Rapunzel and Other Disney Princesses Make a Tasty Treat

When I was a kid, fruit snacks were pretty common inclusions in my school lunches. I don’t often eat them anymore, but every once in a while I’ll feel nostalgic for these little pouches of tasty whimsy. On the latest grocery excursion, I picked up a box of Kellogg’s Tangled fruit snacks, and while the form has changed, the basic gist of these treats remains the same.

The Tangled fruit snacks come in a box containing ten pouches. Each pouch contains several of the small, chewy snacks, which the box proclaims are fat free and made with real fruit, making them a source of Vitamin C. Every pouch will set you back 70 calories. Aside from nutritional information, the box features three simple games on the back. There’s a seek and find, a matching challenge and a small trivia section. It’s quite a lot squeezed into a small space, and it works well aside from the very poorly worded question, “What does Gaston say to Belle to free her father?”

Wait, Belle? I thought this was Rapunzel. Yeah, so did I. The front of the box boldly declares “Disney Tangled,” but that’s really a misnomer. Of the six fruit snack designs, only two – purple Rapunzel (grape) and the orange hairbrush (orange) – relate specifically to Disney’s 50th animated feature. A third, a yellow tiara, is pretty much a Disney princess staple.

Yellow, with lemon flavoring, is also the color of Belle. Like Rapunzel, she’s just a head, and the color works much better for her. Every time I look at a Rapunzel snack, I briefly forget and think I’m looking at Pocahontas. The red enchanted rose looks quite nice too; I think it’s cherry, though the flavor isn’t that strong and I can’t quite tell. Finally, Tiana is green and lime-flavored. Hence, we have three different princesses and three props. The front of the box shows Rapunzel’s pet chameleon and Flynn, but neither of them is inside any of the pouches, which are more accurately labeled Disney Princess.

I prefer fruit snacks that have an unmistakable firmness to them. Super-soft ones don’t do much for me. These ones are a little softer than I’d like, but they’re still fairly firm. While some fruit snacks have different coloring but no real difference in flavors, these are distinct from each other, which makes them a lot more fun to eat. For an occasional snack, they’re pretty good, even though they don’t reflect the movie as much as a quick glance at the front of the box implies.

Hannah and Her Sister Are Partners in Crime-Busting in Strawberry Shortcake Murder

Hannah Swensen is a talented baker renowned in the tiny Minnesota town of Lake Eden for her scrumptious cookies. Lately, however, she's getting a reputation for something else: stumbling upon dead bodies. You wouldn't think this would be a frequent occurrence in a quiet place like this, but homicidal urges bubble beneath the surface of several seemingly placid residents.

In Strawberry Shortcake Murder, the second book in Joanne Fluke's series that has grown to include 14 volumes and counting, Hannah's list of discovered victims expands from two to four. While her meddling mother Delores is mortified, Hannah finds in her ensuing investigations a surprisingly fertile opportunity to bond with her sister Andrea, an elegant real estate agent. Andrea's charm and Hannah's cleverness serve them well as they hunt down clues together. On this outing, Andrea and Hannah are definite partners in crime-busting.

This book picks up a thread from the first as it involves Boyd Watson, a coach beloved by the young men he mentors but reviled by Hannah for his abusive treatment of his mousy wife, Danielle. When Boyd winds up dead in his garage, Danielle is the prime suspect, and no one aware of her situation would blame her much for taking a hammer to the head of the guy who was always knocking her around. But she insists she didn't do it. Hannah believes her and worries that with so much circumstantial evidence pointing toward her, the sheriff's department won't try too hard to look elsewhere for a killer. She can't let her friend be falsely charged with murder, even if she gets off lightly because of self-defense.

I like the personal motivation Hannah has for taking on the case this time around, and it's nice to see her becoming closer with her sister, who is the most prominent secondary character in this installment. The book also is a decent showcase for Lisa, Hannah's hard-working assistant at The Cookie Jar, and Norman, the easy-going dentist who is one of Hannah's two love interests. The other, hardened detective Mike, is slightly less involved in the story even though it's his case. That's because, while he seems like a nice enough guy, he's pretty condescending, and he's warned Hannah not to do any amateur sleuthing.

In some ways, this book is quite similar to the first, and Fluke could perhaps have changed things up a bit more. In both, Hannah finds one body early in the book, then another midway through while she's chasing down a lead regarding the first murder. The climax also has striking parallels. Some of the tactics Hannah uses to get information are definitely a little shady, not to mention a bit dangerous. Her instincts are getting better, though; not all of her ideas are very fruitful, but she seems to spend less time chasing false leads on this outing.

