So Hostess came upon the idea to resurrect one of the crowning achievements of the twentieth century, their original fruit pie. When first I came across the stack of them sitting quietly in the pantry, I was elated beyond words. Could it really be? As I picked one up, immediately the distinct sound and texture of the wrapper caused my heart to skip a beat. It was just as I remembered. A certain lightness and crispness bordering on crunchy--even the way the wrapper stuck fast to the front of the pie was perfect! But the real test was yet to come.
As soon as I tore open the edge of the wrapper I had the first inkling that something was not right. I swatted down those misgivings immediately. The corrugated paper tray that made the pies slide out so effortlessly was missing. I racked that one up to fears of Obamacare looming on the horizon. But no sooner had I gotten the pie free than I realized my uneasiness was founded. The glaze. There wasn't one. How could that be? The flaky, sticky-sweet glaze that I had to lick off my fingers before the first bite? That most exquisite manifestation of what joy awaited me? How could it be gone? How could it simply not be there? I set aside my bafflement and continued onward.
The first bite.
Had I any self respect I would have tossed the charlatan in the trash straight away. The first bite, notorious for having been just crust and a puff of sweet pastry air was a disaster. Banal. Ho-hum. Entirely forgettable. Those are some of the words that came to mind. And then I beheld the filling. This particular pie was lemon. The lemon was unique in that it was filled with a lip-puckering tanginess and tartness that invariably lead to an involuntary twitch. It was a horrifyingly artificial shade of yellow and opaque as tar. Or it should have been. What I beheld was a citrusy, translucent shade of disappointment. And ne'er a twitch in sight. I even waited for it, thinking it might have been delayed. I'm still waiting for it.
All of this begs the question: Why? Why would they do that? Have they no idea of what those pies represented to generations of children? One of which I had the profound good fortune to belong? My first girlfriend and I bonded over many a Hostess apple pie. Her mother packed one in her lunch every day. And every day she shared that puffy piece of Heaven on Earth with me. If that does not bear testimony to the depths of third-grade love, I cannot imagine what could. But just like puppy love, there can be no substitute for the original Hostess fruit pie. Any marketing department worth its salt would have known that. Instead of using the opportunity to introduce new generations to that three ounce crinkly package of glory, I think all that really came of it was to reinforce the idea that mediocrity is the soup de jour. I could only hang my head and sigh as I polished off that pie and reached for another.
What? Hey, they may have been the embodiment of dashed hopes but they were still chocked full of sugar and preservatives; just what I sought at 2:00 a.m.
Disclaimer: The above are the opinions of myself alone. I do not intend to deter anyone from purchasing and/or possibly ingesting any product marketed or produced by the Hostess brand. And the next time I purchase the above mentioned pies, it will be with my expectations firmly and finely calibrated.
Semper Fi
