No Hugs, Just Kisses Please

I believe that the Hershey's Kiss is the closest thing to perfection ever created in the world of candy. Maybe in food, period.

We were grocery shopping last week and my lovely wife grabbed a $9 bag of Hershey's Kisses from the shelf.

"For the candy dish," she announced, to which I literally said, "HA!"

She looked at me, perplexed.

"You know how much I like Hershey's Kisses!" I said. I might have yelled it. The inference was clear to her. I was afraid that I might consume all the Kisses before anyone else had a shot at them.

"Yeah, but even YOU can't eat a $9 bag of Kisses," she said, and I swear there was a smidgen of doubt in her voice at the end of that statement, as there should have been.

Again, I said, "HA!"

The $9 bag of Kisses did look robust---to a normal person. To someone afflicted with an addiction to the Kisses, the bag didn't look so big. In fact, it looked very consumable, sans help from anyone else.

I love the Hershey's Kisses. I love the whole experience---the fact that they come in silver-wrapped, bite-sized pieces; that they taste great chilled in the fridge; and that they are made with Hershey's milk chocolate, which is only the best chocolate known to man. And that includes you, Godiva.

I can eat the Kisses like you can eat potato chips---by the handful, one after the other. The unwrapping of them slows me down just a tad. I can turn a Kiss naked in seconds. I have lots of practice.

It's nothing to see a mound of the silver wrappers and the white sashes that are inside, pile up near me as I eat the Kisses. I don't count how many I eat, because that would probably depress me. Just the sight of the mound of wrappers is bad enough.

But I just like them too much to stop. I pop them into my mouth and each one is like I'm tasting it for the first time.

Hershey's should ask me to do a commercial. In fact, they should pay me for this blog post.

In cruel irony, my parents and I took a vacation when I was three years old. The trip included stops in Washington, D.C., Gettysburg, PA., and Hershey, PA.

At the latter stop, I'm told, we toured the Hershey's chocolate factory. But here's where the cruel irony kicks in. I was far too young to remember the tour, much less what the chocolate tasted like.

So maybe I'm paying everyone back with my glutton-like consumption of Kisses in my adult years.

It's not just Kisses. I love all Hershey's chocolate, as I said. The candy bars, with and without almonds, are to die for.

Maybe literally, if I don't stop eating it like Jabba the Hutt.

The Kisses we bought last week did indeed make their way into the candy dish in the front room. And I, indeed, have scarfed up dozens of the delectable, cute "chockies" in the days since they arrived at home. I'm not sure if anyone else in the house has snagged any.

The partially filled bag is tucked away, but it won't last long. Even if it is the $9 size.

Aren't they just perfect?

I prefer my Kisses chilled, but I'm also too impatient to put them in the fridge from the candy dish, so I have been eating them at room temperature. That's OK too. It's not summertime, when the room temp chocolate can turn too soft for my liking.

I guess I like that "snap" you get when you bite into a chilled Kiss. Plus, the chocolate just tastes better when it's cold. But as I said, patience isn't one of my virtues, so for now I am grabbing hands full and tearing the wrappers off and jamming the Kisses into my mouth at my usual breakneck speed.

I just love them. I'd love it even more if I got paid to love them.

Forty-seven years after my trip to the Hershey's factory, maybe it's time I made a return trip---to talk endorsements.

The Hershey's people don't have to know that I'm willing to eat them for free for another 47 years.


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