This mystery takes place during the week of a bake-off, so in addition to all of Hannah's regular Cookie Jar activities, we get an extra dose of delectable desserts. I also found some of the commentary on the inane banter of evening news personalities to be pretty amusing. While the book is set during December, its central dessert is one I always associate with early summer, and Fluke describes it in great detail, so now I have a major hankering for strawberry shortcake. Of course, since she provides the recipe – along with six others that look nearly as tasty – I might just have to do something about that soon...

Hannah Swensen: Professional Baker, Amateur Detective, Perpetual Mom-Dodger

Last month, I joined my aunt, uncle and cousin on their trip to Orlando, Florida. I came back to Erie to find snow on the ground. Yes, I had definitely landed back in winter, so it seemed like the right time for me to head off to Minnesota in my reading. Might as well pile on the cold. I’ve been intrigued by Joanne Fluke’s Hannah Swensen series since I encountered it at the bookstore where I work. I’ve heard of “just desserts,” but cookies and murder aren’t two things I tend to associate with each other. If I did, visions of poison might prevent me from partaking, and what fun would that be?

But poison isn’t the problem in Chocolate Chip Cookie Murder, the first book in this series about a baker in the tiny town of Lake Eden, Minnesota, who is an amateur sleuth on the side. The weapon of choice is a gun, leaving poor Ron, a well-liked deliveryman, dead in his truck, a batch of Hannah’s famous chocolate chip cookies scattered about him. Because Hannah discovers the body, and so close to her own shop, her brother-in-law Bill, a cop, asks her to give him an unofficial hand with his investigation. If he can crack this case, he might just have a shot at getting promoted to detective. Hannah is all too happy to help, but is she biting off more than she can chew?

Hannah is a 30-year-old intellectually-minded woman who returned to her sleepy hometown to help her mother and sisters deal with the aftermath of her father’s death. Having decided to stick around, she now runs a cookie shop and shares a condo with a clever cat named Moishe. While she is content with her life, her meddling mother, Delores, probably the book’s most amusing character, is always nagging her to find a nice man to settle down with, just as her career-minded sister Andrea did.

Her latest matchmaking efforts involve Norman Rhodes, a schlubby dentist who has moved back to Lake Eden to take over his father’s practice. As her investigation proceeds, Hannah has several opportunities to come into contact with Norman and is surprised to find that she enjoys his company. He’s easy-going, considerate and has a great sense of humor. At the same time, she is intrigued by Mike, the new detective in town who, much to her chagrin, makes her go all wobbly in the knees. He seems nice enough too, though he’s very accomplished and doesn’t seem all that impressed with the podonk place in which he’s landed. Hannah is used to being happily independent, but it looks like these two men might begin to complicate her world a bit.

And it’s already complicated enough. Her head is swimming with details throughout the book as she tries to zero in on clues and possible suspects in this appalling crime. Her instincts are good; she picks up on tiny details that could prove relevant and follows through on them, gathering one tiny bit of information at a time. She’s completely new at this, so it’s nice to see her bumbling down rabbit trails that ultimately lead her nowhere. She’s no Columbo who hones in on her prime suspect from day one and hounds him until he finally confesses. By the end of the book, it seems like half the people in town have been under her suspicion at one point, but her persistence in the face of disappointment is admirable. She merely crosses another name off the list and presses on. She is one determined gumshoe.

We’re looking over Hannah’s shoulder throughout the book, so we get to know her very well, and we also see a lot of her over-involved mother, her too-perfect sister Andrea, her helpful assistant Lisa and her uncanny cat, with whom she is remarkably in sync. And we also become well acquainted with her cookies, which make multiple appearances. Happily, if they make your mouth water, Fluke sprinkles recipes for them throughout the book. Thus far, the pecan chews are the only ones I’ve baked, but they turned out very tasty, and I’d like to try some of the others. Then again, I might just see what goodies the second book has in store…

Munch on Some Magic With Kellogg's Disney Classics Fruit Snacks

When I was growing up, I remember being bombarded with kid-centric advertising as I watched the Saturday morning and after-school cartoons. Most of it went in one ear and out the other, but the Fruit Roll-Up commercials must have made an impression, since those were a staple in my school lunches, along with their somewhat more sedate cousins, fruit snacks. It’s been quite a while since I’ve punched the shapes out of a Fruit Roll-Up, but it’s still fairly common to find fruit snacks on top of the refrigerator. And if you’re going to indulge in nostalgic goodies, why not double the fun by getting snacks whose shapes correspond to beloved characters?

