Elaine Canham, elainecanham.wordpress.com (thank you wordpress for having such reliable software. PSYCH- It’s crap.) until three days ago, had never had a Twinkie.
Crazy, but true.
When she was a child, she did not watch her Saturday morning cartoons, punctuated by commercials starring Twinkie the Kid,
and should we ever run out of food, she and all her fellow Brits shall starve, for they will have nothing to eat that will last forever in a cellophane wrapping (For our story, lets assume a life of Twinkies at every meal is preferable to death), and a thousand years after we’re all dead from A bombs, H bombs, and whatever letter prefix we come up with next in order to make certain death more convenient, the cockroaches will thrive upon twinkles, creating a new (and rather disgusting) race of diabetic cockroach people.
Obviously, the situation needed to be remedied. So, together we instituted a snack cake and biscuit/cookie exchange program. I sent her some Twinkies, and she sent me some Cadbury mini cake rolls, WHICH ARE SO GOOD!
When The Box arrived, J (who is perfectly capable of reading and spelling his own name or mine), immediately took it and secreted himself away with a pair of childrens’ left handed scissors. When I found him, desperately trying to get into the box that he knew would contain “Twinkies from England”, I asked him whose name was on that box, and the back of his head said:
“It’s from US customs approved.” Sigh. I never should have told him. He’s become obsessed with the idea that yummy snack cakes could come from such exotic lands as England, and Elaine’s kitchen.
I took the left handed childrens’ scissors from him and finished the job.
J, K, the husband and I all sampled the goods. K ate all but the very end of hers, and then proclaimed that she didn’t like her “Fwinkie”. She eats nothing but chicken nuggets and oreos (voluntarily), so I imagine that once she noticed she was about to finish the thing, her involuntary reflexes kicked in, and she told me to please take it away, as she “didn’t wike it”. The husband was nonplussed as well, but he’s where K gets her food aversion. J said, (between little dances of joy) “can I have another Twinkie?” I told him for the seven thousandth time that these were not Twinkies, and he’d have to wait till after dinner.
Then I got a cup of coffee, as we usually have coffee and biscuits ’round four.
The mini cake rolls, for my American friends, are like Ho-Ho’s, only they’re made with actual chocolate, and real cake. Amazing. I checked the ingredients, too, it’s all stuff we can eat without fear of cancer or growing extra limbs or heads. Or both. I was astounded. Twinkies have so many chemicals in them that their classification as “food” ought to be reviewed.
Also in the box from Elaine were Jaffa cakes. Jaffa cakes are my new favorite treat. They’re these lovely cookies with a moist (real) cake on the bottom, and then an orange gelatin covered by (real) chocolate. (I have since found a dealer here in the US to feed my new Jaffa cake habit.) They are very yummy, and I got them all to myself because the rest of the family doesn’t want weird stuff like fruit gelatin in their cookies.
Americans. They have no taste.