Essay: Ode to Sweets

I have an insatiable sweet tooth. In the morning, I wake up wanting only toast with jam despite the ill-advised carbs and sodium contained therein. When I arrive at work, I make a double espresso and it's hard work to resist the candy and other snacks that are freely available in the office kitchen. At least three days a week, I get lunch at Jamba Juice, where I consume a small smoothie and oatmeal topped with a sweet compote of apples and brown sugar. On the walk back to the office, I often stop in the kitchen for Fig Newtons, M&Ms, or cookies. At 3:30 every day, I take a sanity break. I walk downstairs, fix a cup of tea, and take it outside to the back patio with cookies.  When I leave the office for the day, I usually stop by the receptionist's desk (she's already left by then) for a quick fistful of whatever's in her candy dish. After dinner, if we're out of brownies and mochi, I'll eat the bulk chocolate that's kept with the baking stuff in our kitchen cabinets.

First of all, I'm lucky that my weight is at least within the normal range (even if it's on the high end). I'm lucky I'm not diabetic (although that may very well be coming). I'm lucky I don't have dentures (my grandmother, from whom I'm convinced I inherited this weakness for sweets, lost most of her teeth by the time she had kids).

I will eat pastries, cake, cookies, ice cream, candy, and chocolate with reckless abandon at nearly every given opportunity. Over the past year, I have reined it in somewhat and yet my typical day, as described above, still consists of eat least three stops specifically for sweet snacks. I would rather skip protein and have pie instead. I would prefer ice cream to dinner. I've been known to make my own lemon curd. One of my specialties is a many-layered trifle. I make fruit pies in the summer, fudge at Christmas, and cookies and brownies on a year-round basis. If you get too close, I will stuff you with sugar and butter.

Now that the weather is warmer, I want to try my hand at ice cream. I remember my parents making it in an old wooden barrel-like thing with a loud, crotchety electric motor attached. This contraption required that one add salt and ice continuously over an extended period of time. I know that technology has improved matters and now the process it not as arduous and physical. However, I must research what the preferred methodology is, nowadays. I wish for nothing quite so much this summer as the finest peach ice cream made with freshly-picked fruit.

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