Every year after trick-or-treating for Halloween, I used to hide my candy in a little paisley suitcase under my bed. Just to be safe, I even locked it so my dad would not devour the contents in one night.
My sister April and I loved waiting till my parents were asleep and then pouring out our loot on the big orange, fuzzy rug (shaped like a foot) that adorned the middle of our bedroom. That foot was where we would decide what we were going to eat and what we were going to swap. After the negotiations were complete, we carefully secured our treats, locking the suitcase with a little gold key that I kept around my neck for safe keeping.
"I just can't resist the ones with caramel nougat or crispy wafers," my dad would say, as he sneaked into our room begging for something, anything — just one little bag of peanut M& M's. But days before, he had made me promise not to give in — even if he tickled me so hard that I felt as if I could not breathe. "The goblins are going to get you, the goblins are going to get you," he would repeat in an animated voice, trying to wear me down so I would surrender my candy. "Feed me, feed me," he begged, inhaling the candy aroma left behind on an empty wrapper he found on the bedroom floor. I knew he would be furious with both himself and me the next morning if I did not hold up my end of the bargain.
In my house, food and affection were inextricably tied. My father, a successful advertising executive, usually weighed around 350 pounds but his weight could often fluctuate a hundred pounds on either end as he tried (and failed) almost weekly to attempt the latest fad diet. My mother, meanwhile, was a finicky eater who rarely sat down to family meals.
I remember Halloween being an especially difficult holiday for my dad, who had spent six months at Duke University's "Fat Farm" where he had lost 175 pounds avoiding sugar, salt and fat. Before that diet, he would sometimes gobble three candy bars in a row. "There is nothing like the smell of real milk chocolate," he would say, reminiscing about his favorite candy bars: Butterfingers, Kit Kats, and Three Musketeers.
My dad called Halloween a fabulous marketing trick not only for the candy companies, but for the diet industry. The holiday set up candy-lovers to indulge for days, gorging on buckets of left over candy. Once the candy was gone, the guilt set in and the candy eaters began looking for quick solutions to make up for the binge. Sales of bagged candy treats were soon replaced by sales of diet sodas, pills, and weight loss shakes.
Despite my dad's love-hate relationship with Halloween, I loved it. For me, trick-or-treating was about more than the candy. It was a chance to pretend to be Raggedy Ann, a wild alley cat, or a devil– anyone but me. I was just as happy to receive stickers or coins for my UNICEF box as a candy bar. The fun was about being with my friends, carving pumpkins, running up and down the streets, and contemplating for weeks what my costume would be. I loved ringing doorbells, chanting, "Trick or Treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat!"
I waited with anticipation for the doors to open and see who was going to answer, and what they would drop into my plastic, orange pumpkin. The more unexpected, the better. My favorites were always the nonedible prizes like plastic spider rings, or the silly putty eggs, or big red wax lips.
When I went to my friend Monica's house in the West Village, where we would go for an after school party before the big Halloween parade, I marveled at how all my friends transformed themselves, and how much detail her dad put into decorating their house. Halloween at Monica's came with scary jack–o'-lanterns, ghosts project on the wall, a bowl of smoking red punch that filled the room like fog, and orange cobwebs with hanging spiders that dangled in every doorway. They even had creepy music and a big caldron where we bobbed for apples. We snacked on Deviled Eye Balls, Dead Man Finger Sandwiches and Black Snake Spaghetti. I admired the creativity of their menu, and I was in heaven, smelling the pumpkin seeds roasting, the warm apple cider simmering, and chocolate zucchini muffins baking.
The smell of home cooking always reminded me of my grandmother, Beauty. For as long as I can remember, Beauty taught me how to appreciate the aromas of food and feel nourished when something warm and homemade was served to me. Sometimes that included sweets, like her homemade peanut butter fudge or chocolate turtle crunchies. I always preferred Beauty's homemade treats to the kind that came in wrappers at Halloween (except for Now & Laters, which I adored.) For me, Halloween candy served as a way to barter. In sixth grade, you could trade something rare like a Charleston Chew or a Sugar Baby for a Wacky Pack Sticker or a Matchbox car. Each candy had a different value based on who you were trying to trade with. I would swap most of my bag, trying to get a rare collectable such as a Ghostess Fright Pie or a Skimpy Peanut Buttter sticker to decorate my notebook.
At night I would listen to the sounds of my father in the kitchen – the opening of the refrigerator door, drawers banging, and cabinets creaking. Taking the key off my neck, I would check my candy stash at night, planning for the next day's bartering. When I was finished, I pushed the little suitcase back under my bed.
My dad was always amazed how I could trade my candy away. But he never seemed to realize that candy was not what I craved.
Beauty's Chocolate Turtle Crunchies
My grandmother used to make these candies when she wanted something sweet but without a lot of added sugar. These crunchy treats take little time or skill to prepare.
Ingredients:
½ cup of toasted pecans, chopped
½ cup soft dates, chopped
½ cup organic cornflakes
1 cup semi sweet chocolate chips
½ teaspoon of vanilla
Directions:
1. Chop the dates and nuts. Toss them into a bowl with the cornflakes.
2. Gently melt the chocolate chips on top of a double boiler and add the vanilla
3. Pour chocolate into the bowl and stir all ingredients together.
4. Drop the mixture onto parchment paper using a small tablespoon. Press down lightly with the back of a fork or shape by hand.
5. Chill in the refrigerator for one hour.
Yield: 12 Servings
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