With all the tasty food available in Thailand it might seem to be sacrilege that on occasions I am partial to tucking into a bland plate of baked beans on toast. If I haven't tried it for a while it almost feels like a treat. It must be something to do with my heritage, because in Britain more than two million cans of baked beans are consumed every day. That's quite scary.
I admit to having a certain guilt complex about baked beans. On supermarket visits, to escape prying eyes of fellow shoppers, I tend to sneakily hide the cans at the bottom of the basket along with the pies and squeaky toys for the dog.
British people brought up in the 1960s will be familiar with the slogan "Beanz Meanz Heinz". It proved very popular with kids, but was frowned upon by education authorities who felt obliged to launch a counter campaign, fearing a lowering of spelling standards in schools. For the same reason teachers were less than impressed by the Milk Marketing Board's celebrated "Drinka Pinta Milka Day".
It was the big boss Henry Heinz who came up with the "Heinz 57" slogan to promote the different varieties produced by the company. Heinz said he settled on 57 because five was his lucky number and seven his wife's. The slogan caught on with the public and in bingo sessions it wasn't long before the call "all the beans" meant number 57.
Baked beans also have a royal connection, the words "baked bean" being affectionate cockney rhyming slang for queen. On a visit to the Heinz factory in Wigan in 2009 to mark the auspicious 50th anniversary of the British baked bean, Queen Elizabeth was presented with a plaque made entirely out of baked bean tins. Somehow you can't see it taking pride of place on the mantelpiece at Buckingham Palace.
The visit prompted the rather painful headline in the Metro newspaper "Queenz Beanz to Heinz."
Captain Beany
The baked bean is held in such esteem in Britain there is even a Baked Bean Museum of Excellence in Port Talbot, Wales. It is run by a gentleman who legally changed his name to Captain Beany. He converted his council flat into a small museum devoted to baked beans from around the world. He got the idea of setting up a museum during a 1986 charity event when he sat in a bathtub full of baked beans for 100 hours, breaking the world record.
Capt Beany, who has raised large sums for charity, reportedly has an engaging personality and dresses for the part, painting his head orange and wearing a golden cape, trousers and boots. The museum is a popular tourist attraction and has won much praise on Tripadvisor, one visitor calling it "a hilarious and unique experience". Hard to argue with that.
Sky's the limit
On a recent trip to the Northeast I did not consume a single baked bean, but did enjoy some tasty fish fresh from the Mekong River. I was on a visit to Chiang Khan in Loei province and the river was as majestic as ever even though the waters had a distinctive brownish … baked bean hue.
We came across the newly-built skywalk, (more accurately, "sa-ky-wor") 23 kilometres west of the town, which offers a panoramic view of the river and Laos on the other side. Not having a great head for heights -- I even suffered the wobbles walking across the Bridge on the River Kwai -- I had some qualms about traversing the skywalk, but not wanting to lose face, went ahead. That was a mistake.
I had ventured almost halfway without a hitch but then made the mistake of looking down through the glass floor. It was the equivalent of being on the 30th floor of a building. I suddenly froze, with legs turning to jelly and gripped the handrail. There followed a distinctly inelegant shuffle along the remainder of the skywalk before retreating to the security of the river bank. Of course everyone else strolled along the skywalk without a care.
Halfway to the stars
My fragile head for heights underwent a stiffer test some years ago when the wife decided we should take a ride on the Sentosa cable car in Singapore.
In the song I Left My Heart in San Francisco, when Tony Bennett warbles about "little cable cars, climb halfway to the stars" it sounds all very romantic. But romance was the last thing on my mind as I found myself perched in a gondola dangling over Singapore Harbour, peering down at the water some 200 metres below and wondering what I was doing there.
It must be love
Some years ago 36 Singaporean couples took part in a Valentine's competition to see how long they could last sitting in a Sentosa cable car, with just occasional toilet breaks.
Amazingly 19 of these couples survived a whole week.
Just imagine spending seven days with your better half suspended above the water in a space no bigger than a golf cart and, worst of all, no opportunity to storm off in a huff.
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