Gimme some sugar
About a week ago I discovered two half-full boxes of a cereal called Smorz (apparently hip hop culture has changed even the way we name our breakfast foods; I'm sure the next thing is "Lucky CharmZ, Biatches!" ) in the cupboard. The boxes were identical except for my children's names scrawled across each in my husband's distinctively slanty capital letters and poor use of Sharpie pen.
"Has it come to this? Didn't they learn to share in kindergarten?" I asked David. Our children are 12 and 15 years old.
"I know, but it's the only way to break up the fights. I can't keep this stuff in the house!" My darling hubby does not mind going to the grocery store. In fact, Dave has recently become something of a born again "foodie" and prides himself on bringing exciting new items home from the store when he's not drinking red wine with his new TV buddies Emeril LaGasse and that damn perky Rachael Ray. (That is another story.)
Smorz describes itself on the box as such: "CRUNCHY GRAHAM CEREAL WRAPPED IN RICH CHOCOLATEY COATING WITH MARSHMALLOWS." Wow. What's not to like? I had to try it.
Admittedly, I have had a terrible sweet tooth my entire life. As an adult, I have eaten Easter Peeps for breakfast, chased with bacon and sweetened coffee. I can eat the icing and leave the cake. Pralines, Eagle Brand in a can, those sugary fruit slices that come in four colors — all have a special place in my heart. Just last week when out to lunch with our new associate, Mark, I became aware that not everyone pre-orders their coconut pie before their sandwich order out of fear the deli's supply will run out, eyeing the waitress suspiciously to make sure she really does reserve that slice of pie. But I sure do.
As a kid in the sixties, we didn't have the kind of indulgent mega-marketing treats my kids have access to now. Back in the day, Oreos were the king of the cookie but they only came in one basic format. With the help of a spoon and a trash can, I invented my own version of Double Stuf Oreos decades before someone at Nabisco decided maybe the concept wouldn't be too grotesque to present to a marketing focus group.
So when I tasted my first bowl of Smorz, I realized that at last, one of my childhood fantasies had come true. At last someone had created a cereal like tasted just like the marshmallow bits in Lucky Charms without the dry, tasteless, beige oat kibble. Sweet!
As kids, my brother and I would always eat only the crunchy, colored marshmallow bits out of the Lucky Charms, causing my mom to threaten never to buy them again until my brother and I would finally wear her down on the next shopping trip. I never understood why the folks at General Mills didn't just make an all-marshmallow bit cereal. Maybe because then the "charms" wouldn't be special. Maybe because 1960s parents wouldn't tolerate such a hedonistic, tooth-rotting product. Obviously, it would take another generation before consumers would start to feel like too much of a bad thing wasn't such a bad thing.
Yes, Smorz are sweet indeed. Where's my Sharpie pen?