"As Parker-Bowles puts it, devastatingly: Look, we have Belvoir and Bottlegreen. But they use concentrates. Why can't we make a really high-end British cordial? Mind. Blown. You didn't know about this. You didn't know about the grail of the not-from-concentrate cordial. You didn't know what we have here is a genuine seeker, product of a youth spent poring over the pans, face smeared with tears, bilberry reduction, seeking something that goes beyond cordial and into, well, art."
"You, the masses, might conclude what we have here is a perfect modern example of regal entitlement, captured by the fact Waitrose are already stocking Bowles O'Fruit or Royal Pith or whatever it's called. You might see in that syrup another distillation of why this rain-fogged island can't grow or invigorate itself, a place where people with talent and creativity must fight for every glob of opportunity, while step-scions of royalty can launch a not-from-concentrate cordial."
A stepson of the king launched a premium, not-from-concentrate cordial framed as a quest for artisanal purity. Interviews emphasized disdain for concentrates and celebration of a 'genuine seeker' who spent youth poring over pans, making bilberry reductions and pursuing cordial-as-art. Some people called the product a posh money-making pitch and an emblem of regal entitlement, noting Waitrose already stocks the brand. Observers connected the launch to wider social resentment: creative talent struggling for opportunities while privileged figures use social capital to commercialize minor luxuries. The launch mixed culinary obsession, marketing theatre, and class commentary into a concentrated commodity.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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