Holidailies asks: Holiday food you wish would disappear from the face of the earth.
I answer: Ribbon candy.
Oh, my word with that stuff. I cut my yap up so many times attempting to eat it as a kid. Lips, gums, inside the cheeks, no part of my mouth went unsliced by ribbon candy, but the tongue got the worst of it.
Why I kept trying to eat it is beyond me. I didn’t even like the taste. No one in my family did. There would still be some sitting in a box the following April until someone who might or might not have been me pretended to find it in the cupboard and yelled out through the house to my mother, “MOM! The ribbon candy is all stuck together!”
“Throw it out!” she’d yell back.
And so I would.
The colors were all wrong, too.
But let’s talk about the good stuff, shall we? Hershey’s Kisses, candy canes, stealth candy canes that looked like the regular ones but were really cherry, the questionable chocolate in Advent calendars, and cherry cordials.
Yes, cherry cordials, those gooey gloppy things that you have to just pop into your mouth whole because if you bite into them, you’ll spend the rest of the day looking like you drooled down the front of your shirt. They are good.
Yes, they are.
In fact, they are so good that one year when my sister was pregnant, she told my mother she had a craving for them so my mother bought three times as many of them and we all sat around eating them until we were sick to our stomachs.
Then there was the grand-daddy of all holiday candy, miniature chocolate Santas wrapped in foil. Those things were the bomb. They were small, they were cute, and you could roll the foil into tiny little balls that you could shoot into your sisters’ hair with a straw when she wasn’t looking.
Once I went away to college, I would shove a fistful of mini Santas in my purse to take back with me after Christmas break as it never occurred to me that I could actually buy them, myself. Without fail, every spring I would find one in the recesses of a pocketbook, and it would remind me of Christmas.
I wouldn’t throw it out, though, unlike the ribbon candy. As long as it was recognizable, it was fair game and it would be gone in one bite as soon as I could get the foil off of it—no bleeding tongues required.