A Master’s Sweetness

Back on March 15th, I wrote how mom’s KitKat habit switched to a Starlight Mint habit. (The latter is still in full force.) The comments were wonderful, but I had a special back-and-forth with The Master of Something I’ve Yet to Discover, who tried to educate me about TimTams and the war between Crunchies and Violet Crumbles. I got the distinct impression that this is the Australian “Hatfields vs. McCoy” war of candy bars. I relayed to The Master how difficult it is to pick sides without ever having eaten any of the aforementioned. I suggested an overnight Fed-Ex delivery.

Fast forward a few weeks and a Scot wearing a glengarry in New York City went to the UPS store and sent a package to a cheesy sort.

It arrived on Friday.

Thank you Master H, you are too sweet! I was so excited to receive this box that I took very little time in looking over the property…

and inspecting the merchandise…

Golden Hokey Pokey Honeycomb covered in Cadbury milk chocolate. I’m not sure how a song and participation dance from the 1940’s and 1950’s relates to a candy bar. Is it required that I stick my right foot in and shake it all about while taking a bite? The Crunchie reminded me of a cross between a Butterfinger bar and Angel Food candy, a confection that is prevalent around Christmas. It was also extremely sweet.

Have you picked up on my affliction for dark chocolate in prior posts? And that I went on a two-week sugar purge to reduce my cravings? I bet you did. Anyhow, they might be the reasons why I found the Crunchie bar to be too sweet. As the honeycomb crumbled all over the counter, the sugar blast hit me hard. As a 10 year old, I would have LOVED Crunchies. That was a time when I ate sugar dots off pieces of wax paper and drank flavored sugar water out of wax bottles. (Lots of wax here, but that has no bearing on anything). On Friday, the Captain Crunch taste buds of long ago were sending the Crunchie taste buds down the gang plank.

I know, The Master has to be saddened, as well as the rest of the Crunchie-loving world.

Or you’ve all fainted in disbelief.

My apologies.

Get up and keep reading.

To make matters worse, the TimTams didn’t fare much better. A little less sweet, I found them to be just “okay”. As much as I wanted to revel in confectionery heaven, I couldn’t get excited about the little chocolate biscuit. Not good – I will never be an honorary Australian.

So, my next conundrum was passing on this information to The Master. Dare I be honest? Or do I reply with an, “Oh Master, you are so wonderful for sending me that most delicious and yummy and wonderful chocolate. It was to die for and I’ve eaten every last morsel. I love you forever!” What you, dear readers, may or may not know is that I am honest to a fault. No, I will not tell you that you are wearing the most hideous red shirt ever (that would be mean), but I will tell you to go in the bathroom and pick out the green that is stuck between your two front teeth. In this instance, I had to tell The Master the truth.

Over the last week, The Master and I have been in secret email communique, sharing barbs and an assortment of useful and useless information. I let her know that I received the package on Friday and her reply was…

Ooh, goody. I hope you enjoy them. But if you don’t, feel free to be honest about it. I won’t be offended. I will doubt your sanity, but I won’t be offended. 🙂

I never said I was sane.

Saturday afternoon, I sat down to give feedback to The Master and said pretty much what I’ve written here. And then I waited. And waited. And waited. (I hate the differing time zones.) This morning, there was an email reply…

I am overwhelmingly happy that you gave me your honest opinion. I meant it when I said it. I’m well-travelled enough to know that often the standard food of a culture can cause the citizens to develop certain tastes and quite often those tastes just don’t translate across cultures. It explains Vegemite. 😛

Whew, dodged a bullet. A blogging friend from across the pond remains a blogging friend. The Master is too sweet. She deserves an award of some kind (I think I still have a slightly used rubber band and shiny paper clip from my desk drawer at work).

So, the chocolate goodies have been mailed, experienced, and deemed not-so-great by Yours Truly. And The Master is cool with that. However, the final question of Crunchie and TimTam lovers everywhere would be, “What on earth did you do with the rest of our beloved chocolate hokey pokeys and biscuits?” Well, the answer is a pleasant one. I visited with mom on Saturday and gave the remaining chocolate to the health care aides at the assisted living facility. Aide Terry asked, “These are really from Australia?” Why yes they are, Terry! It did not take her long to sample the goodies because 15 minutes later, she came by mom’s room to proclaim the TimTams as really, really good! (Terry’s eyes kind of bugged out and sparkled when she said that.)

Awesome.

Unfortunately, the Crunchies bar was not touched during my visit and I have no knowledge of what the aides thought of this candy. Perhaps next Saturday I will get a full report. I imagine, though, that the TimTams were history by the end of the day and all that is left are some teeny tiny chocolate morsels left in a crumpled package.

To put an end to this post, I have to say this is one of the reasons I find blogging so enjoyable – connecting with sweet people like The Master. And having intelligent Star Trek conversations with bloggers like Dan. Snarking with another Aussie, M-R. Meeting author Andra Watkins in person (her books will rock your world). Always admiring Herman’s photos of Mr. Bowie. Enjoying the escapades and cookies of a Canadian named Joanne. There are many, many more, all of whom I enjoy bonding with in some way or another.

Thank you again Master H, for the special package. The Crunchie bar and TimTams might have been too sweet for me, but your good deed has not gone unnoticed or for naught. The postie* will reward you soon.

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*Postie is a mailman in Australia – unlike a pastie, which is a meat pie of Michigan’s upper peninsula or a round, battered pie from Northern Ireland or something to cover part of a woman’s anatomy. Further explanations can be found at Wikipedia.