Tonight, my husband and I had the following conversation while eating some leftover Easter candy:
Darcie: Yeah. They're probably racist bastards.Seth: Yeah. They're probably Germans.
First of all, you have to know Seth to know that this sort of brassy cynicism can only be sarcasm and can't be taken too seriously. You also have to know that, despite deep and obvious philosophical differences regarding what Germans are famous for (outside of beer and brats), Seth actually has great admiration for their military skill and ingenuity. So this, of course, is sarcasm layered upon sarcasm- Seth's favorite kind. You never know what that guy will say.
But I digress.
The conversation made me realize how disappointing some food that is touted as awesome is supposed to be. Last night, while waiting for a pregnancy induced craving of toast topped with peanut butter and honey, I spied a bag of Craisins- the pomegranate ones.
As I was shoving them in my mouth faster than my daughter loads Cheerios in hers, I peered into the bag and thought about how big this dried fruit was for such a small seed, how, in fact, it looked more the size of cherries or, um, dried cranberries than the size of pomegranate seeds.
But it wasn't that that made me turn the bag over to look at the ingredients list. It was how sweet the snack was. Ocean Spray was probably one of those companies that you didn't want to admit to eating on account of fear of nasty economic and environmental habits and I was suddenly struck with the panic. Had I been duped into eating the wretched high fructose corn syrup and that now I would likely have self induced health problems not to mention be a part of the corruptive corn economy? That overactive yet shrinking and dim pregnant brain ranted away as I turned the package over. "INGREDIENTS: CRANBERRIES, SUGAR..." Phew. Saved from that at least. "...POMEGRANATE JUICE CONCENTRATE...." What?! No pomegranates in this treat? This treat billed as pomegranates- that wonderful superfood that is supposed to make you super human just by virtue of the fact that you even thought about eating it? I was certain, as I had shoved those fake pomegranates into my mouth that I was offering my unborn child the kind of nutrition that would frame a brilliance and splendor of mind that made for inspiring films and lifetime achievement awards. I turned the bag back over to scrutinize the cover and under the Craisins logo read: "Pomegranate" and then in very small print "Juice infused". Juice infused.
I tossed the bag back on the counter and reached for my toast that had just popped. Peanut butter. Honey. Toast. Stick to the basics.