Everything you’ve heard about Italians and Nutella is true. It’s not even remotely similar to what Marmite is to the UK. There is no love-hate relationship, just pure love.
G asked if her friend could sleepover tonight and if I’d be happy to take them to school the following day. I didn't really have any reason to protest. Getting G ready for school involves us waking up ten minutes before the bus leaves, me downing an espresso, she eating whatever she fancies (sometimes a lump of brie, sometimes a tin of tuna), and running to the bus-stop at the bottom of the road.
Her friend Arianna comes armed with a pillow and snapchat. We then proceed to eat Nutella sandwiches and watch Youtube videos about Nutella for two hours. Apparently, this is a perfectly acceptable and quite normal way to pass time at an Italian sleepover.
It turns out you can do an awful lot with Nutella. You can make hand soap, lip salve, a portable phone charger, ice cream and bath bombs. We watch programmes about the differences between various types of Nutella; G and Arianna tell me all about how Nutella should be eaten. For example, Nutella is for bread only, not toast. Hot Nutella is ‘blagh’ and acceptable only if you are making some kind of chocolate fondue to lather over bananas and strawberries.
This Italian obsession with Nutella is very peculiar. Am starting to think there is some conspiracy which sees Ferrero supply hospitals with some sneaky substance which makes all Italians addicted to Nutella from birth.