The Christmas Memories, Part 9

Blame The Anchoress. She posted this yummy recipe, which in turn prompted this flashback.

Warning – middle school boy humor ahead.

This is a story without a real time-line, because I can’t remember exactly when this family “tradition” started. Of course, Obi is obstinately not forthcoming with details, citing fading memory but I highly suspect he’s trying to cover his Jedi backside.

My mom is an excellent cook…now. That wasn’t always the case.

I had gone off to college and Obi, back then, was just my little brother. We yet to learn of that galaxy far, far away. I came home for Christmas that first year and boy, did he get in trouble. Our mother had attempted to make a candy she’d had at one of her fancy lady get-togethers. Whether the recipe was wrong or she simply read it wrong, we’ll never know.

It was supposed to be a chocolate-covered bonbon, filled with a nutty, coconut fondant. The chocolate coating had ran; it was too thin. Without the hardening outer shell, the fondant wobbled around, because after all it was a filling. Out of desperation, she put them in the freezer, hoping they would seize up a bit.

They tasted heavenly. They looked like something out of a baby diaper.

Little brother, being his usual self, walked into the kitchen and demanded, “Who put these doo-doo balls on the table?” Hell hath no fury like a mother-learning-to-cook’s scorn. Not only did he get the blue-eyed daggers of death, he stayed in deep doo-doo (no pun intended) for quite a while.

Years passed. She continued to make them, making the same mistake every year. The next real memory I have is standing in her kitchen as my brother comes home from college, walking straight to the freezer, yanking open the door and yelling into the freezer, “Where are the doo-doo-balls?” I think she threw something at him.

She’d bring them to tailgate parties. We’d gross out anyone who wondered by when we pooped popped them in our mouth.

One year, the two of us found them and stood in front of the fridge and ate the whole bag. Again, more deep doo-doo.

To this day, she still makes them. The grandchildren cast a worried eye at them every year, wondering exactly what is in that bowl. And what’s in them that make their parents laugh so hard?

Gore Humbug

My mega-bandwidth-sucking training is almost over.

In the meantime, I couldn’t resist (h/t Newsbusters):

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