Skip to main content

Peeps, Eggs, and Jellybeans

No holiday is ever complete without the appropriate candy.  Candy canes for Christmas and candy corn for Halloween--you know how it goes. Easter is no different and there is a magnificent sugary buffet to choose from. Jellybeans are iconic. Pink, red, yellow, white, green, and black. Now I've never really cared for the black ones, plus they turn your tongue black. They're the last ones in the dish at our house. I'm really not into the gourmet "beans"  and off brands are not really up to the quality either.  Just give me a bag of Brach's with the traditional flavors.

Peeps have come a long way since I was a kid.  Once those little fluffy marshmallow were in basic yellow, but now they're in a rainbow of colors. You can also get them in other shapes such as rabbits. Peeps have been crafty over the years, expanding their wares to fit into other holidays as well. Ah, American ingenuity. A Peep for every holiday.

Then we have the decadent Cadbury egg. Chocolate outside and full of absolutely the sweetest "white" and "yolk" on the planet.  I don't think I've ever eaten one without feeling a little sick afterward. I've pretty much sworn off those 10,000 calorie treats now that I'm firmly headed to my dotage. They really can't be good for me.

The eggs I do love at Easter time are the Reese's peanut butter eggs. They're about the right size--not too big and not too small. They are the perfect combination in my book. Yes, I know they're just a Reese's peanut butter cup in another shape, but you can only get them once a year, so they're special. The malted eggs are also a fine treat, as are M & M's chocolate eggs. They're both small and go down quite easily.  Why, you can polish off a bag in no time.

So, dear readers I encourage you to leave a comment about your favorite Easter candy. It'll be interesting to see what gets the highest rating.  And now, I wait for my husband to deliver the Peeps.


Comments

I love peanut butter cup eggs and Cadbury eggs. Peeps? Yuck. Marshmallow of any kind is... ick!

Popular posts from this blog

The Castile Knapper

It's always fun to have family members who have a bit of notoriety because of interesting pursuits. My husband's cousin, Ken Wallace is one of those.  Ken is an artist who works in stone as a flintknapper. Flintknapping is the ancient art of shaping tools and weapons from pieces of stone. Knapping was part of the survival skill set of Native Americans. Arrowheads, knives, hatchets, and more were shaped from raw pieces of flint or chert.  Ken knapping at the Wallace Reunion Ken became interested in this process back in 1985. One of his favorite pastimes was searching fields for arrowheads, both of which are pretty plentiful in Western New York. Freshly plowed ground in rural areas often yields many different types of arrowheads since the Iroquois were the original residents of what are now corn fields and cow pastures. Fascinated with how the Iroquois made their weapons and tools, Ken started to try and recreate them. He says a lot of trial and error were involved in the...

Victim of Circumstances?

 The article below has been getting a lot of hits lately, and I thought it may be time to repost it. A couple of weeks ago, I took the picture below. I thought it pretty much sums up our life journey. We never know what's around the corner for us.  Circumstances change in seconds some days. Whether the circumstances of life are good or bad, we're fond of blaming them for how we behave and think. Here are a few of the well-used excuses:  "I'm a victim of circumstances.""The situation is impossible." "The circumstances are beyond my control." "Under the circumstances"...fill in the blank. Funny how principles, self-control, and  positive thinking can go out the window when we're "under the circumstances."  And lest you think the author is above blaming circumstances, she is not. I've used most of the excuses above, whether spoken or unspoken.  An imprisoned and wrongly accused Jewish C...

Smores Anyone?

We lived in the same house for 25 years just outside of our small hometown of Castile. It was a good little neighborhood and was mostly quiet except for the traffic on Route 39. When the signs of spring arrived, it was also time to pile up tree branches, and clean out the garage or the shed of burnable miscellany. Each year there seemed to be a contest between my husband and the next door neighbor to assemble a burn pile of enormous proportions.  Day after day I watched their piles grow until tepee-shaped woodpiles were just right to be torched. There was an art to the arrangement so that it would be totally consumed in a short amount of time. It was sort of like a bonfire on steroids. Now the neighbor enjoyed the element of surprise on the neighborhood and waited for quiet Saturday afternoons to begin his incendiary activity. KABOOM! You would have thought we were under attack by enemy forces. Then there was a rush of wind and the crackling of the k...