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Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.
Friday 02/28/2003
dulce
A few weeks ago, I asked people to write about the candy and sweets of their youth. I also said I would do the same.
Promising to write something? What in the world was I thinking? February being a very short month, combined with an unusually hectic schedule and unusually strong feelings of apathy towards this site have lead to my procrastinating on this entry until the very last night of the month.
I�m sure it is not a surprise that as a kid I always did my weekend homework on Sunday night.
So what exactly do I think of when I thinks sweets and youth?
There is the sticky sweetness of botan rice candy. Fun to eat as long as you ignored the ingredient list. What kid wanted to know they were eating something made from barely?
There were also many weekend mornings spent eating various pan dulces. Always dunked in Mexican hot chocolate, and always the better for it.
I also remember having a weakness for chocolate. Milk, white, dark, it didn't matter, it was all good. Although, I think the ultimate for me was probably resse�s peanut butter cups. I still find them ridiculously good.
Most kids cereals are just as if not sweeter than many candies. When I was young, I had a strange fondness for frankenberry cereal. Rather questionable behavior I think. Were there any straight boys who liked strawberry flavored cereal? It�s probably the breakfast food equivalent of a boy wanting an easy bake oven and coveting his sister's barbies. Both of which I oddly did not do.
I don�t know exactly how old I was at the time, but at some point, I switched to raisin bran. I was trying to be more grown up I think. After a year of sugared raisins, I got my mother to buy some fruit loops. A big mistake. They were so repulsively sweet, they were inedible. I remember wondering how it was that I ever managed to eat them in the first place.
Luckily, my sister had no problems eating the noxious stuff, since my mother was not to thrilled over my requesting food that I refused to eat. Then again, my mother thought all cereal was repulsive, so maybe she could have been a touch more sympathetic.
My mom had small tins of rose and lavender hard candies which she kept on her dresser. I would occasionally sneak in to her room to eat them. The flavors were odd. Sweet, but foreign as well, with an slight metallic aftertaste.
I thought that they tasted adult and mature, which may have been part of my attraction to them. On the other hand, there is the obvious. I mean a boy sneaking around eating his mom�s flower flavored candies does seem fairly fey.
I�m beginning to think that I must have been an obviously gay young boy.
There was one other sweet that I loved as a kid. In an extended family of self assured and talented cooks, it was always agreed that my Tia Bertha was best baker. Of everything she made, her lemon meringue pie was my favorite.
Unlike many commercial pies, hers weren�t cloyingly sweet. I think this may be where I learned to appreciate the flavor of tart. The smooth creaminess of the lemon curd contrasting with the spongy chewiness of the meringue may have taught me to appreciate texture in food as well.
My Tia rarely bothers to bake anymore, which is a huge shame.
More later,
nico
(By the way, thanks to everyone who participated in my little exercise in writing. If you would like to continue, then I would suggest the subject of lust. Same lack of rules for this one. The writing can be fiction or not, long or short. It can be whatever you want, just finish it by of the end of March. I�ll write something as well, although hopefully well before the end of the month.)
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