When I was little, my grandma would always buy Klondike bars and little Debbie snacks because Shopwise, our local supermarket in Jackson heights, would always have sales on them. Next to the produce, there stood a big candy case with a variety of candy by the pound. She would be on the average two pounds and always carry and assortment in her pocket. But it wasn’t just her coat pockets. She would have a few in her purse, a few in her coat –winter coat, rain coat and spring jacket – and a few in her bath robe. My favorites were the butterscotch but I always hated Little Debbie Snacks. I thought they had a bland texture and the sweetness was more fluffy and filling than actually satisfying, infiltrating my mouth with vile chunks of fructose-bound particles.
The Klondike bars were ok, especially the crunch variety. The problem was the vanilla ice cream to chocolate ration. Never enough. Once you ate the perfectly thin chocolate cover, the vanilla would just melt away into this sad creamy pile, with no stick or anything. The polar bear on the silver wrapping was really their saving grace. I wonder what her favorite flavor was? I never asked.
Here’s to 2009, the end of the first decade and the start of a shitload of new thoughts on obvious things.