Thursday, December 13, 2007
A casual, covert census has confirmed melted marshmallows as a ubiquitous umbrella for this sweet seasonal side. Holidays are a balance of preservation and experiment, of nostalgia and opportunity. Some smells must be recreated note by note; other new smells must be allowed to wantonly waft their way into tradition. Magazine recipes meet mom's memory, surprise meets certainty. The crescent rolls blacken from neglect and are heroically saved at the last moment, or ceremoniously buried beneath a hillock of potato peels. Everyone eats in eleven minutes and meanders back to the couch to finish the puzzle.
That was weeks and weeks ago now. Tamalehawk stills soars stoically above the staggered cityscape, save for the surreptitious swoops to the shadowed streets for a sweet or savory snack. He apologizes for his prolonged perch in the placid penumbra, and affirms that his appetite has not abated, but rather accelerated to accommodate the inflated belly of '08.