Aescwine,” I remarked. “There is bound to be resentment.”
“A cautionary lesson,” he agreed. “When they teach Old English at school, which I very much doubt they do anymore, the classes ought to come with a strong warning about using it as a source of names for children and horses.”
“How is Collibe?” I enquired.
“If recent credit card statements are to be trusted, she is with her mother in Kensington, spending all my money on antique fireplaces for her new digs. She communicates using text messages - Collibe, I mean. Rachel limits her communication with me to ransom notes from her solicitor, demanding optimistic sums of money.”
“So, do you think that you can move with the times, into the brave new world of hand-curated soups in NASA packaging?” I enquired.
“I wrote to Saltman's,” Ruff answered indignantly. “I asked them what they were playing at. I received what at first glance seemed to be a handwritten reply from the family patriarch, Eddie Florence.”
He attempted to roll his eyes, but age intervened.
“That offered a glimmer of hope until I reached the end and discovered that his secretary had compiled the response from Florence's notes and drawings on the matter' and had written and signed it on his behalf.”
“To be fair, he has a lot of bright red sports cars and young blonde women monopolising his attention,” I noted.
“Anyway, the gist of it is that it's been done for the sake of the turtles,” announced Ruff. “It seems people have been picnicking on cold cans of Saltman's Game Soup on the beaches of Southwold and then discarding the tins, which are carried out to sea, where they are preyed upon by turtles who can't resist the gamy taste of pureed pheasant. Unfortunately they have been cutting themselves on the sharp edges, so a biodegradable pouch has been adopted as a substitute. I've noticed that Saltman's have taken the opportunity to knock 25 grams off a serving. Same price, naturally.”
“When you're decanting soup from a tin to a pouch you are bound to lose a little in the process,” I rationalised.
Ruff, patted his stomach which, in the aftermath of lockdown, had assumed the springy surface-tension of a beach ball.
“I could stand to lose the weight I suppose,” he acknowledged.
“Plus, in these environmentally-conscious times, we have to think of the turtles' waistlines,” I said.
~
Saltman's have been making soup for donkey years, though donkey has been perennially absent as an ingredient across their range, which is aimed at the country gentlemen on a budget, who lacks easy access to a fresh source of venison or partridge.
The move towards eco-friendly packaging seemed out of place somehow, though Eddie Florence has been linked romantically to Audrey Marland, who may be the catalyst guiding this sea-change. Whatever the driving force, it marks a distancing by the company from its unsavoury past:
On the battlefields of 17th century Europe, the saltman was an explosive device used by the English: A metal container of familiar dimensions to anyone who has ever visited the canned goods aisle of a supermarket, but containing shrapnel and a layer of gun salt to act as a primer. Soldiers discovered that, if you removed the contents, the casings were good for keeping food warm. A powdering of gun salt between the rim of the can and the lid would reseal the vessel when ignited, allowing for easy transportation without spillage.
Andrew Florence, who fought in the Nine Years War, innovated the process during peacetime, laying the foundation stone for the Saltman's empire.
I hope this is of help.
The move towards eco-friendly packaging seemed out of place somehow, though Eddie Florence has been linked romantically to Audrey Marland, who may be the catalyst guiding this sea-change. Whatever the driving force, it marks a distancing by the company from its unsavoury past:
On the battlefields of 17th century Europe, the saltman was an explosive device used by the English: A metal container of familiar dimensions to anyone who has ever visited the canned goods aisle of a supermarket, but containing shrapnel and a layer of gun salt to act as a primer. Soldiers discovered that, if you removed the contents, the casings were good for keeping food warm. A powdering of gun salt between the rim of the can and the lid would reseal the vessel when ignited, allowing for easy transportation without spillage.
Andrew Florence, who fought in the Nine Years War, innovated the process during peacetime, laying the foundation stone for the Saltman's empire.
I hope this is of help.
 |
| image generated by Craiyon |
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