There are many such themed snacks out there, from Star Wars to VeggieTales, produced by a variety of companies. Right now, the fruit snacks atop the fridge are Kellogg’s Disney Classics, which feature characters from six different Disney movies. To make things nice and simple, each character always is the same color, which is frequently the case with fruit snacks, but not always. The main advantage I could see to changing things up would be that then it might make more sense to have more basic shapes tossed into the mix. After all, six characters to represent “Disney Classics” is pretty paltry. Still, there’s a decent representation here.

Mostly, it’s fairly early Disney that we’re getting. Pinocchio, Fantasia and Dumbo all hail from the early 1940s, while Dumbo and Peter Pan came out in the mid-1950s. That leaves just The Lion King in the mid-1990s. Pinocchio looks a little funny in all yellow, but at least it goes with his hat. Likewise, an all-red Dumbo is a bit odd, but at least it goes with the ruffle he wears, along with the snazzy suit worn by his tiny manager.

Meanwhile, classy Cocker Spaniel Lady wears no purple at all, but there’s a certain royal air about her, so I can buy the coloring there. Still, the choices for the other three seem much more natural. Mickey, as the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, is all blue, which goes so well with that big blue hat of his, and verdantly garbed Peter Pan, quite understandably, is all green. Simba, meanwhile, is a very natural shade of orange. All of them are pretty good likenesses for as small and squishy as they are, and I don’t have to squint much to see what each one is supposed to be. Dumbo is probably the hardest to make out, while Mickey is the easiest.

Each box comes with ten pouches, each containing about eight fruit snacks, which, despite having six different colors, come in four different flavors: strawberry, grape, orange and cherry. The flavors aren’t super-distinct; I think the greens are strawberry and the yellows are orange, but I’m still not sure what the blues are. Meanwhile, the reds are cherry, the purples are grape and the oranges are orange. They’re reasonably tasty, and while I tend to like my fruit snacks just a tad firmer, I have no real complaints about the texture.

In nutritional terms, these are pretty standard, with each pouch containing 80 calories, 13 grams of sugar and 5 mg of sodium but no fat. They’re also made with real fruit (20 percent) and contain Vitamin C. So not super healthy, not super unhealthy. Certainly not something to feel guilty about munching on now and then. If you are looking for a way to put a little Disney magic into your diet, Kellogg’s Disney Classics fruit snacks aren’t a bad way to do it.

Weird Al's The Food Album Tickles Taste Buds and Funny Bones

Weird Al Yankovic is one strange guy. But boy, is he talented. I’ve been admiring his lyrical prowess for years, and since I started writing song parodies in earnest myself, I have considered him a major influence. But Al doesn’t stop with the lyrics. An accomplished singer and musician, he’s built a career on his precise mimicry of the songs of others, as well as his crafting of truly off-the-wall original recordings. One subject that seems to come up again and again throughout his albums is food, so it’s little surprise that he decided to devote an entire album to parodies on this theme with The Food Album.

Fat - One of two Michael Jackson parodies on this album, both of which gained far greater popularity than the other tracks. This is a song about a guy who really loves to eat, which has led to his having a rather unwieldy girth. An amusing song, and just over-the-top enough that it doesn’t really come across as mean-spirited. “If I have one more pie a la mode, I’m gonna need my own zip code...”

Lasagna - Starting off with a fun accordion solo, this La Bamba parody is a tribute to Italian food, which Al sings with a rather stilted accent. As in Eat It, it seems he’s taking on the voice of a mom who is pushing food on a reluctant eater, though in this case, I get the impression that the recipient of her meals is probably an adult. Slightly hard to understand some of the lyrics with his accent, but as a big fan of Italian food, I dig this one. “Have-a more ravioli. You a-get roly-poly, a-nice and a-big, like you cousin Luigi.”

Addicted to Spuds - When my brother Nathan was younger, he had a curious obsession with potatoes. In one of his art classes, he drew a poster of a “flock” of potatoes romping joyously upon a sun-drenched plain under the words “Free the Potatoes!” On another occasion, he produced a poster of a movie starring Paul Shaffer of The Late Show with David Letterman as a character named Potato. Clearly, Nathan was addicted to spuds and could have been the subject of this song. Al’s voice seems to veer off-key at times here, but I imagine that’s intentional. Thanks to that catchy Superbowl commercial from 2006, my first association with Addicted to Love is always going to be LOST, to which I clearly was (and probably still am) addicted, but I’ll be glad to listen to this as I munch on some French fries. “Potato skins, potato cakes. Hash browns and instant flakes. Baked or boiled or French fried. There’s no kind you haven’t tried.”

