Rifling through my Halloween candy got me to thinking about what sweet treats have been a party in my mouth and what candy needs to be kicked to the curb.
I'll always break for the 100 Grand Bar, Milk Duds, a Tootsie Pop, M&Ms, and an Almond Joy.
But I have no patience for the wastes of space that are Jujubes, Dum Dums, Three Musketeers, Skittles and the aptly named Blow Pop.
Much like cross-pollinated food, Blow Pops are the Frankenstein of candy and decidedly NOT greater than the sum of its parts.
Back in the day, I couldn't wait to go to my brothers' Little League games. The concessions table fucking rocked. Pixy Stix, candy bars, Double Bubble, suckers. With all these choices, I reached for a Blow Pop. In its festive wrapper and promise of two candies in one, my 7-year-old self was powerless to resist.
As I popped it into my mouth, everything was initially a-okay. But as I wore away the candy shell, it collapsed into the bubble gum center.
While I always enjoyed peanut butter in my chocolate, I didn't like shards of hard candy comingling with my gum. The two textures were confusing to my young palate and left me wishing my lollipop would pick a lane. A Blow Pop is my personal cautionary tale to dial back the greedy. I mean, look what happened to all those grubby-fingered little punks who visited Willy Wonka's factory.
Less is more.