Cordial

Chocolate covered cherries.  But not just any, Queen Anne artificially flavored Cordial cherries.  For as long as I could remember, my mom would buy and wrap for Christmas our own individual box of Chocolate covered cherries.  This tradition lasted deep into our adulthood. 

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.