I don’t like marshmallows. I don’t care for crispy rice cereal. Both are baby foods. Put either in front of me, and I’ll politely decline. But mix the two together—along with a dab of fat, a touch of salt, and a little stovetop wizardry—and suddenly I’m 8 years old again, cradling one of the most texturally fun and glorious desserts ever invented. Homemade or store-bought (shiny blue wrappers, anyone?), Rice Krispie Treats are pure joy. They snap, they crackle, they pop in a delightfully chewy, pull-apart way. No other dessert resists your teeth while simultaneously giving in with such sweet, gooey drama. And that’s the magic: Rice Krispies are a texture thing. Light crunch on the outside. Soft marshmallow in the middle. So much fun to chew. I’ve been eating these bad boys since the ’80s, and I plan on doing so well into my ’80s—for as long as my teeth will allow. You don’t need flour, eggs, or a degree in baking. Just melt, mix, press, and try not to eat half the pan before it cools. This is childhood distilled into three inch squares. A humble, four-ingredient miracle. Forget crème brûlée or fancy soufflés. If dessert was a sport, Rice Krispie Treats are my MVP. ★★★★★
Although Americans don’t think of them as such, peanuts are vegetables. And boy are they delicious! Grown underground as a legume and not actually a nut, this commonplace superfood is half fat, quarter protein, and quarter sugar. They were first discovered over 7,000 years ago in Peru, before spreading to the rest of the world. In 1890, America invented peanut butter, which quickly became chocolate’s favorite condiment. In the 1950s, America sent lots of peanut butter to combat famine in West Africa, which they used to invent Peanut Soup with tomatoes that is absolutely fantastic. Peanuts can be dry roasted, boiled, blended into a butter, or my personal favorite, cooked in oil (aka “cocktail” peanuts). They are crunchy, nutty, slightly oily, and dare I say timeless. They get a bad wrap for being boring. But I eat them nearly everyday. Like potatoes, I admire them for their versatility. ★★★★★
My Idaho-born father will cough in his ashes for saying this, but baked potatoes are boring. They need a lot of salt, toppings, or dressings to make them interesting. They have a hard time standing on their own. Although traditional, mashed potatoes are like baby food for grown ups. I’ll eat ’em, mind you. But I don’t think I’ve ever savored a bite of mash potatoes. In go the mashed starches! That said, potatoes take on a magical quality when thinly cut, battered, and fried. French fries, hash browns, even scalloped potatoes are pretty darn fun. And I’d be remiss not to mention funeral potatoes. But again those are mostly cheese, butter, onions, and cornflakes. The potatoes are just the vehicle to deliver those richer ingredients. If I sound a little harsh, it’s because I am. There are just so many more exciting vegetables in life. But what potatoes lack in flavor or texture, they more than make up for in versatility. ★★★★☆
America has spoken. For the last 20 years, Reese’s has been the best-selling candy in the country by a wide margin. That’s because the classic combination of slightly flakey, if not overly sweet, peanut butter covered in fast-melting milk chocolate is nearly impossible to beat. Like Hershey Kisses, Reese’s have an interesting texture. Chocolaty ridge sidewalls first tickle the mouth in a rich and smooth way. Ince bitten, the sturdier peanut butter center presents an exciting contrast to the melt-in-your mouth (and often fingers) outer shell. Although admittedly mouth-watering, Reese’s are indulgently sweet. No salt or bitter notes here, which is disappointing. For a more irresistible, if not 5-star perfected, version of this classic combination, try Trader Joe’s mini dark peanut butter cups. Either way, tearing off the brown paper liners are a pretty fun act of anticipation. ★★★☆☆
Although they’re made with waxified commercial chocolate, Hershey Kisses are a textural phenomenon. The teardrop shape is simultaneously awkward and interesting. Perfectly portioned, Kisses sorta stab the roof of your mouth, then induce what feels like two teaspoons of saliva when the broad base chocolate hits your tongue. Often times I’ll crush the pointed tip with a molar, which is always satisfying. Either way, Kisses might be the funnest chocolate you’ll ever put in your mouth. Not the greatest tasting chocolate. But the shape-associated texture is what makes Kisses one of the best-selling and enduring American candies of all time. To top it off, the tiny tin foil and fortune cookie like paper label offer the fingers a delightful fidget opportunity while your mouth enjoys the contents. ★★★★☆
