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The other night, while I was taking a shower, I suddenly thought of pudding pops and how much I enjoyed them when I was a kid. We've been living on Edy's fruit bars all summer, which are great, but not chocolate. This developed into an actual craving, egged on by Oz, who always ready to promote junk food purchases. I began to wonder about possible advances in pudding pop technology that may have occurred in the past couple decades, and what might have happened to that generic brand, touting itself as "a quiescently frozen confection" and prompting a trip to the dictionary, that my mother always bought.

We bought some last night. Turns out that pudding pops are now made by Popsicle, they are smaller, and seem to have less flavor and a mushy texture. My flavor issues probably stem from my palate's additional twenty years of sophistication; I suspect that, since my first taste of Belgian chocolate, there was no going back, ever. But the size thing? These are kind of pathetic. And the texture? These are pretty much just what you'd expect frozen pudding to be like, really fast-melting frozen pudding, I might add. Back in my youth, I'm sure they had a more solid, creamy texture, probably the effect of extra horse hooves (let us not forget where gelatin comes from).

This afternoon, while I was proofreading the water filter patent, I suddenly thought of Laphroaig (I could taste it), but refrained from pouring myself a dram. Too early to start drinking, even if this patent would drive a [insert term for member of teetotaling religion of your choice: Mormon, Muslim, various Christian sects] into a liquor store. So I ate a pudding pop instead and it just didn't do the trick. I think this experiment is over and I have nine pudding pops left.

I'm all done with work for now. I'm writing this and watching Japanese TV. The semifinal match of the annual high school baseball tournament is on. This was preceded by the International Safety Report, a daily five minute show that tells you where it's dangerous to go. Today's extra safety feature informed us of the information parents should collect from adult children before they go off to party down in Spain, or wherever. Because the kids won't call to let their parents know they're okay. Ingrates, leaving their parents to worry beside the phone and eventually go harass the bureaucrats at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs!

415 words | August 19, 2005 03:15 PM | Kitchen