I Love Rocky Road - Al sounds like a slightly crazed teen with a braces lisp here, which makes his choice of favorite ice cream rather unfortunate. There’s no indication in the song that rocky road is any worse for him than a less chunky style of ice cream, but I can’t help but suspect that maybe part of the attraction is the knowledge that his eating habits would horrify his orthodontist. Silly sound effects, a bit of accordion and a chorus of Chipmunky voices at the end add to the fun here. “When I'm all alone, I just grab myself a cone, and if I get fat and lose my teeth that's fine with me. Just lock me in the freezer and throw away the key.”

Spam - I like the way the vocals overlap slightly on this song; it‘s always fun to hear Al sing with himself. This is a silly, electric guitar-heavy ode to everybody‘s favorite mystery meat. The lyrics are rather laughably simplistic, which seems to go with the cheapy quality of the food being celebrated. “The tab is there to open the can. The can is there to hold in the Spam.”

Eat It - Arguably Al’s most famous song, this parody of Beat It has Al taking on the role of a nagging parent whose child does not want to eat. It’s an expertly crafted parody, and it touches on a pretty universal experience. Al is a fun mix of goofy and imposing here; I can easily imagine Everybody Loves Raymond’s Marie letting loose with a diatribe like this when her boys were young. This song helped launch Al‘s career, and it‘s easy to see why. “How come you're always such a fussy young man? Don't want no Captain Crunch, don't want no Raisin Bran. Well, don't you know that other kids are starving in Japan? So eat it, just eat it!”

The White Stuff - When I saw this title, I had a hard time figuring out what this parody of The Right Stuff would be about. Halfway through the first verse, I still wasn’t sure, but when it finally hit me, I had to commend him on his cleverness, though I somehow have managed to be pretty much immune to the charms of the cookie he lauds. “Oh oh oh oh oh, oh O-reo! What’s in the middle? The white stuff!”

My Bologna - This accordion-heavy parody of My Sharona was the first of Al’s parodies to make it to number one of Dr. Demento’s countdown. It’s among Al’s simplest songs, which makes sense since it comes from so early in his career, but it’s certainly catchy. “Goin' to the market now, market now. I'm the city's biggest bologna buyer. Walkin' down the shopping aisles, shopping aisles, filling up my basket with Oscar Mayer.”

Taco Grande - Instead of Italian, Al dons a Spanish accent here. Pretty similar to Lasagna, except that the speaker is requesting food instead of offering it. There’s a lot of Spanish in this one, and since I don’t understand Spanish, I kinda feel like I’m missing out on something, and the fact that I don’t know the original song or like Mexican food also makes it a little harder to connect with this one. Still, it’s good for a chuckle or two. “You want some more cinnamon crispas? If you don't, hasta la vista. Just take the rest home in a doggie bag if you wanna. You can finish it mañana.”

The Rye or the Kaiser - Despite being a fan of Weird Al for half my life, I’d only heard three of the songs on this album before listening to it for the first time this week. This is my clear favorite of the new bunch, as it riffs on Eye of the Tiger, a song that always puts me into fist-pumping mode, and amusingly imagines a less than glamorous future for Rocky. There’s something both sad and sweet in the picture of this prize fighter now standing behind a deli counter taking orders. At least he seems to take as much pride in this new line of work as he did in boxing... “Try the rye or the kaiser, they're on special tonight. If you want, you can have an appetizer. You might like our salami, and the liver's all right. And they'd really go well with the rye or the kaiser.”

Weird Al seems to have a special knack for writing about munchies, so if you’re looking for a way to make light of your lunch, check out The Food Album. Just don’t listen with your mouth full or laughter-induced choking may ensue...

Around Epinions in 80 Days: Blue Raspberry Gushers Are People! ... No, Not Really...

When I was growing up, there was a convenience store just down the street, and during the summer my brother and I used to walk down there a lot to spend our spare change on candy. Among my most frequent purchases were Bonkers and Zots, two types of candy that were one flavor on the outside and another inside. Bonkers were like two-flavored Starbursts, while Zots were hard candies with fizzy centers. It wasn’t until years later that I found Fruit Gushers, but it seems I was being primed to like them.

I’m not sure just when Gushers came along; I think of them as a sort of little brother to the Fruit Roll-Ups, also made by General Mills, that were so heavily advertised during children’s programming hours when I was a kid. Those, of course, were flat and usually came with punch-out shapes to increase the fun factor. Gushers, meanwhile, are hexagonal blobs. They remind me of the season two Star Trek episode By Any Other Name, in which an alien race reduces most of the crew of the Enterprise to small gray, many-sided blocks. Which, it occurs to me, is an unsettling, Soylent Green sort of thought... But that’s not generally on my mind as I munch these, thankfully.

