On Christmas
Eve, as children, we would get the opportunity to select one present under the
tree and open it, thus heightening the already anticipated next morning of
present mania. As I recall, we could
choose whatever gift we wanted to, but in reality, it seemed the only ones ever
selected were the ever famous rectangle box.
I believe now that our choice was between that gift or no gift.
Unwrapping the
gift disclosed the all too familiar contents.
Yep, Queen Anne Chocolate Cherries.
Who knew? Oh yeah, we all
did. But that in no way would dampen the
Eve of Christmas. There they were in all
of their glory. That red box with some
candy images on the outside, and we must not forget the one that looked like a
bite was taken out of it revealing the cherry with it sumptuous juices running
from it.
And even
though it was time for bed, and we were all nestled in our footie pajamas, we
would request ever so humbly, “Please sir, might I have but a nibble?” To which, the sir would gruffly respond, “It’s
late, but if you think you have to, you can have one piece.”
Well, of
course we think we have to. I mean, who
puts a whole box of chocolates in front of a kid and expect them not to want
any? That would be my parents. So, after the all clear signal, I would ever
so gently open the box top, which usually would involve tearing it, because that
glue they would use was pretty sticky.
And there
they were, six morsels of yummy all snuggled and compartmented in that top tray
of plastic. Now the trick was trying to
decide which piece would be my first.
That was the easy part. I know
that you are thinking. Easy because they
all look alike, factory made and all.
Not correct,
my friend. I failed to tell you the sad twist this plot of candy woe. Our Queen Anne cherries weren’t just any
Queen Anne cherries. Ours were Queen
Anne cherries at a discounted price because they were purchased the season
before, and sat for months safely tucked away like the hidden treasure that they
were.And when that lid was opened, those individual cherries looked like they had been in a war zone. The top of the chocolate were crushed as if a thumb had pressed down upon it, giving it that recognizable dented look. Usually, there would be a couple that seemed to have a bit of a white waxy tint to them. And the juices, oh those precious juices. They appeared to have leaked out into a congealed glob of hardened goo fusing the chocolate to the plastic. And you knew that those would be extra chewy in a, “it’s still technically candy” sort of a way.
I mentioned that it was easy to decide which piece would be my first. Because out of the two stacked trays, there was always at least one, one who made it our unscathed. And there is was, the perfect specimen of Queen Ann Chocolate covered cherries. I pause to remember this moment, and then popped it in my mouth chewing three or four times before the anticlimactic swallow.
This tradition was played out year after year after year. After my father passed, and we kids had grown, my mother would send us a box for Christmas. And I am fairly certain; we got one even the last Christmas before she died.
I never did have the heart to tell her that I don’t care for chocolate covered cherries too much. But it was her tradition and she liked giving them, so I liked receiving them. This is a great Christmas memory of mine.
Merry Christmas Mom and Dad. We are doing fine. And to all, a good night.
