When I was a young lad, there were few things in this world nearly as great as the golden deliciousness of the cream filled twinkie. I can remember going into the local convenience store and finding the twin platinum blondes peeking at me from behind the smiling face of that comestible cowboy, Twinkie the Kid. I recall my childhood fantasies of poking a straw into one of the mysterious filling dots on the bottom of the snack-cakes and sucking out the creamy sweetness that lie inside. I never fulfilled that fantasy, always afraid that the golden cake would somehow lose it’s appeal once made hollow.
At some point, I’m not sure when, the twin temptresses and I fell out of contact, my attentions turning instead toward their more rotund chocolate cousin in her disco-tastic foil dress, the Ding-Dong. By the time I rediscovered my platinum pals, they had changed. Somehow, the taste was different. The texture wasn’t as cakey, instead feeling more greasy to the tongue, and they seemed to have slimmed down a bit too, containing far less creamy filling. And so, in search of that long lost love, I began exploring the cheap imitations offered up by that snack-cake whore, Little Debbie, only to be left with little more than a twinge of heartburn and the searing burning sensation of disappointment. It was with great trepidation that I resigned myself to the fact that I’ll likely never enjoy a true Twinkie again. I all but pushed the joy of eating the Hostess treat out of my mind for years–that is until I recently caught an episode of Scrubs that mentioned Twinkies. Today, at the gas station, I saw that Twinkie the Kid is still lassoing the hearts of children as he stands astride the twin dogies in their little cellophane and cardboard boat. I almost bought a pack. Somehow, though, I’m afraid it just won’t be the same.