Wednesday, 4 August 2010

Lawrence Dallaglio, Dallaglio by Sacla' Bolognese Sauce

The jars in the Dallaglio by Sacla' range feature the ugly mug of Lawrence (I'm not too worried about Lawrence knocking down my door, given that rugby's seemingly designed to leave participants with cauliflower ears, gap-strewn smiles and, in the case, of our erstwhile leader, partial blindness), alongside his father Vincenzo, who shall henceforth be referred to as Papa Dallaglio, because I'm in a lazy, stereotyping mode.

I went to a rugby-playing school and I had to de-spectacle when we did rugby in games lessons, and, to cut a long story short(-sighted), I couldn't see too well. Having said that, I'm not sure there's actually anything more to that story. Anyway, I think we can say for certain that it was only my myopia that prevented me from having a professional rugby career.

I've always found it jarring when the brutish play of the game is followed by post-match interviews with well-spoken, intelligent players, contrasting with the cliche-riddled inanities of football players. It's also interesting that football has a burgeoning metrosexualism, while rugby has long had an aura of homoeroticism. And yet rugby only has one openly-gay professional in the warmly received Gareth Thomas. Football had Justin Fashanu. Who was ostracised. And hanged himself. Way to go, football!

In my extensive research into big LD (read: I read his Wikipedia page) I discovered that the greatest thing he ever did (worth a two point mark-up) was to sing in the choir on Tina Turner's panpipe-laden power ballad classic We Don't Need Another Hero from Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome. I'm surprised no-one razzed him with this by playing it instead of Land of Hope & Glory before the kick-off, perhaps on the entirely hypothetical Matt Dawson's World Cup Wind-Ups.

I'd like to think I'm fairly well acquainted with the range of pesto from Sacla', but I never realised before reviewing this that they have a crazy apostrophe at the end of their name. I've no idea what it's there for (the name's an acronym for the Societa Anonima Commercio Lavorazione Alimentari, roughly, the Anonymous Society of the Food Processing Trade, hmmmm) so I like to think it's there just because they bloody well felt like it. I wholeheartedly support this practice, as I view a name as an abstraction and, as such, Sacla' and the B-52's should be allowed to punctuate their names as they please, if only to get the goats of Trussites everywhere.

In their bolognese sauce, Lawrence and Papa Dallaglio have put a glug of Barbera wine (glug being an SI unit, with the standard held in Geneva, Switzerland). Now I'm teetotal, but I'm not bothered by a bit of alcohol in my food. It's not like it's a purity issue for me, as it is with straight-edge types who have "poison-free" tattooed on their chests, apparently unaware of the irony. I did call myself straight-edge for about a week before I realised it was too much effort explaining what the ruddy term meant to people.

I don't know what the person who wrote the label was on, as they recommend using as measly 100g of mince, I found I had to double that. Other than that though, I've not got much to complain about it. It's got a nice, rich flavour, and the chunks of tomato add a rustic quality that puts it in a different league from glorified tomato purees from the likes of Dolmio.

Lawrence Dallaglio: 8/10
Bolognese sauce: 8/10
Total: 16/20

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