Candyfreak

When my Dad mailed me his softly used copy of Steve Almond's Candyfreak: A Journey Through the Chocolate Underbelly of America, a book about one man's reminiscing of the loss of his favorite candy bar and the resulting pilgrimage to independent candy bar manufacturers in the US, this was the third book about chocolate and candy that other people had given me within the past year. Were people trying to tell me something?

Yes, they were. I am a candyfreak.

I've never denied that I love sugar, dessert, and all things candy-like, but within the first few pages of Candyfreak, I got a sugar rush from reading the casual, candid, candy revealings of Steve Almond -- someone who understands!

Candyfreak is not new. The book was published in 2005 to rave reviews, and resulted in many people searching for the book's featured regional, hard to find candy bars -- thanks to the big guys like Hershey, Mars Nestle, and the ridiculous racking fees required by the big box stores that make it nearly impossible for the small guys to get a piece of the pie. But if you haven't read Candyfreak, do yourself a favor and pick up a copy. It's a fast, witty, and sweet read.

Candyfreak was so sweet, it inspired me to search out and sample some of the regional candy bars Almond wrote about. That's coming in the next post, but, first, I'll preface my candy bar research with proof of candy freakdom. Come along as we look at my the most prominent candy memories.

Candyfreak Family

Granddad - Kept a bowl of candy at arm's reach from his recliner at all times, as well as a drawer in the kitchen filled with Little Debbie's. On every visit, he took us to Kroger to fill up on all the bulk Brach's candy we wanted. Really, this was a guise to keep himself stocked. Brach's Royals, were my favorite. No one ever ate the Circus Peanuts. (In the photo: Granddaddy sits me down at a young age to tell me just how sweet life is.)

Mom - Also had a drawer in the kitchen filled with Little Debbie's. Three cookie jars sat on the counter, as well, and were always full. The drawer and cookie jars were never off limits to us kids, and, hey, I turned out fine. We ate breakfast, a home packed school lunch, and a home cooked meal every night. And cookies whenever we wanted!

Dad - Chocolate connoisseur. A safe in his office kept "the good stuff" locked away from the kids. When feeling generous, he'd let us sample some of his chocolate. Makes a kid feel special...or cheated.

Hubba Bubba Made Me Do It
The following is my first, vivid candy memory. I'm not sure how old I was, but I'm guessing pretty young since a tricycle was my get-away vehicle (yep, that's me on my trike over there), and I had no understanding of money. All I knew is that grape Hubba Bubba bubble gum was the tastiest thing ever, and Mom obliged my addiction and delivered a package of the choice gum every time we went to the grocery store.

Feeling an urge for some Hubba Bubba, I grabbed my younger neighbor and best friend, we hopped on our trikes and started the seven block journey to the nearest Piggly Wiggly to, I guess, steal some grape Hubba Bubba.

We only made it about three blocks (uphill is rough going on trikes) before my best bud's mom found us as she was driving around in her station wagon in search of the two of us runaways.

We were not runaways! I knew exactly what I was doing -- going to the Piggly Wiggly to get myself some Hubba Bubba. I've always been self-sufficient.

Heather F
Bath Oil Beads Make For Crappy Candy
I was naive and painfully shy when I arrived at the bed and bath department of a department store with my Mother. As she was browsing the towels, a large bin of round, smooth bath oil beads caught by eye. Holy Mother of God! A huge, open tub of candy at child level. Too shy to bother my Mom with a request for candy, I filched a ball and popped it in my mouth. The flavorless plastic-like shell burst with my bite, and soapy oil filled my mouth. Worst candy ever.

Jaboobie
Now And Laters Will Pull Your Teeth Out
No, really. I've never had a piece of candy accidentally pull my teeth out, but I did employ Now And Laters as teeth-pulling servants on multiple occasions when in my teeth-shedding years. Too much of a weenie to pull them myself, and too fearful of the string-attached-to-tooth-at-one-end-and-attached-to-a-slamming-door-on-the-other-end, I went the sweet route.

