Diplomacy isn’t usually where you’d go looking for laughs, but leave it to Japan’s Ambassador to the UK, Hiroshi Suzuki, to stir things up—with marmalade, no less.
In what’s now officially the most British diplomatic crisis of the year (not really), the Ambassador tweeted: “My apologies for offering crumpets with marmalade to Paddington. Please let me know the proper way of enjoying crumpets.”
Boom. Instant internet gold.
Referencing Paddington Bear—the fictional, marmalade-obsessed, always polite Brit icon—Suzuki’s tweet was cheeky, charming, and oh-so-shareable. People absolutely loved it. Within hours, X (formerly X) turned into a crumpet-centric debate club.
Why? Well, crumpets are basically sacred in Britain. They’re soft, holey, spongy little rounds of joy, traditionally toasted and drowned in butter. And while marmalade is Paddington’s jam (pun intended), putting it on a crumpet without a thick layer of butter underneath? That’s borderline treason in some circles.
One user helpfully replied, “Eat them however you want. Personally I prefer mine with just butter. Loads and loads of butter. Sometimes Bovril.”
Another added, “I only like a little bit of crumpet with my butter,” which honestly deserves a round of applause.
For the uninitiated, crumpets are what happens when a pancake and an English muffin have a fluffy, golden baby. They’re made with a gloopy batter, poured into rings, and griddled until the tops bubble like mini moonscapes. And those holes? Not a design flaw—they’re butter bunkers.
Proper etiquette says you toast your crumpet, let an embarrassing amount of butter soak into every pore, and then—if you must—add a topping like jam or cheese or even a risky swipe of Marmite. But marmalade straight up? That’s Paddington’s thing. Not crumpets’ thing.
Still, the Ambassador’s tweet wasn’t about correct condiments—it was about connection. He poked fun at himself, leaned into a beloved British stereotype, and asked for guidance in the most British way possible: by being adorably apologetic.
And honestly? It worked. The tweet snowballed into a wholesome moment of cultural bonding, proof that food diplomacy is real and social media doesn’t always have to be a war zone. British users responded with advice, jokes, recipes, and a surprising amount of butter worship. The internet turned into one big, cozy tea party—and Suzuki was the guest of honour.
Some folks even speculated about hidden meanings. Was the marmalade tweet a cryptic metaphor? A jab at sticky political relations? A signal about trade deals? Most people quickly shut that down. This wasn’t political chess—it was more like jammy checkers. Simple, sweet, and utterly delightful.
At a time when the world feels heavy and headlines are often grim, a diplomatic figure using humor to bridge cultures with crumpets is exactly the kind of soft power move we need more of.
So hats off to Ambassador Suzuki. Whether he ends up preferring butter, jam, Marmite, or even cream cheese on his crumpets, he’s already earned honorary British status. And frankly, Paddington would probably forgive him. After all, he did apologize.
Now if we can just get him to weigh in on scones—jam first or cream first? The internet awaits.
Read the Ambassador’s tweet: