Saturday, December 28, 2002
As part of my calculated
As part of my calculated path of destruction through the holiday season, I made two trays of lucky glucose squares for xmas and tookem to the homes where I was invited to share the yuletide cheer, or whatever they had going at the time. (These were two wonderfully intimate and relaxing events, for which I am extremely grateful to Brett and Krista and Dave and Kim and all the beautiful people who made all of this possible.) Lucky glucose squares? - I hear you struggling to recall as I veer dangerously off topic. Yes, and once again you’re unexpectedly confronted by the perils of the RECIPE CORNER:
it’s a 9x13 pan lined shallowly on the bottom with a layer of rice krispy treats, and then you make rocky road fudge by melting chocolate, butter and peanut butter together, and mixing in marshmallows and peanuts, and then you pour it over the top of the treats and let it harden in the fridge before you cut into it.
But here’s the thing: I used Beer Nuts instead of reguler peanuts in the fudge (an independent dessert named by Kelly “o my god are you trying to kill me"). And what I did was, I only used about a third of the cannister of beer nuts and then I gave away all the lucky glucose squares and later on I absently started munching on the beer nuts and then I started shovelling them into my mouth with both hands and even regretting that I was limited to just the two of them. They are very easy to abuse. (The nuts, I mean. I guess I use the hands to abuse the nuts but that’s not an evil inherent in the hands. Oh dammit you know what I meant.)
Before I realized that I needed the help of a greater power to overcome my weakness and imperfection (and yo, folks at 13 last night, thanks for plowing through the remainder and taking temptation out of my path), I was reading the copy on the side of the cylinder in which my nuts had come packaged. There were five paragraphs of laudatory prose regarding the redoubtable beer nut and those whose lives had been dedicated to its perfection and promulgation. The second ("payoff") paragraph began with the phrase “The most passionate of all was Russell Shirk.”
I stood there in the unflattering overhead light of my kitchen, maw full of half-masticated sugar-caked goober peas, and considered Mr. Shirk’s example. Swallowing, I swore to do something really great really soon. Something I can be passionate about, that brings joy to strangers and comfort to friends. Something that would have made Russell proud. I left the kitchen both enlightened and inspired. That’s a lot for a snack food.