1. Place Now And Later in mouth to warm for maximum stickiness.
2. Position Now And Later over loose tooth.
3. Bite down firmly.
4. Yank jaws apart quickly.
5. Remove bloody tooth from Now And Later.
6. Eat Now and Later.

mateoutah
Who Stole My Candy?
At age twelve, I was probably trick or treating for one of the last times that I could get away with going door to door begging for candy without feeling slimy, and this last run was a good one...except I couldn't find my bag of candy the next morning.

We searched my friend's house who I was sleeping over with high and low. No bag. We went down to her cousin's house to see if he jokingly took my bag. No bag. What we had was a serious freak-out on my part, and a not so clever plan to get more candy.

How about we go trick or treating again, telling the people who open their doors that our father (we're, of course, related to each other at this point) was out of town on Halloween, so we couldn't go trick or treating? People always have left over candy the next day. Brilliant!

While I'm sure no one believed us, they surprisingly doled out the goods, except no one had left over candy. They had granola bars, pudding packs, and such every day snacks. Ugh!

Turns out, I put the original bag of Halloween candy on a shelf over my head, forgot where I put it, and I couldn't see it when I was frantically looking for it. Doh! To this day, if anything is over my head (not hard to do), it does not exist.

greenlook
In Germany, Chocolate Makes Everything Better
During high school, I spent a month in Germany with a family as an exchange student. Before I went over to Germany, a girl from the same family spent a month with my family. She had an eating disorder that bordered on anorexia, and, naturally, she thought I was a little piggy who loved chocolate and sweets. No, and yes!

In some sort of combination of frustration with their daughter who wouldn't eat, and an attempt to make the little piggy, goth-like American girl happy (I swear I was never goth -- just afraid of sun damage, and have a resting face that says, "eat me"), my host parents showered me with huge bars of chocolate...almost daily! I couldn't eat them all, so shoved them in my suitcase. They thought I was eating them since they disappeared, so gave me more. I flew home with so much German chocolate that summer. Score!

Presently
I have plenty more tales of candy freakdom, but, really, how much can one take without being drunk? What are things looking like currently? Well, I just got finished eating a butt load of candy bars, which you'll witness in the next post; a bucket of candy lives in my closet (that's it over there); multiple candy bars live in my cheese drawer in the refrigerator (chocolate over cheese any day); and chocolate chips are always in the pantry at the ready (for emergencies, i.e, bedtime snack).

Foodies In My Family

Bear with me on this post – it’s a whole bunch of personal information as an excuse to run a photo of a very famous food guy. (Go ahead. Scroll to the bottom. I’ll wait.)

While I profess to be opinionated about food, I would never declare myself an expert on food. I don’t know everything there is to know about food, but I do know what I like, and have been exposed to some mighty good food since I’ve set foot on this earth. I have my family to thank for that. They’re all foodies, in a sense.

My mother’s parents were farmers – not the kind that grows a thousand acres of corn as a commercial commodity, but they were farmers in the more traditional sense. They grew a plot of tomatoes, a plot of corn, a plot of butter beans, and a plot of cucumbers destined for the local farmer’s market and the local folk's bellies.

My mother is an excellent cook. We ate a home-cooked meal every night, and school lunches came in brown paper bags packed with love by mom. When I was younger, the only time I set foot in a fast food restaurant was on school field trips when the bus pulled in to McDonalds – how pathetic of the schools. Of course, I’m not that sheltered; I was later acquainted with fast food restaurants in high school when I started getting out on my own.

My mom taught me how to cook by letting me stick to her side and help her in the kitchen; I was the pot stirrer, the cheese grater, the bean sheller, and, of course, the brownie bowl licker. Thank you so much, mom, for feeding me wholesome, delicious love cooked up every night.Granddaddy chefs it up while I keep his chair warm

My father’s parents were city folk. My granddad was the chef while he was in the Coast Guard; they asked who could make biscuits and gravy, and he raised his hand. Later, he sold restaurant equipment and designed commercial kitchens. I remember sitting at his drafting table, unrolling blueprints of the interior of restaurants and gazing at all the circles and squares.

Granddaddy was also famous for his catfish stew and hushpuppies, which were not only requested at home, but at large events where he would lord over the stew in a huge, cast iron cauldron set over a flame. My granddad taught me to skin a catfish (this requires nailing the fish to a tree and pulling the skin off with pliers) and pull molasses candy (Granddaddy had a fierce sweet tooth).

