On Having a Sweet Tooth

Photo by Marlene Blessing

Editor’s Note: Writer Marlene Blessing isn’t kidding about her dessert baking skills. When asked what she could bring to a dinner party there was only one answer: Berry Pie!

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The cliché, “Life Is Sweet,” is especially true for me. I am a dentist’s dream, since I have never shaken my love of sugared foods. As a kid, I thought a person ate dinner to get to the main act: Dessert. I think it’s fair to point a finger at my bake-happy mother for her tradition of serving dessert at the end of every dinner meal. True, some of her desserts I would describe as lesser desserts—Jell-O, for instance, or Neopolitan ice cream (why not straight chocolate instead of the vanilla/strawberry/chocolate stripey stuff?).

These days, I try to moderate my intake of sweets. Skip the fudge, walk away from the cupcakes, slice a petite wedge of the berry pie and try hard not to top it with several dollops of vanilla Hǎagen-Dazs. My inherited baking skills have made moderation difficult. I have a white thumb. Unless I have nearby victims to pass along the lion’s share of any homemade sweets to, I try to sit on my hands, leave the baking recipes in the bookcase, and return to reading an unfinished novel and a glass of water (something I never drink enough of in a day). The avoidance techniques don’t always work. I’m too conscious of trying to beat back years of unapologetic consumption of goodies upon goodies.

There are bite-sized demons in my big catalog of temptations: cookies! Although I’ve seen plenty of warnings over the years about the dangers of eating raw cookie dough (”Salmonella, wherefore art thou?”), my long-standing romance with chocolate chip cookie dough has never abated. I love it more than the baked cookies—although a warm, gooey cookie straight out of the oven, with only minimal cooling, comes close to pleasing a confirmed dough-eater. I have a long list of favorites, topped by chocolate chip cookies, snickerdoodles, molasses cookies, chocolate crackle cookies, and moist, mounded lemon-ricotta cookies a la Nordstrom. There’s also a special list related to Christmas baking (the most dangerous bake-off of all). Pecan cookies (sometimes dubbed Mexican wedding cakes), buttery sandbakkels (a Norwegian treat) and spritz cookies, melt-in-your-mouth chocolate bonbon cookies, date bars, and more.

I do have limits: I’m not a candy bar person, I don’t drink soda pop, no sugar or other sweetener in my coffee, and I think the fussy, overly sweet English trifle is disgusting. On the rare occasions I go out to a movie theater, popcorn is my usual treat. However, if someone with me happens to buy either Milk Duds or Malted Milk Balls, I’m happy to accept a fistful to help out. I also enjoy good caramels that are loaded with butter to ensure they are soft and don’t pull crowns off my teeth. When I visit my neighbor to the north, Vancouver, B.C., I must load up on maple candy, a close cousin of the caramel flavor and perhaps even sweeter.

My friends know I like to make sweet things. Any potluck is an occasion for me to bring something like almond flour brownies (unbelievably fudgy, and acceptable for those who need a gluten-free goody), chocolaty Texas sheet cake topped with toasted, chopped pecans, or an apple pie mounded high with a flaky crust. I’ve been a member of a small cooking club for almost a decade. As we explore different cuisines and each select a category of food to bring to the table, I tend to monopolize the dessert category. No one has complained yet, but I’m awaiting a protest soon. As I mentioned earlier, I do moderate my intake of sweets these days. But my brain can’t help conjuring future baking challenges or reminiscing about past ones.

I’ve read scientific articles that say we humans are innately drawn to sweet edibles. No doubt there have been exceptions through the millennia. Somehow, I have to place the blame for this predilection of mine on more than just myself. I’m betting my ancestors coveted the fruits on berry bushes when they were gathering wild edibles. Apparently, this preference was an evolutionary adaptation that helped our ancestors identify safe, energy-dense foods. The safety part of the adaptation and the energy provided by sweets have been supplanted for modern humans by food safety regulations and plentiful protein and carbs. Which means pleasure is what’s left from this adaptation. Thumbs up!

I recall in grade school that a teacher did a science class sugar experiment. First, we were instructed to hold our arms out, then resist our teacher’s efforts to push down our arms. We felt pretty strong during this phase of the experiment. Next, we were each given a teaspoon of sugar to hold on our tongues, and the resistance exercise was repeated. Each of us felt our arms weaken immediately and flop to our sides. This was interesting to me, but it did not signal that I should ease up on consuming sweets.

There have been enablers or co-conspirators besides my mother in my history with sweets. One of the most colorful was a woman who owned a small family grocery just blocks from my childhood home. Her name was Esther, and she wore tight, low-cut tops pushed out with her pointy falsies. Her fingernails were often painted black with white stars or blue with stripes, or whatever she fancied that week (this was before these designs became commonplace in nail salons—Esther was ahead of her time). She always greeted me with, “Whatcha want, Kid?” Usually, I was on an errand to get bread or eggs or milk for Mom. But Esther’s grocery was well-stocked with candy that always drew longing looks from me.

One day, Esther offered an irresistible temptation. “So, Kid, how’d you like a charge account?”

“Huh? What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s like a bank account. I’ll loan you up to 25 cents to buy candy. Once you owe that much, you have to start paying me back. Sound good?”

I immediately had visions of my favorite sweets. We struck a deal. For the next few years, my bank account balance with Esther wobbled up and down. I had guaranteed access to all the Fudgesicles, Nutty Buddies, licorice, and chewing gum I could consume within this borrowing limit. There were many trips to the dentist to fill cavities during this time, together with parents who grumbled that they couldn’t understand why. I knew the why, but planned to keep it just between me and Esther, the moneylender.

If all of this sounds like addictive behavior, it was. Now that over my adult life I have probably spent enough money on dental work to have circled the globe with those funds, I’ve reduced most of my longings for sweets to fantasy. When not wrestling with my urge for sweets and recalling past pleasures, I practice portion control. The word “practice” is operative here, since I’m still on the “practice makes perfect” road. I wouldn’t dub this a road to recovery, though. I’ve simply modified my consumption and accepted that for me there is no abstinence. Yes, for me life continues to be sweet.

END

Marlene Blessing writes and cooks on an island in the Salish Sea.

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