Fruit Gushers are low in fat but very sugary, so they’re not really the healthiest snack around, but the pouches are pretty small, with maybe a dozen pieces in each. They come in bright yellow packages made of thick paper, and when you open them, it’s not unusual to find sticky residue on the inside and several Gushers clinging together. They’re chewy and come in a variety of flavors: strawberry, tropical, watermelon, kiwi, triple berry, apple and others. My favorite is probably the blue raspberry. I’ve always been partial to that flavor, whether it’s Jolly Ranchers or Skittles, and it’s very tasty in Gusher form, especially the juicy part in the center.

Gushers are so named because you bite down on the chewy outside and find liquid in the middle. If you don’t pop the whole thing in your mouth, you could end up accidentally squirting somebody when you chomp down. I find it rather fun to nibble a hole in the Gusher and then squeeze the liquid into my mouth by holding it tightly between my fingers. It’s also fun to toss it in the air and try to catch it.

This particular method helped inspire a (very) short film my brother and his friend made when they were in high school. His friend was such a fan of Gushers that we always kept a supply in the house, since at the time he came over a couple of times a week. In the video, he’s standing in the driveway eating Gushers, and he drops one. A dramatic countdown begins, and shortly after ten seconds is up, he nonchalantly picks up the Gusher and pops it in his mouth. And keels over. The moral: “Obey the 10-second rule.”

Clearly this snack has some morbid associations for me. Well, with a name like Gushers, what do you expect? The blue raspberry is likely to turn your teeth and tongue blue temporarily; spring for strawberry and you’d better be extra-careful not to spill, lest it look like you’ve been attacked. These are messy snacks, and after eating them, chances are you’ll want to wash your hands, since some degree of stickiness is almost inevitable. But I’ve been goony over Gushers since they started spicing up my high school lunches, and something tells I’ll never quite grow out of them.

Are You Brave Enough for Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans?

When she began writing the Harry Potter series, J. K. Rowling could have no way of knowing that her seven-part saga about the adventures of an orphaned wizard would become the book event of the decade. I doubt that she had merchandising on her mind when she invented Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. But boy, did they turn out to be a marketable idea! I’ve seen several snacks inspired by goodies mentioned in the Harry Potter books come and go: sugar mice, blood pops, chocolate frogs, cockroach clusters. But none of them seem to have anywhere near the staying power of these beans.

I suspect that’s partly because the others have some magical component in the books that just doesn’t come across in real life, and frankly the ones I’ve tried have been rather unappetizing. But the premise of Bertie Bott’s beans is very simple: high-quality jelly beans that come in a variety of flavors. Jelly Belly already had the tasty ones down, and they quickly stepped up to the plate to concoct the disgusting ones as well.  (Note: Upon posting this review, I discovered that there is another Bertie Bott's manufacturer that features different flavors than Jelly Belly.  Same concept, but I haven't tried those ones; experience tells me, though, that Jelly Belly is hard to beat in the jelly bean department.)

I won’t lie and tell you I’ve been brave enough to actually sample the grotesque flavors in this assortment. While I can easily see many children having a blast challenging each other to eat the more unpalatable beans - or maybe, if my brother and cousin’s experiments were typical, dumping them into a blender and coming up with a gag-inducing smoothie - I’m guessing most adults would rather stick to the safer stuff and chuckle over the existence of the nastier varieties. My friends who have been bold enough to try every flavor assure me they taste authentic. If you really wanted to be devious, you could buy some and dump them into a bowl for guests, not informing them that there’s anything different about this batch. Of course, some of them are so distinct-looking that they might smell a rat; the Vomit and Booger flavors are especially striking, with their clashes of unappealing colors.

I bought some for a Potterphile friend of mine a couple of years ago, and while she got a kick out of them, last I heard she still hasn’t dared to dip into the box. It’s more souvenir than snack. Jelly Belly truly is a leader in the world of jelly beans, which I never liked until I discovered this company. Their specialty boxes include Smoothie, Soda Pop Shoppe, Sport, Sour and Tropical, so a specialty Harry Potter box - or bag - fits right in. The flavors unique to Bertie Botts include Black Pepper, Dirt, Earthworm, Grass, Sardine and Soap. Newer flavors that weren’t in the first boxes include Rotten Egg, as well as Bacon; I’m surprised the latter seems to qualify as turn-off flavors, as there are few tastes I like more. Then again, candy and meat or even dairy is a strange combination. Of course, no Bertie Bott’s collection would be complete without the bean that prompted Headmaster Albus Dumbledore to proclaim, “Alas! Earwax!”

