In my post “Recovery Helped by the Nostalgia of Tea and Biscuits at My Nan’s House,” I wrote about the only comforting memories I have of food – all thanks to my nan. I bought custard creams and Welsh Paned tea and added them to what was then a slow and steady meal plan.

Dipping those double stuff custard creams into hot tea, feeling the warm cream melt on my tongue – I felt like I was being hugged by the Welsh nan of tea. Her house came flooding back to me, and I was little me again, laughing at how many soggy biscuits had fallen to the bottom of the mug.

It genuinely helped my recovery – so much so that tea and biscuits became the start of everything, and the end of everything I knew, all at once. I’m now on a new path. A realer path. One where, for the first time, I’m letting myself feel comfort from food – not just fuel or function, but real, emotional comfort.

To do that, I have to find food that actually comforts me. And because that list is short, I go back to the only place I ever truly felt it: my nan’s house. This time, I remembered her sweet jars – filled with mint imperials and Woolworths Pick N Mix – and I knew what I wanted to do next.

Glass Jars Full of Memories.

I pulled up my laptop and had a look online to see if I could find the exact sweet jars my nan had. And lo and behold – there they were, staring back at me on Amazon. I couldn’t quite believe they still make them.

I’d say the ones my nan had were more legit – not factory-made or mass-produced – and then go on a tangent about how they don’t make things like they used to. But then I remembered she got everything from Hyper Value, so… who knows. Whatever their origin, it was surreal seeing those jars again. I could almost smell the Mint Imperials through the screen.

Alongside the vintage jars, Amazon also suggested these decorated glass jars with wooden lids – and I instantly fell in love. They felt like a perfect fusion of my nan’s flowery style and my own love of glass and wood. Perfect. Added to cart. I was excited to receive them, and I wasn’t disappointed.

These are, without a doubt, the NICEST jars I’ve EVER owned. Even better in real life. The sunflower jar especially – it’s beautiful, and I love it so much. They’re not identical to my nan’s, but they do remind me of her. I think she’d absolutely love that I bought them.

There’s only one thing missing, though – Sweets.

Pick N MIx of the People I Love Most

Now, unfortunately, Woolworths no longer exists. I know. I cry every time.

But I could make my own pick n mix – and I knew exactly what I had to get first: Quality Street. They were my nan’s favourite, and she always had giant tins of them. It was brilliant too – her favourite was the green triangle, and she hated the purple ones.

She was obviously wrong. The purple one is the best one. But I loved that about her – because her dislike of the best sweet meant that her tins were always full of purple ones. Everyone agreed, though, that the toffee penny and toffee stick were abominations that caused severe tooth distress. I guess that trait is genetic.

I loved the old wrappers the sweets were draped in too – I’d make art out of them, or purple-tinted glasses for my bears. Food was fun once. I want to feel that again.

So I thought carefully about what else I wanted to add. Jellytots came to mind immediately.

WeeGee – my best friend who passed away – always used to say, “Love you lots like Jellytots.” She signed cards that way, texts that way, said goodbye that way. Jellytots have just released a sour version. She didn’t get to try them – so I’m adding both the original and the sour ones to the jar, and I’ll eat them for her. She deserves a place in my nostalgia pick n mix.

For the rest of the jar, I chose things I know I love:
Ferrero Rochers, because I am a luxurious chaos goblin. (So luxurious I could only stretch to the pack of three, in this economy.)
Flumps, because marshmallows remind me of making rocky road with my son.
Mini Creme Eggs, because Easter chocolate is the best chocolate.

By the end, I had two full jars of nostalgic pick n mix, well, one full jar of pick n mix and one full jar of flumps, and memories of the three people I have loved the most. But why stop at pick n mix jars?

What else did my nan have – that every nan had? Butter biscuits.

Butter Biscuit Betrayal

You’re at your nan’s house, rooting through the cupboards, and the glint of a shiny blue tin catches your eye. You’re so excited – you’ve found treasure among the Hyper Value brick-a-brack: BISCUITS. You open the tin, heart full of hope, only to find…

A SEWING KIT?

That’s not what I signed up for. I signed up for the most buttery biscuits known to man – not thimbles. Oh hey, look! That’s where all the gifts from inside the Christmas crackers go. Wondered where they ended up. You never see them again after Christmas Day.
Still. Where are my biscuits, Nan.

I feel like everyone has a story like this – the betrayal of the biscuit tin. The magic was never knowing if you’d open a stash of sewing bits or the best buttery biscuits in the world. And the times it was biscuits? Pure joy. My nan would make tea and I’d dip them in, just like the custard creams.

Given their delicate buttery nature, though, they’d often fall to the bottom of the mug. But those biscuits gave me a lifelong obsession with butter – biscuits, pastries, anything rich and golden. It’s probably why I love croissants so much. The taste of butter means something to me. It means comfort. It means Nan.

But it’s not just about butter. It’s about love. It’s the feeling of rooting through my nan’s cupboards like a treasure hunt. It’s how she let me polish her house for fun, never once shaming me for enjoying it. I could make glasses for my bears out of Quality Street wrappers and just be myself. I didn’t have that at home.

But I’ve given that to my son. And, well… to my bears too.

So I’ll share these buttery biscuits with my son. I’ll keep buying them. And one day, I’ll put one back in the cupboard – sewing kit and all – and continue the buttery legacy of the superposition tin. Is it biscuits? Is it thread? There’s only one way to find out.
(Perhaps this is what sparked my lifelong obsession with superposition.)

And for my bears? I got them their own mini tins. I saw them online while buying the bigger one, and I just had to. Biscoff has been providing me with so much support lately, he deserves a buttery treat too.

Everyone deserves comfort in my house.
My son. My bears.
And maybe even… me.

Sometimes it is About the Food

Recovery from anorexia isn’t about food – although sometimes it is. I can’t recover without it, no matter what Clippy (my ED) says. But I don’t think I can recover without comfort either.

Last time I recovered, I was told again and again: “Food = fuel.” “View your meal plan like a prescription.” So I did, for 12 years. I thought that was what I was supposed to do.

But it didn’t help me build a relationship with food. It just gave me another chore to complete five times a day – like taking my meds.
Food doesn’t always have to be functional or clinical. It can be warmth. It can be memory, tradition, legacy – comfort.

That’s what I’m hoping these pick n mix jars and buttery biscuits will help me find this time.
The same comfort I felt in my nan’s house – brought into my own home, thanks to an Amazon Prime subscription and a few 3am trips down memory lane.

Does your memory lane include Pick N Mix or Butter Biscuits? I’d love to hear about it.

Younger me was obsessed with this song for a while, it fits. Dedicated to my bear Biscoff :-