Oh, sugar. I love you so. It’s been a magical last few days as your abundance was celebrated. At home, at work, even in my car. (That’s what happens when you open a bag of Hershey bars on your drive home.)
My love affair with sugar started young and was heavily influenced by my father. Every lunch, dinner or spoonful of savory was followed by a little something sweet. Consequently, our house was littered with random piles of candy, usually purchased at a gas station since he traveled for work.
He kept a stash of taffy in the living room clock, cookies behind the phone books and butterscotch candies in the drawer next to his bed. And yes, I sought them all out. (My giant appetite was the reason he had to hide food in the first place, but that’s another story.)
Always the supporter of the underdog, my dad applied that philosophy to candy, as well. Really awful candy, my dad bought in bulk as if to say, “Don’t worry strange strawberry hard candy with a soft center, I’ll take care of you.” I think he bought Cherry Mashes only because they were made in St. Joseph, Mo.
So in addition to developing a major sweet tooth, I had no ability to discern between quality desserts and straight-up high fructose corn syrup. This is something I struggle with today. I love to bake (surprise!) and take pride in making items from scratch. No box mixes in my house. (To all the moms out there, I realize this will change if I have kids.)
But loving my Barefoot Contessa recipes as I do, I equally heart a Costco white cake with the pudding center. I can hear it singing out to me from the break room on the other end of the building and always partake. Oatmeal cream pie? Yes, please.
Someone suggested immediately brushing my teeth after dinner to keep from delving into the sweets. I laughed. Did she seriously think Crest could overcome the lure of Nutella? Silly girl. Never.
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