reasons
I reached for the largest lollipop. "How much do you charge for the big ones?" I asked, staggering as the candy fell onto my shoulder. It was as tall as I am and stunningly heavy.
"Ten bucks," he said.
"That's all?" I asked, reaching into my pocket for a bill. "I've wanted one of these since I was a little kid," I admitted, slinging the giant confection over my shoulder, "but I thought they cost a fortune."
"Other places," said Ed, heading for the door, "they do. John's the last of the old-time candy men."
...
"Oh Mommy," said Nickey when he saw the lollippop, "this must be the most beautiful thing on earth." He gazed at it, dazzled by the gorgeous object that had just entered his life. "Can I really eat it?"
"Yes," I said, "but it might take a couple of years."
He stood back and examined it. "I don't think I will," he decided, petting the giant candy. "This isn't one of those food that youy eat. It's one of the ones that's only supposed to make you happy."
- from Ruth Reichl's "Garlic and Sapphires"
that about sums up why each dark nook and cranny of my cupboard is filled with vastly expired goods of sometimes questionable origin and intent. on the second shelf is a snug half mason jar of fois gras, the lobe forever coddled in a puddle of its own goose fat. if you look to the left, there's a nice tin of anchovies with raised italian lettering on the sides. it also explains why late last year, i threw out a huge garbage bag full of snacks from japan, colorful bright satchels of shiny hard candy, various boxes of dark chocolate with rum raisins, piles of curry chicken flavored corn puffs. all of them were unopened and several years expired.
i've watched my own mother reduced to tears as she opened my fridge and located the carefully packed bag of pickled radishes she had given me more than a year ago, uneaten and apparently forgotten. wes shakes his head at 80% of the food he pulls from my coffers "tell me again why can't we eat this?" food wasted infuriates him.
my response is always, "memories." these items give me more happiness intact. when i see these little bundles in their bright bushy tailed new-ness, it's a thing of happiness to me. of the journey i had to take to bring it back here, the experience involved, the rarity of a return visit, the promise of something possibly quite wonderful inside. how often have you bought something new and it wasn't as you expected? that's another thing i want to preserve, that hope. food bought during vacation are purchases as souvenirs, not edibles. a little token to bring with me with the promise that i can still experience something new from that far off land in the comfort of my own home. that hope, that promise, that option, to freeze that moment as long as possible, is what that pile of expired food means to me.
i forced myself to open this one bag of chelsea candy though, a bag i bought from a jpn grocery market in white plains when i last visited janicu. i grew up with the original toffee and coffee flavored packs, and of course i HAD to get the "sprint sweets mix" version of it, with hard to resist flavors such as peach, orange chocolate, and strawberry mousse. and so i opened it, and i was disappointed. :p but the wrappers did amuse me for being so cheerful and bright. i also wondered why they made the colors for strawberry and peach so similar to each other. the shades of pink are a microcosm apart, i doubt most people would have noticed the difference. i like the wrapper pattern so much that i leave the inside of my purse littered with them. you know, to cheer things up a bit.