Not all boxes and bags have the exact same flavors, but among the more normal flavors you might encounter are Apple, Cinnamon, Grapefruit, Cotton Candy, Cherry, Blueberry, Lemon and, if you’re lucky, my favorite, Buttered Popcorn - though many seem to consider that yellow and white bean more of a candidate for the gross bunch. This bag is a three-and-a-half-ounce collectible and comes with 20 different flavors, as well as the essential flavor guide. If you’re not too sure about these, you might want to go for the 1.6-ounce box, which sells for a couple of dollars, instead.

I’m hoping that when the new Harry Potter theme park opens, some of the world’s great confectioners will have put their heads together to create Butterbeer, the favorite beverage of Hogwarts students. I’ve been craving a mug of that foamy goodness for a decade. Of course, my brother assures me that nothing they come up with could ever live up to the way we’ve imagined Butterbeer to be. He’s probably right. But considering how brilliantly Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans have made the transition from fantasy to reality, I can’t help thinking I have reason to hope...

Amy Krouse Rosenthal Makes Learning Tasty in Christmas Cookies: Bite-Size Holiday Lessons

One of the coziest Christmastime traditions for many families is baking cookies together. In Christmas Cookies: Bite-Size Holiday Lessons, that experience serves as the cornerstone to some important lessons in vocabulary and life. Amy Krause Rosenthal and illustrator Jane Dyer team up for this clever book that celebrates the joy of the season with humor and gentleness, sharing messages that are useful throughout the year.

The book essentially is a series of definitions that are not so much definitions but examples of a particular word. Rosenthal, with a lot of help Dyer, gets her point across by showing rather than just telling. Just as Lemony Snicket constantly provides context-specific meanings for his words, Rosenthal relates a long list of words to Christmas, in particular the preparations for a Christmas party.

The book shows a mix of children and anthropomorphic animals, including a mouse, a lion, a giraffe and a squirrel, wearing clothes. The paintings have a somewhat smudgy look to them but are appealing, in part because of the generally cheerful expressions of the faces of humans and non-humans alike, in part because of the overall comfortable atmosphere conveyed.

My favorite aspect of the book, though, is the definitions. That’s the meat of the project, which each word standing out in large capital letters, followed by a kid-friendly explanation of what it means. For instance, “DISAPPOINTED means, I tried to make it looks like a star, but it didn’t turn out at all the way I expected.” I especially like this one because of the play on the word “point”. Some words go together especially well, like “FRUSTRATED” (“I can’t believe we burned the cookies again”) and “PERSEVERANCE” (“We tried and tried and tried, and finally we made the perfect non-burned batch.“) Other highlighted words include ANTICIPATION, TRADITION, CELEBRATE, APPRECIATIVE, PROSPERITY, CHARITABLE, RESPONSIBLE, MODERATION, RECIPROCATE, SELFISH, THOUGHTFUL, LONELY, SHARING, GRATITUDE, FAMILY, GRACIOUS, BELIEVE, JOY, PEACE and HOPE.

The format may seem like a recipe for a rather dull book, but on the contrary, Christmas Cookies is engaging as well as educational. And for a final nice touch, Rosenthal includes a recipe for Christmas cookies so children can test out some of these words for themselves as they prepare a Christmas treat with their parents. Delicious in more ways than one!

Put Some "Snap, Crackle, Pop!" Into Your Life!

When I was a tot, I used to eat Rice Krispies quite a lot. I remember sitting next to my cousin at breakfast while she demonstrated to me how she dug a hole in the middle of the bowl in which to pour the milk, so as to end with the perfect ratio of milk to cereal. At some point during those years, I seem to have lost my taste for Rice Krispies somewhat. If we have them, I'll eat them, but I'd rather just stick with puffed rice, which ideally starts out mushy. If Rice Krispies turn mushy - and they usually do at some point before the bowl is empty - it's hardly cause for celebration. But they certainly offer a satisfying noise before they become too submerged.

Speaking of beautiful noises, Rice Krispies' three mascots - the elves Snap, Crackle and Pop - have always delighted me, particularly when they are singing. Somewhere in my house lies an old tape so worn it crackles just as much as the cereal. I played it often when I was younger, and on the rare occasion when Rice Krispies decides to resurrect the old jingles, I watch and listen with a big goofy grin on my face. There's the fantastic three-part tune in which the little lads argue good-naturedly about which of them makes Rice Krispies great and the "let 'em pour" one, which preaches the virtues of the cereal with all the conviction of a gospel choir.

But better than the cereal itself and better than the commercials are Rice Krispies treats. Sure, you can buy them separately now, but there's nothing quite like mixing up a batch yourself and cutting out an often too-goopy square, leading to sticky fingers. The treats are easy to make and hard to keep around the house; it's rare that they'll last much more than a day. I may not enjoy marshmallows in my morning cereal, but I love them as the glue that holds these bars together.

