If you read my previous post, “What The Fork“, you’ll know that on Tuesday night, a fork stabbed me in the finger, as I was putting a bowl in the dishwasher. What I didn’t mention was that less than an hour later, I had a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup for the first time. Or at least half of it.
This is that story.
I have said it many times on this blog – I am not a candy person. Trick-or-treating on Halloween was all about obtaining: Chips, Aeros, Jersey Milks, and Smarties. I couldn’t care less about anything else.
By the way, Canadian Smarties are different than American Smarties. Ours are like bigger, but flatter, M&Ms. American Smarties are what we refer to as Rockets.
I’ve never had a Kit Kat. Never had an Oh Henry!. Never had a Mars Bar. Never had a Snickers. Never had a (insert name of candy here).
And it’s not like my parents ever said, “You can’t have candy!” or put any restrictions on me. I just wasn’t interested.
Until this past Tuesday night, I’ve never had anything in the Reese’s family. Their Peanut Butter Cups do not appeal to me. I do not like combining chocolate and peanut butter in my mouth. I do not find it enjoyable.
I know that may be a very controversial thing to admit, but so be it. I’m not going to tell myself I enjoy it, just so I can be in the majority.
I know I’m in the minority. I know it is a widely popular treat. I respect its dominance. I just don’t like it.
So, after the fork stabbed me in the finger and I lost some blood, clearly I wasn’t thinking straight when I was presented with the opportunity to try half of a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.
I said yes. I figured, let me finally get this out of the way, so I can confirm what my eyes have been telling me all along.
Maybe my Guardian Angel was behind the fork attack and that was their way of saving me from myself. They tried to take my finger out of commission, so I wouldn’t be able to pick up the chocolate and put it in my mouth.
Sorry, G.A., I missed the sign.
I went into this taste-test completely receptive to the fact that maybe I do like Peanut Butter Cups after all, and I’ve just been a stubborn fool my whole life. I really gave it a shot to impress me.
It did not.
I found it to be really gooey. It felt like my mouth was closing up on me. As if my teeth were being glued together and the back of my throat was being pushed to the front of my mouth.
It was like my tongue was fighting through quicksand and all I wanted was for an emergency sprinkler system to go off, so I could be at ease again.
As you may already know, adulthood is all about describing foods as “too salty” or “too sweet”. In my opinion, the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup I had was way, way, way too sweet.
It was akin to a, “What are you hiding?” level of sweet. Like an overly cheerful child who sells cookies, but is actually a cog in the wheel of their parents’ money laundering scheme.
Yes, I’m ready for Season 3 of Ozark. What of it?
Sugar overload. I could feel it seeping into my teeth, wanting to dig a cavity. Are they going to pay for the filling?
I am sorry if this knocks you out of your bed, but I did not like it.
If there was one positive – and I don’t even know if you can call it a positive – it was that I was surprised by the texture of it.
When I bit into it, I was expecting it to be a bit crunchy. I was expecting the layer of chocolate to put up a bit of a struggle, before allowing my teeth to land on the peanut butter.
It was a soft bite. That was unexpected.
Honestly, if you take the peanut butter out, and scale back the amount of sugar, it would be a pretty good chocolate hockey puck. I’d probably like it.
They could call it a cookie. Just an idea.
Peanut butter falls under the same category as bacon and ketchup, to me.
I enjoy them paired with certain foods, but once you pair them with the wrong partner, it’s adios amigo for this cowboy.
I don’t know what I just said. Let’s keep going.
I love peanut butter with crackers, carrots, and on bread. Put it with chocolate, I’ll act like we’ve never met. Put it in the oven, I’ll stick my nose out the window like a dog. Can’t handle the smell of warm peanut butter at all.
But this is just me. If you have the exact opposite opinion, that’s perfectly fine.
I think people are more shocked that I’ve never had an RPBC (it’s such a long name and I’m tired of writing it), than they are that I don’t like it. That amuses me.
As you know, we choose our friends. We choose our Twitter handle. We choose our pizza toppings. However, we do not choose which foods we like – our mouth does, and so do our eyes.
Basically, I’m shifting the blame to my eyes and mouth, if you’re disappointed in me for not liking one of your favourite foods.
The ol’, “Don’t look at me, it was my eyes and mouth” excuse. I hope you fall for it.
So, that was the entirety of my Tuesday night. A fork stabbing (allegedly) and a peanut butter cup.
God, I miss sports so much. Can I have proof they’re still alive? Tell them I love them.
“Paul Tries” has been an idea I’ve had for a while and I hope it becomes a recurring series on this blog. Send me suggestions for things to “Try”. Preferably not food-related; I already have a good idea of foods I can try.