Usually I don't really get into Halloween. I've tried a couple of times in the recent past to play adult-dress-up and poke around some parties, but what normally ends up happening is nobody "gets" my costume (am I the only one who is current on memes?) and I go home sober and depressed.
The last two years I've refused to decorate and let the month of October count down without a second thought, annoyed when the night finally approaches and I turn off the porch light and stick ear plugs in my ears to combat the incessant doorbell. And honestly, this year hasn't been any different.
It doesn't help that I also kind of detest Halloween candy, especially candy corn, and I felt I was unanimously agreed with on this opinion. Until I saw the biggest bag of the sugar chunks on my tattoo artist, Devin's, drawing table as I sat for my ninth tattoo. Two days later, I stumbled upon recipegirl's Halloween-themed treat where candy corn was the star ingredient. What was going on?
My confidence in the disgustingness of those little triangles of waxy sweetness faltered and I found myself purchasing my first ever bag of candy corn. I figured I'd give recipegirl's recipe a shot, and if I still loathed the little suckers, I could always push them off on Devin.
The bark was really easy to make, and took me all of thirty minutes to finish (including chilling time in the freezer). The chunks of Oreo and candy corn seemed somewhat balanced with the abundance of pretzels sticking out of the now hardened white chocolate, but I still wasn't convinced, and as I broke the sheet apart into bite-sized pieces, I couldn't make myself try any. I used the hypoglycemic excuse and reasoned with myself that there was simply too much sweet here for my poor body to handle.
I found a tin, stuffed as much of it in as possible, and drove to the tattoo shop to hand off the goods. Devin laughed and thanked me for the surprise, then asked me how it was. I shrugged and mumbled some half-witty remark about the way candy corn gets stuck in the teeth and walked back out the door.
My freezer was still occupied with a tray half-full with candy corn bark, and I had nobody else I knew of that liked the things. I racked my brain with ways I could get rid of what I now was realizing was an awful creation and couldn't think of anyone with such an undiscerning palate and a lack of sugar worry. And then it hit me.
With a Tupperware container full of candy corn bark, I made my way to Kelly's work, where almost forty taste-testers unknowingly waited. The kids at the daycare immediately swarmed once one sounded the bugle cry of somebody with snacks, and soon I was passing out miniature bark chunks to the hands stretching high.
Their utter delight in the treats had me convinced (as well as the observation that none of the tiny bodies were going into glycolic shock) that it was safe to try. I figured if all of these picky eaters could enjoy a little treat, why couldn't I? I took a piece from the container and nibbled on a corner.
The sweet wasn't as overwhelming as I thought it would be. The pretzel did an uncanny job of masking some of the sugar overkill, as well as providing a necessary crunch. I even found myself grabbing for another piece--delighted that I had gotten over my prejudice of the Halloween treat and with a sudden feeling of a little holiday spirit--but cringed as I bit down on a part that consisted almost entirely of candy corn.
I inconspicuously threw the rest of my portion away, confirming my original and now devoted opinion that candy corn is pretty disgusting. I offered the kids a second helping and was met with wails of joy, now determined to leave the place happily empty-handed.
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