While completely disregarding Cracker’s fevered, feigned umbrage at just the dang cutest little email I sent her (You know ~ one of those rare gems that manages to tell the truth but induce thigh slapping hilarity at the same time?), she did have another post that caused me great pain and emotional anguish. I’ll be spelling it out in detail here as the draft for my civil suit, but feel free to weigh in if your life has been similiarly victimized, your psyche irrepairably damaged, your very emotional well being compromised to the point of rendering YOU an unfeeling vegetable. Perhaps we have the making of a class action, who knows? But you might find this cathartic…cleansing even, as I’m sure I will.
Now, in her post she has a bullet point that asks the seemingly innocuous…
* What retired products do you miss?
She mentions “Jello Puddin Pops”. Pitiful, but hey! She misses it. I offer up in the same theme ~ “Shake-a-Puddin'”. Granted, missed more for it’s entertainment than food value, but fondly remembered none the less. No, where the emotional damage comes in is in those fond remembrances of things beloved in childhood which still exist on Winn-Dixie shelves, but in a VASTLY altered form. I am talking corporate canoodling of the most foul and unnatural description! The dreaded…
FORMULA CHANGES.
OOOOOO, that pisses me off, thereby causing extreme anguish. Wincing, I can recall the three horrible examples scarring my youth still frosting my chops three and a half decades later.
1) TWINKIES ~ the bastards changed the spongecake formula in the late 60’s. From a wonderous, moist, delectable, delicate taste treat of epic dimensions to something that now has a shelf life of…well…three and a half decades.
2) NESTLE’S HOT COCOA ~ the formula change here involved denying not only taste associations, but sensory as well. Half…no, ALL the damn fun of the stuff was the way it clumped in the bottom of the glass when cold milk was added, with a little foamy, gravelly, pumice-like dark chocolate clump flotilla that escaped to the top. Mountain Man and I were VERY particular about how our glass of milk was constructed, right down to a milk pour worthy of the finest head on a beer. Oh GOD! And the cocoa sugar sludge reward at the bottom of the drinking vessel? Sweet baby Jesus. ‘New and Improved!’ meant everything mixed the second the milk or (GOD FORBID!) water hit. No foam, no sludge. A contemporary uniform consistency.

3) GERBER’S JR. CEREAL, EGG YOLKS and BACON ~ Once upon a time, when babies and just done being babies ate, they ate Gerber’s. The ‘Junior’ foods had some consistency to them and generally tasted pretty damn good even to the adult palate ~ probably because they were full of all the hateful things adults LOVE and which we now know KILL BABIES. Or at least make them grow up Republican. One of our favorite, easy yummy morning meals as teenagers was two jars of Jr. Cereal, Egg Yolks and Bacon. Redolent with smokey bacon smell, laden with actual CHUNKS of the devine pork-fat product and creamy yet substantial body, it was the dream food of mornings. Pop off the top, jar in the microwave and voilà! Tummies warm and full for the beastly walk down the driveway and sub-zero wait for the bus. Ah, the smell of it! And unrecognizable in it’s current form. Which, I guess, doesn’t KILL BABIES or make them REPUBLICAN. (At one point they even dropped bacon from the label, but I see it’s back now.) It tastes like pooh and I’m not talking the bear. Bland…glopless…chunkless…devoid of smokey goodness…SAFE.
So there you have it. My litany of sins of egregious nature perpetrated against those sucked into the vortex of product loyalty. I’ve tried to spare Ebola the heartache we’ve suffered ~ changing up table fare so he doesn’t get too attached to any one thing. That’s what mothers do ~ protect their children.