I have a new vice. Well, to be accurate, I’ve rediscovered an old vice: the Zero candy bar.
Ever had one? Zeros (Zeroes?) are, according to the wrapper, “caramel, peanut and almond nougat covered with white fudge.” That’s technically correct, but for me, anyway, they’re little edible time machines.
My hometown of Fort Stockton, Texas, is in the middle of nowhere…100 miles from the nearest body of water big enough to accommodate a bass boat. But the town was founded in the 19th century around a series of prolific springs, which flowed until the early 60s when the alfalfa and cotton farmers depleted them with their irrigation pumps. Anyway, the town boasted a huge swimming pool constructed on the site of the largest such spring (the pool is still there, and unlike most objects recalled through the misty veil of memory, it’s still huge). For all we knew, it was the 8th wonder of the world, at least for kids like me who tried to spend every waking hour of every pre-employment-age summer roasting on the concrete banks, reveling in the human anatomy lessons presented unknowingly (?) by the high school chicks, and overcoming our fear of the 12 foot (this was before the invention of meters) diving board.
One of my fonder memories of that era (besides the sound of Groovin‘ over the PA system) was investing in the sugary pleasures of the snack bar. And, for some reason, the Zero candy bar was more often than not my prime target. At that time, I seem to recall the wrapper featured a polar bear, and the word “Zero” sported icicles. Perhaps I’m imagining that. But the attraction of such a package on a 100°+ day was undeniable.
And it’s strange, really. I don’t like white chocolate, and I’ve never been fond of peanut-oriented candy; I wouldn’t cross the street for a Snickers. But this particular combination… this happy incarnation… this siren song of sweetness… well, it just works. And, as an added bonus, eating one allows you to partake in a piece of history. Hershey’s now owns the brand, but the candy bar has been around since 1920.
It’s funny, isn’t it — how a candy bar can bring back such a flood of memories. I’ll bet you’ve got your own combination of sweet delights and recollections. Feel free to share ’em. But get your own Zero bar; mine are all spoken for.
Small world. I bought my first Zero bar in what has to be two decades just last weekend. A fit of madness…I made it through two bites, though…just TOO sweet for words. I made up for wastefully throwing it away by buying a Haagen-Dazs ice-cream bar at the next Texaco.
So…did you see any high school chicks in bikinis while you were eating it? I could smell chlorine, but no chicks.
“…just TOO sweet for words.”
We obviously fall on opposite sides of the Ongoing Candy Bar Debate. I’ll have to reassess our relationship in light of this revelation; this could be a Test of Fellowship!
Actually, you sound like you might be more of a Pay Day-kind of guy, and we do have common ground there. It was another of my swimming pool favorites: a cool mixture of main course AND dessert in one.
As far as the bikini sightings, I can only direct you to the lyrics of Paul Simon’s “Kodachrome” for the answer.
Your comment about the swimming pool reminded me of my last visit to Midland-Odessa, when we toured the large cement hole in the ground outside Monahans that was built as an oil holding tank before the days of metal containers. It supposedly held 1 million gallons, but evaporation took its toll. It’s a big honkin’ hole in the ground.
FWIW, I’ve come to appreciate twix of late.
Just about the only sweetness I can endure for any length of time these days is ice cream. And that’s only about one bar per quarter, if it’s not the No Sugar Added variety.
I’m definitely more of Spicy Beef Jerky kind of a guy when I’ve got to have a snack.