Like Cheerios, Rice Krispies contains 110 calories per one-ounce serving. There are plenty of worse things you could be eating for breakfast, and these classic bits of rice are even better if you have access to fresh strawberries. Take a moment before eating to just sit and listen to the distinctive "snap, crackle, pop" once you've poured the milk in; it's quite a sweet little symphony. Hooray for musical cereal!

Cheerios: These Little Os Are Oh So Good!

I'm not much of a morning person, so more often than not, I find that I don't make time for breakfast. But when I give myself those extra twenty minutes or so, few things get my day off to a better start than an overflowing bowl of Cheerios. Not honey nut, not frosted, not multi-grain. Berry Burst is all right for a diversion now and then, but nothing hits the spot quite like the plain old Os from that bright yellow box.

When I was little, my favorite snack in the whole world was Mom's special trail mix, which consisted simply of Cheerios, raisins and chocolate chips poured together into a little Tupperware container. Many a too-short lunch period was improved with this hearty treat. I've got a hankering right now just thinking about it.

Some might call my taste in cereal bland. I've never been too keen on the ones loaded with sugar and marshmallows. For me, it's always been Raisin Bran, Shredded Wheat, puffed rice and the like. But none of them quite matches the simple satisfaction of Cheerios, those itty bitty circles that used to find their way into all sorts of strange orifices: nostrils, our gristmill lamp, the tape recorder. Thankfully, the days of Cheerios-related disasters are long behind us, and they can be enjoyed for breakfast or as a quick snack any time of the day.

I'm not exactly the world's healthiest eater, so eating Cheerios has the added benefit of making me momentarily feel like a responsible muncher, even though I know it's not really true... All those commercials with cute kids declaring the heart healthiness of my favorite cereal haven't fallen of deaf ears. I may be unhealthily obsessed with cheese, but at least I've got Cheerios going for me!

One 20-ounce box of Cheerios is designed to last for about 20 servings, though I usually exceed the recommended serving size, so I wind up getting more than the 110 calories indicated by the nutritional information. I can live with that. The only bad part is that it means we run out faster, and at the moment our house is sadly lacking a big box of breakfast sunshine. Looks like a trip to the grocery store is in order!

A Chocolate Bar a Day Keeps Dementors Away

For as long as I can remember, I've been a constant grocery store tag-along. I'd like to think that once in a while I actually contribute something worthwhile to these trips, but mostly it's just an opportunity for me to get really hungry and drop a few subtle hints about what might fit extra nicely in that cart. By the end of the trip, I'm not the only one with a major case of the munchies. Within arm's reach of just about every check-out stand is a bountiful display of candy bars, often at the price of three for a dollar, just perfect for my parents and me. Mom and Dad will often opt for a different type of candy bar ever time, but I always know exactly what I want: a Hershey almond bar.

Hershey isn't the most glamorous chocolate out there. Its taste is sweet and creamy but not overpowering, not really the type of candy you must eat with your eyes closed, relishing every bite with exaggerated appreciation. It's exquisite in its simplicity, however. There's something so homey and downright American about the skinny little bar with its name pressed into it. Milton Hershey, who shared a birthday with my brother (and, interestingly enough, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory author Roald Dahl), gave us all a flavor to savor.

When I think of Hershey, I think of the gorgeous amusement park I've visited several times, watching the chocolate-making process, sniffing the scented air and feeling like I have a hunch of what it might be like in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. I think of M*A*S*H and the episodes in which that little bar of chocolate made a harrowing day just a little bit brighter in the midst of wartime. Mostly, though, I just think of that delicious, comforting taste, with crunchy almonds to break up the monotony of a vast expanse of flat chocolate. I eat around the edges, leaving as many of the almonds as I can for the last few yummy bites. Unlike a hefty Cadbury fruit and nut bar, the basic Hershey almond bar is scrawny enough that I always gobble it up in one sitting. It helps that it isn't partitioned into handy squares - though the King Size bar is.

I see that this particular listing is for a box of 36, and I suppose I should admit that I don't think we've ever actually had a box of 36 Hershey almond bars in the house. That, I suspect, is a good thing, because it wouldn't last long with me around, and if the aim was fundraising, I'd probably just buy the lot myself. Each bar contains 210 calories and 14 grams of fat, but who's keeping track? Not me! After all, Remus Lupin always advised chocolate in the face of adversity. That is one prescription I will take gladly, and if I slip in a preventative dose here and there, it ought to keep the ol' Dementors at bay for a long time to come.

Cadbury: It's Not Just For Easter Anymore!

