I strongly object to the idea of “TV Delights.” But I cannot throw stones. Or truffles. Or anything right now. Photo: Me
The picture above is not a picture of Buffalo’s famous sponge candy. There is no picture of sponge candy available to me at this time because a) we know I use only public domain images or images I have taken myself for PaperGirl, and b) I have now eaten all of the sponge candy that came through this hotel room over the course of two days, a quantity that would surprise you. No, really. It would surprise you.
But what is sponge candy? The devil knows.
That’s no colloquialism; not this time. I don’t say “the devil knows” with a shrug and look at the ceiling, as if to communicate “Sponge candy. Who can say?” No, I mean that the devil knows what it is. Because the devil has a test kitchen and he spends good money on R&D.
Eons ago, fathoms below Buffalo, NY, the devil put honey, baking soda, and sin into a big, fat (really, really fat) cauldron and he stirred it with The Spoon of Regret. He stirred and stirred and then, when his special “honeycomb toffee” was ready, he poured it out into sheets or something, cut it, then dipped the cubes into the most wonderful, creamy, silky milk chocolate you have ever tasted in your entire life. The devil then tried a piece of it and he laughed and laughed and laughed because he knew what he had done. He christened** the stuff “sponge candy” and now I’m on my bed with a stomachache and I can feel my hips expanding. “Oh, that’s impossible,” you say, “that’s just in your head.” I think you’re wrong. My hips are pooling and the more I look at that white paper bag in the trash can over there, the wider the pool gets and I feel it.
At the quilt shop yesterday, the devil used the kindest, most generous quilter named “Margaret” (sure) to bring me a bag of this famous candy simply out of the kindness of her heart. This was very smart of the devil because I didn’t suspect anything. Margaret, you were a pawn. I tried one in the kitchen and it was all downhill from there: I ate four before for my second lecture and six more when I got back to the hotel. I ate the rest of the bag about an hour ago. But wait. That’s not all.
Do you think I could resist going to legendary sponge candy-maker Fowler’s Chocolates two doors down from the quilt shop during the lunch hour today to buy large quantities of this delicious confection also known by adorable name “hokey pokey?” No, of course not. The devil is in the business of putting small-batch chocolate shops two doors down from quilt shops in adorable American towns. This quilt shop-chocolatier combo is deadly for many, many of my friends. A quilt shop adjacent to a chocolate shop is my tribe’s fly paper. The devil’s flypaper. Lock up your daughters and sons if they like to make quilts and have a fondness for pure gustatorial bliss: the end is near.
**this was difficult for the devil but he pushed through