Farewell to an Easter tradition
This Easter holiday comes with a new sadness — a new emptiness that has been visited upon me for the first time in all my many Easters.
There will be no peep jerky.
I love this sweet, springtime delicacy with such pleasure that I’ve sung its praises more than once in this column.
Peep jerky, you say. What is this thing she deems worthy of another 600 words at a time when newspapers are struggling to stay afloat?
Peep jerky is my name for marshmallow bunnies and chicken peeps, those pastel-colored confections that arrive this time every year. While most who like the candy enjoy its soft, sticky sweetness, I would never eat them in that condition. For me, the peeps and bunnies must be left out in a dry climate for many long months until they turn almost hard. To test them for readiness, I poke a peep in the tummy; if it yields, it’s not ready.
What I’m looking for is a stale peep; when adequately desiccated, its flesh is the consistency of beef jerky, or to use a candy comparison, stale Sour Patch Kids.
Every year, the factories turn out new flavors of their marshmallow critters, including the most recent Chili Lime and Dill Pickle. As I type this, my mouth is watering for a taste of each, but given the newness of the flavors, it would be next year before they’re cured enough for me to enjoy. But even then, sigh, I would not indulge.
Peep jerky has gone the way of my beloved Nutty Buddy bars, French toast breakfasts and most alcohol. There’s just too much sugar for me.
And it’s not even the health part, although I get that. I’m to the point where even a small amount of sugar will bring on the need for a day-killing nap.
I’m not talking about a quick little snooze on the sofa; by sugar nap I mean two hours in my bed, in REM sleep, with the covers pulled up around me. Worse, when I wake up I’m as dopey as I would be if I’d had two White Russian cocktails (also banned now for sugar content).
Will I miss the other goodies in the Easter baskets — the jellybeans and the gummies and the chocolate bunnies? (I’ve been known to pillage my kids’ baskets for a handful of candy.) No, I won’t miss them in the way I’ll miss the jerky.
In keeping with the less-sugar plan, I thought about replacing those things in my kids’ Easter baskets this year with fruit and gift cards, but that would just feel like I’m withholding motherly love. I mean, when and where else do hard-working twenty-somethings get baskets of candy?
People my age talk about how some of the magic of Christmas dissolves after the children have grown up. For me, without the peep jerky, it feels like the sweet, chewy magic of Easter morning will be gone. Friends have said they look forward to the deviled eggs made from the colored eggs, or the pretzel Jello salad. I’ve never tasted a deviled egg (and won’t start now), and the pretzel Jello salad is just too hard to get right.
But the peep jerky was always reliable. My mom would buy up the leftovers on sale at the Dollar Store and lay them out to dry, so they’d be ready for the next Easter. This year my sister told me she was doing the same thing.
“Sadly, I can’t eat them anymore,” I said, my voice cracking with regret.
The peep jerky tradition has come to an end, but Happy Easter anyway.