When I arrived home from work the other day, I found an object of beauty sitting on the kitchen table: a Cadbury fruit and nut bar. I still have that creamy chocolate on the brain, so I typed "Cadbury" into the Epinions search engine, just for the fun of it, and what should immediately come up but the candy bar that has become my very favorite form of decadence since the perplexing disappearance of Hershey's almond and raisin nuggets. How could I resist such a fated reviewing opportunity?

I've always been a Hershey gal, and until I went to England in 2001, I associated Cadbury exclusively with Easter. I anticipated and adored the Cadbury Bunny commercials, but the eggs themselves didn't do anything for me. Then I took my little trip across the ocean, and the aisles were full of strange candy I'd never seen before bearing the name Cadbury. Orange bars! Mint! Fudge nut! I admired all the colorful wrappers but didn't gorge on English chocolate until I got home, having bought a couple of everything on a grocery shopping spree on my last day in Northampton.

I savored the chocolate, thinking it would be a long time before I'd get to taste Cadbury again unless I gave the eggs another shot. And then I made a shocking discovery. This stuff had been right under my nose all along and I'd missed it! Or did Tops suddenly, coincidentally start stocking Cadbury bars right after I got back from England? At any rate, I quickly fixed upon my favorite, and it remains a delectable delight six years later. And as the back of the royal purple wrapper indicates, it's manufactured by the Hershey company here in the United States, so I don't even have to feel disloyal about it.

The Cadbury fruit and nut is much heftier than a Hershey almond bar and accordingly is considerably more expensive, usually between one and two dollars. It consists of 32 chunky squares, which makes for easy division if you're inclined to share or to save some for later. The milk chocolate is exceptionally creamy and studded with bits of raisins and almonds for the perfect taste combination, at least for someone like me who grew up crazy about Hershey almond bars and Raisinettes.

Each four-ounce bar contains 570 calories, so it's best to indulge only once in a while, but that's preferable anyway, since anticipation heightens the enjoyment. Just don't feel obligated to restrict yourself to one a year!

Pup-Peroni Pleases My Pooch

When our dog Mokey was a puppy, we couldn't ever get her interested in catching whatever dog treats we might toss to her. She always waited until the food hit the ground and then scurried over to pick up the morsel with her teeth, usually dropping it a couple of times before finally eating it. Perhaps she was just overly cautious, but we hated to see her missing out on the visceral joy our first dog, Sandy, experienced whenever something edible went sailing through the air and she had a chance to show off her skills.

Mokey's life changed the day we brought home her first bag of Pup-Peroni. The meaty sticks, like Slim Jims for dogs, are lengthy and sectioned off so that one stick can easily become five tidbits. When we opened up that bag, the aroma made her take notice; she sat before Mom, quivery and shivery with her tail slightly wagging. She wanted that Pup-Peroni more than she'd wanted the Beggin' Strips, more than the Snausages, more than anything else we had offered in the past. And when Mom tossed her a small portion of one of the odiferous logs, she intercepted its descent to the floor, snapping it up with great satisfaction. And she's done that ever since.

Pup-Peroni comes in Original Beef, Lean Beef and Bacon flavors; there's also a Ribs option available, but Mokey never seems to get too excited about smaller treats that are shaped in a particular way; we're trying to work our way through a container of footballs right now, and it's taking a while. She comes around to just about everything eventually, but she reserves her passion for Pup-Peroni; when we run out for a few days, we have a rather forlorn hound on our hands.

Pup-Peroni's nutritional analysis for the Original Beef and Bacon is the following:

Crude Protein: 24.0% Min.
Crude Fat: 12.0% Min.
Crude Fiber: 2.0% Max.
Moisture: 24.0% Max.

The numbers for Fat and Moisture are slightly lower in the Lean variety, but Mokey is such an energetic dog that she seems to run off whatever she's eaten in the last few hours whenever we let her out and she does a series of zooming laps around the yard.

Ingredients include Beef, Meat By-Products, Soy Grits, Sugar, Liver, Salt, Propylene Glycol, Garlic Powder, Caramel Color, Natural Smoke Flavor, Potassium Sorbate, Sodium Nitrite, Red 40, BHA and Onion Extract; the Bacon flavor also features actual bacon.

Mokey's sampled all sorts of dog treats, but when we hit the grocery store, we know which one we can't go home without, and at $4 per 8-ounce bag, it won't break the bank. The bags are designed with a convenient ziplock top, but if you prefer the Pup-peronis can be safely stored elsewhere. For instance, we keep ours atop her kennel in a tin that originally held pastries. Actually, that placement is pretty appropriate; I can't think of much that Mokey would find more delectable than these irresistible Pup-Peronis.