Day 22: Foods That Totally Make Me Lose My Head

Do you have these foods, Readers? The ones that turn all your healthy resolve to mush, that beckon to you across a crowded buffet table and aren't satisfied until you ravage them? And they don't have to be difficult to procure, or labor intensive, though they can be. They just have to be irresistible, plain and simple. The mouth wants what it wants.

Here are a few of mine:

hash browns - Nestle any kind of potatoes up against my eggs besides these and I have no time for them. If you don't believe me, ask my husband--they go straight on his plate. Your mashed, your smothered, your diced. But julienne those same potatoes into fine shreds and fry them all brown and crispy, and I'm a goner. The eggs will be left forlorn; the browns rule the day.

rich vegetables - By which I mean the kind that are served in fancy steakhouses. Candied carrots, creamed corn, and broccoli with cheese sauce. Broccoli with cheese sauce is kind of obvious, I mean, it has cheese sauce. Creamed corn is a similar story. But candied carrots? They make me swoon. I mean, they're vegetables and they're CANDIED. I like the ones that are caramelized almost crisp on the outside--lacquered, if you will--and meltingly sweet and tender inside. Excuse me, I just blacked out for a second.

Mexican Coke - This sounds sort of naughty and believe me, it is. Most Coke in this country is made with corn syrup, but some countries still brew theirs with real sugar cane. One of those countries is only a few miles from here, and you can buy boxes of their Coke at Costco, in heavy, satisfying glass bottles. It's so good it almost becomes some other soda, but I don't want to get carried away, because I love the inferior Coke, too. This just takes it over the top. Someone offers me one and I'm nodding and drooling even though inside I may be screaming "No, thank you!" There's no help for it--I have a Coke problem.

hot cherry stuff - I don't know what it says about me that I grew up the daughter of a woman who works true magic with a pastry cutter and fresh fruit (apple and blueberry are the family stars) and I only get dopey over store-bought cherry, the kind with neon, viscous gloop from a can. In college, they put out bowls of the stuff for ladling over cake, and I used to horrify my tablemates by sitting down with a massive serving of nothing but. "What the hell is THAT?" someone once asked. "Cherry slop!" I announced happily, just before inhaling it. I vividly recall a middle school refectory lunch in Utah (I was teaching there at the time) with a bounty of fresh, hot cherry turnovers. Readers, I believe I ate four, and this was after two barbecue sandwiches.

s'mores - Perhaps because I grew up near the beach, nothing tastes quite like a blackened marshmallow freshly pulled from a coat hanger, a square of Hershey's, and two plain graham crackers, with that final satisfying "smoosh" that turns three disparate ingredients into a melange of sublimity. There was a brief fad a few years ago of fine-dining establishments offering an elevated s'mores dessert along with their creme brulees and pot de cremes, but the whole enterprise smacked of sad wanna-be striving. They always went and ruined the simplicity with "house-made" graham crackers and "meringue" marshmallows (the very idea!) and a slab of bittersweet Valrhona, and when I took a bite I instantly felt embarrassed for them. S'mores are a communal dish, prepared in the dark amongst slightly drunken friends, redolent of woodsmoke, with a light crunch of sand between your teeth as you savor that first bite. They are hot, cool, soft, chewy, crunchy and melty all at once, a contradiction that perfectly complements your feelings for the teenage boy at your side, whom you desperately want to make out with but kind of hate at the same time.