Losing It: Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Ya Gotta Go
With Valentine’s Day behind us, gone from the store shelves are the candy hearts, boxes of chalky, generic chocolates, and all the other love-themed, bad-for-you foods that signal the arrival of the Hallmark holiday. You breathe a sigh of relief that you were able to make it through February without indulging—or at least, indulging as much as you would have in years past.
Flipping through your calendar, March seems like somewhat smooth sailing, as long as you can stick to one Irish potato and one pint of Guinness (I am totally food-stereotyping here. I celebrated St. Patty’s Day once in my entire life in Hoboken, New Jersey. And, as I recall, it wasn’t even on St. Patty’s Day. What is that about? I’m fairly certain I marked the occasion with, like, a pinot grigio or something equally ridiculous. I hate beer and wouldn’t know a Guinness from a cider from an O’Douls. Moving on …). You stop at March 31st (to wish my mom a happy birthday), realizing that with the flip of this page you will come face-to-face with your biggest food-related challenge since the whole Thanksgiving/Hanukkah/Christmas/New Years debacle …
I am so kidding. Passover food is awful. I just had to throw one in here for my homies.
And I’m not talking about a lovely dinner that you share with your family. I am talking about the candy. It’s in Target. Wawa. The gas station. Your work break room. It’s in the shape of cute little bunnies. Eggs. Chicks. Any shape that Willy Wonka and his marketing folks think will help entice you to peel open that wrapper and shove it down your gullet. So, without further ado, some thoughts on Easter candy:
1. ￼The Reese’s Peanut Butter Egg. As far back as I can remember, when asked to name my favorite candy bar, I have always said Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. You can argue that RPBCs are not actually candy bars, but I will then tell you to suck it because there are few things in this world more sacred to me than the marriage of peanut butter and chocolate. And Hershey’s does it better than anyone. (Big shout out to the folks at Turkey Hill for their Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup ice cream. If you grew up with me, you know a tub of it was always in the freezer.) I don’t particularly care what shape the Cups come in. What amazes me is the sheer SIZE of this product. It looks like a friggin’ football! Can someone get the specs on this and get back to me so that when I come face-to-face with one I am prepared?
2. ￼The Cadbury Creme Egg. So here’s the thing. It looks so good and I really, really want to like it, what with its gooey, creamy center and all that. I try one every year in the hopes that maybe this will be the year I finally find love for the Cadbury Creme Egg … Nope. Hate it. Gag me. And why do they spell “creme” like that?!
3. ￼Peeps. Buy me a fresh box of these neon-colored mallows and I won’t think twice. Bust out a few stale chicks and I’ll tear their poor little heads off. What is it about a stale Peep that makes it so far superior to its fresh brethren? But, alas, I feel about Peeps the same way that I do about candy corn. Give me one and I’m in heaven, any more than that and I’m ready to pull the trigger.
And finally …
4. ￼Hershey’s Bliss Milk Chocolate Eggs. These are obviously nothing more than glorified Kisses, but I am nothing if not a sucker for marketing. Thing is, I find myself wanting to dip these into a vat of peanut butter. See number 1 above.
Writing this list has actually been an enlightening experience for me. It seems that my whole Easter candy issue comes down to one thing: I need to break up with Reese’s. Get all Adele on it and write a bestselling album about our relationship. Be all “it’s not you, it’s me” and “since I love you, I have to set you free.” Avoid the candy aisle at the grocery store, for fear that the pain will be too much to bear. Stalk its Facebook profile to make sure it’s not back together with that hooker of a chocolate bunny it dated when we were on a break. Eat the Newman’s Own knockoff trying to pretend that it’s just as good, when clearly it’s sub-par. Never mind, Reese’s—I’ll find someone like you.
What I Did This Week
Two-thousand of my closest friends and I attended the Big Build Bash at the Newtown Athletic Club to christen their amazing new fitness center. Now, you may think your gym is nice and has great classes and superior amenities, but you would be wrong: my gym could kick your gym’s ass. This place is so much more than a gym. They’re trying to build a lifestyle brand over there, and they’re succeeding. I mean, they’ve managed to turn this wishy-washy gym-goer into a rat, right? My kids are taking classes. I’m taking classes. My husband is back on the workout train. I’m itching to get into the new fitness center to try out all the new equipment. We dine in the cafe. I am salivating over the picture of the resort-worthy pool complex set to open next summer. Contrary to popular belief, it’s not just farms out here in Bucks County, folks. We’ve got a fitness Mecca unlike any other I’ve seen, and I am gladly making the trek multiple times a week to bow before it. Jealous? You should be.