Decadence on a Dime: Reese's Pieces Pretzels

Perhaps fatigued or even confused and delirious with hunger, a grueling day of working hard and long for the proverbial bacon completed, wandering seemingly aimlessly from aisle to aisle in the grocery store, blinded and revolted by creamed soup cans and frozen chicken nuggets and fruit-flavored gelatin-based snacks for children, purchasing a plastic serving tray resplendent with chocolate-covered pretzels coated with miniature Reese's Pieces is a bold and beautiful idea. Alas, hesitation paralyzes sucrose-yearning muscles, neurons start firing rationally once again, and, palms sweating and stomach growling, the mess of sweetness is returned once more to its place amidst other baked good delights. Adrenaline fight or flight response subsides and the body slinks to the fresh fruits and vegetables, the maze of neocortices in firm control and in perfect fear of increasing dress sizes and other such ramifications of a late-night chocolate binge.

The above scenario has been played out by my mind and body countless times over the last few weeks. Thankfully, for a number of reasons not directly associated with sugar, my sister Elizabeth decided to pay me a visit this past weekend, providing a wonderfully sufficient rationale for finally purchasing this ridiculous and opulent treat. When hosting a guest, or multiple guests, such an unnecessary display of high fat, high calorie bastions of sustenance becomes, well, necessary.

Elizabeth and I had a lovely afternoon of strolling and lolling about in the heat, and exhibiting quite impressive feats of discipline and self-control by devouring a single pretzel, each. To my surprise, though in hindsight this observation should have been inherently obvious, overindulgence in these treats requires intense persistence and a stomach of steel; even a piece of one of these pretzels is more than satisfying. While I enjoy baking my own treats, when I have the luxury of time, relying on a the steadfast loyal flavor combination of salt and sugar in a chocolate-dipped pretzel is never a mistake.