Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Pineapple happiness

For some, it's Cocoa Puffs. Others, Charlston Chews. For me, the sweets obsession that I haven't been able to kick since childhood is dried pineapple.

Starting at the ripe age of eight, I was hooked on their gummy sweetness. A store at the New London Mall had a big bin of dried pineapple - the uber-sugarcoated variety for sure. I would get a little white paper bag and use the tongs to pluck five or six rings from the happy yellow abyss. Back home I would sit on the couch in the den, with my tasty bag of treats, and surf between MTV and Channel 56. It didn't get any more blissful. (Unless my mom had made brownies or bought Ring Dings.)

Jump-cut two and a half decades: my obsession with dried pineapple has been renewed with a vengeance. I know where to go in every neighborhood to score the best stuff. At least the adult-me knows better than to get the ones cloaked in refined sugar — ew, those are quite awful. But slightly sweetened, gooey in the center, hard at the edges, a nice dark sunny yellow - nothing too bleached out - that's the perfect specimen.

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