Fun Dip

An edible stick. Pure sugar in a waxy papery pouch. What could be better?

When I was 13, I spent my Saturdays working in the drugstore where my father was the weekend pharmacist. At the end of the day, dad would let me take one piece of candy off the shelf as a reward for my hard work (little did he know I spent most of my day eating whatever candy I could cram in my mouth between customers. I also stole cigarettes too, but that's a story for another day...).

Lik-M-Aid Fun Dip was the one candy I wasn't allowed to bring home. So of course, I just tucked a pouch into my jacket or backpack before the end of the day, chose my 'wholesome' Red Hots or Kit Kat, and went merrily on my way.

Fun Dip was great, because it came with three flavors of powder each in its own pouch. You could open one flavor at a time, saving the best (purple) for last (if you were like me), or you could mix flavors to make the green more palatable. And it came with two candy sticks for dipping, which I always thought was quite generous.

Here's what it looks like now (which is far slicker than looked in 1983)


More than anything, though, I remember plowing through a package of Fun Dip and having sugar burn on my lips and tongue from the rough texture of the candy.

Now the thought of eating a package of flavored sugar repulses me. Don't get me wrong, I still LOVE candy, but straight up sugar, eaten with a sugar stick? Now I know why it was the forbidden candy.

Going Hardcore

Gosh Food Guy, it sure has been a long time since you've posted -- what's up? That's what you've been thinking, right?

Sorry, but it's that time of year. Mrs. Food Guy and I refer to it as "Going Hardcore." From January 1 to Valentine's Day, we remove all junk from our diets.

Now, don't confuse going hardcore with dieting. We typically eat pretty healthfully, but during the holidays we tend to get a little nuts. So we use the first six weeks of each year as a refresher course in eating well.

And we love it. It feels better to eat well. I miss cake, don't get me wrong. But when I do have a piece of cake or some candy on February 14, I appreciate it. A LOT!


So when you have a cookie, a Fire-flavored Twizzler Pull and Peel (they taste like FIRE!!!!) or a hunk of cake with extra frosting... think of me. Think of my pants fitting better. Think of me getting into working out again and knowing that come spring I won't be embarrassed to take my shirt off. Think of me happily eating dried dates for a snack and remarking aloud "Dried dates -- natures candy!"

And think of me scarfing up my Valentine's Day junk food with abandon, not thinking about any of those things.

Candy Crack Corn, and I Don't Care...

With Halloween only a few days away, I have to write about candy. It won't be the last time, I assure you. The Food Guy LOVES candy and can talk about it endlessly.

But today, I'm thinking about just one kind of candy. It's triangular. It's orange, yellow, and white (sometimes brown too!). And it is more addictive than just about any other sweet. The question I have is this: WHY is it so impossible to have just a few candy corns?



As the trees start showing the first hints of oranges and yellows, matching bags of candy corn start appearing on the supermarket shelves. They're usually pretty cheap, so you buy two, maybe three. You open the bag, thinking "Oh, I'll just have a few corns, maybe put the rest out in a nice bowl on the coffee table..." You grab a few, go back about your business.

Flash forward 15 minutes, and all three bags of corn are gone. Your teeth ache. Your head feels foggy. Your stomach is in turmoil. You are disgusted with yourself. And you're looking for your keys because you need to get back to the store for more candy corn!

By the time Halloween passes, you're thankful they've been replaced by chocolate Santas and candy canes, because you can't keep yourself from buying a bag every time you see one, no matter how grossed out you are with them, and yourself.

When I say "you" throughout this blog, I admit that I mean "me." I used to think it was only me. Then I met Mrs. Food Guy. The two of us can mow through five pounds of candy corn faster than an ordinary person can get the bag opened. It's not pretty, believe me -- two adults sitting on a couch, complaining of wanting to puke while at the same time keeping close tabs on the other persons corn-pile (can't have one of us getting more than their fair share of corn!), trying so hard to eat just a few but finding themselves unable to quit shoving them down their gullets.

What do they put in that stuff? It brings to mind the traditional song:

Candy crack corn, and I don't care,
Candy crack corn, and I don't care,
Candy crack corn, and I don't care
My teeth's have gone away!!!