When I was a small boy there were few pleasures greater than to take a spoon, warm it vigorously over the gas hob of my mother’s cooker, and plunge it hissing slightly into the tin of Lyle’s Golden Syrup which resided in the cupboard. The heating of the spoon made the liquid easier to handle as one conveyed it to one’s mouth.
Imagine my joy, then, to discover that this wonderous substance is now available in the form of icecream, thick with chunks of sponge and soaked in golden syrup. (At this point you have to imagine me doing that drooling / gurgling noise Homer Simpson does when presented with something truly delicious, like for example several hundredweight of donuts.)
Suffice to say if I apply myself I can put away a tub of it at a sitting. Truly this is the food of the Gods. Increasingly morbidly obese Gods, admittedly. But still Gods.