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Running a fingernail along the wrinkled peak of thin, gold foil, I find an edge. I lift the delicate lip, hearing the sheet crinkle as it expands like an accordion. I pause a moment, just long enough to pinch the tiny paper plume that reads “KISSES,” and tug it free from its host.
Satisfied that the foil has been removed intact, I crumple the shiny square into a ball and discard it. Popping the freed morsel into my mouth, it sits on my tongue for a moment, and as the sugary drop melts, an almond is revealed.
In a sudden movement of tongue and teeth, I swipe the nut between my molars and feel it crack under pressure. As I slowly swallow the melty mixture, my hand reaches for the next of what will be at least twenty Hershey Kisses I will consume in one sitting.
More than I should, I find myself seeking chocolate. The rich texture and undeniably delicious flavor of this classic confection certainly tempts my sweet tooth, but I actually have a different motive.
Like a baby, I crave something soothing and repetitive when I’m stressed, tired or bored. Since Gerber doesn’t make pacifiers for 59-year-olds, and my husband isn’t jiggy with rocking me in a rocking chair, I opt for sweet treats.
I’m not talking about gorging on a half gallon of Moose Tracks ice cream or whaling on a pan of gooey fudge brownies. While I’ve been known to indulge in those delicacies from time to time, I find more comfort in chocolate treats that lend themselves to prolonged, ceremonial enjoyment.
Thanks to the recent Easter festivities with our family, miniature chocolate candies wrapped in pastel foil are all over my house, calling to me like tiny sirens. “I’m here!” they wail, urging me to bring them to my couch where I can slowly and systematically eat them, one by one, while watching morally bankrupt reality shows. Despite the guilt I feel the next morning, the behavior relaxes me in the moment.
In the past when we were an active-duty military family, I turned to chocolate when stressing over the logistics of complicated PCS moves, or when on the brink of insanity during long deployments.
Hershey Kisses with Almonds have always been my therapy treat of choice, because eating them can be broken down into ritualistic steps. When I can’t get my hands on Kisses, I ease stress with other chocolatey treats.
For example, regardless of the nutrition label, an entire sleeve of Girl Scout Thin Mints cookies is the proper prescription to calm my nerves. I extract each disk from the stack, and place it on my tongue to steep. The chocolate coating slowly melts, allowing saliva to soften the crisp center, dissolving it into a mouthful of minty mush. I chew any remaining crunchy bits and swallow, before lifting another from the sleeve.
I began ritualizing my consumption of treats when I was a child. I never understood a kid who could take a bag of M&Ms, tear open the top and pour the whole thing into his upturned mouth. What a waste!
I, on the other hand, would maximize my enjoyment, spreading the contents of each bag out, and separating the candies out into their colors. I’d then analyze each pile, eating only the most flawed morsels. Those that were misshapen or had an imperfect “M” were goners. I continued this process until I’d whittled the lot down to one of each color. Those five — the Chosen Ones — would be scooped up together and ceremoniously sacrificed in one final chomp.
This may sound nuts, but in times of stress, everyone turns to something for relief. I figure, three-quarters of a bag of Hershey Kisses with Almonds is measurably better for one’s mental and physical health than three packs of Camels and a pint of Jose Cuervo.
Feeling stressed? Why not dissect a dozen peanut butter cups, nibble the chocolate off the outside of a Three Musketeers bar or methodically pick apart a pair of Little Debbie Swiss Rolls? It tastes good, it feels good, and stress melts away as fast as a chocolate Kiss on your tongue.
Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com