My sister has worked in the gourmet food industry since she was sixteen. She started at a retail gourmet food and wine store, and over the years has been a personal chef and a pastry chef. She even made the cover of the Chicago paper many years ago with a soup inspired by my Granddad, and has dined with the likes of John T. Edge. She currently is a wine and cheese buyer for a Southeastern competitor of Whole Foods . She’s has lived and breathed food since she was a teenager, and when she has her game on is quite the little food snob.

My brother has worked in the food industry most of his life, too, but as a server in restaurants. Don’t take serving lightly. Many are truly professionals in this field, and he was one of them. Unfortunately, you won’t be served by him any more. A life changing event led him to pick up and pursue his dream of sailing. Godspeed.

My dad is, the only way to put it, a wine and food connoisseur. We might have been the only family in our neighborhood that had a wine cellar back in the 1970’s. We might have also been the only family with a dad that kept the “good” chocolate locked in a safe (shit you not), so that the kids didn’t eat it all.

My dad is very opinionated, and it must have been from him that I learned to critique food. To everyone’s embarrassment at the table, he never hesitates to send food back at a restaurant and loudly voice what is wrong with the food and how it should properly be prepared.

My dad also has some weird talent or personality trait that I was not born with which enables him to envision, organize, and create festivals – I’m talking large festivals that thousands of people attend. This has been going on since I was a child, and embarrassingly leads to pictures of your dad in papers. He currently is the founder and president of the South Carolina Barbeque Association, a very serious association that does not take barbeque (ussage: noun, specifically pork; and transitive verb, "barbecued") lightly, and sentences like, “I have discussed going to all butts as opposed to whole hog and butt” are not a joke. Of course , he created a barbeque festival, and disseminates his trained troops to smaller festivals throughout the state. Anthony Bourdain, his camera person, and my Dad.

So, this all leads to the picture of Anthony Bourdain and my Father. The fourth season of Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations begins July 30th, and my dad was filmed for a segment on the South Carolina episode coming up this fall. Being the go-to barbeque guy in South Carolina, my dad hooked Tony up with some real barbeque and schooled him on the way it’s done. My dad had a blast that day, and said Tony was down to earth, polite, funny, and an all and all nice guy – contrary to what you might imagine him like from his sarcastic side seen on TV and in his books. And, yes, he does smoke that much.
God knows what potentially embarrassing thing my Dad just said?

I can’t wait to see what snarky comments Tony edits in if my Dad makes it into the final cut. You guys will have to tell me about it (tape it), since the Travel Channel is not one of the one hundred cable channels I pay obscene amounts of money for.

So, that’s my family, and why I am the way I am. Sue them, not me.

Summer + Fresh Vegetables = Farmer's Markets

Corn Photo by justinhenry
Just by chance my mom calls me yesterday and mentions her local farmer’s market. She has been visiting to pester the Master Gardener volunteers in hopes of being accepted into their training program. Then we start talking about her youth and farmer’s markets. I love being older and capable of having conversations with my parents.

My mom is the daughter of a farmer from South Carolina. As a little girl in the early 1950’she picked corn, tomatoes, butterbeans and other vegetables in the early morning and loaded up the truck to head for the open-air farmer’s market on the weekend. Her older brother drove her, dropped her off, and picked her up at the end of the day. She then picked vegetables until sundown in preparation for the market again. She was paid good money - $20 a day! She put this in perspective by adding that she made 90¢ an hour when she was working in college.

I have fond and vivid memories of shelling many butter beans with my mother. Fresh beans are so good. I miss them. I should take the time to shell some.

Fresh vegetables are one of the reasons that summer is so great. If you’re eating fresh, locally grown vegetables, don’t add too many seasonings to them. They don’t need it. Salt and pepper should be fine.

Butter Beans
Boil fresh butter beans 10 to 20 minutes in water seasoned with salt and pepper.
(Mom added a little hunk of fatback, but who does that anymore?)

Farmer's Market Guide

I Heart Mom

A package containing two jars of Duke's Light Mayonnaise appeared on my porch the other day. My mommy sent them to me. Gotta love Mom!

Now the pressure is on for what to get her for Mother’s Day. I always get her bath stuff, chocolate, or stationary. Oh, the pressure – and lack of ideas.