Lest you think I am some humorless, tyrannical anti-sugar crusader, let me tell you about our family. Spouse, children, and I love sweets. We crave sugar. Occasionally, we indulge. Every now and then, we over-indulge. See?
Rex and Kenta, my two littles, who by the way, chose their own blog cover names, love love love love love anything they can get their hands on—be it sucrose, lactose, glucose, dextrose, any type of syrup/-ose/-ol, and yes, oh yes, the dreaded HFCS. That’s High Fructose Corn Syrup, y’all.
Of course, they don’t even realize just how many things actually contain significant amounts of sugar. Ketchup! Salad dressing! Sauces! Canned soup! Another post for another day, clearly.
Since they love the stuff, since they are utterly surrounded by opportunities to partake (even in a 60-minute Sunday School class), and since we want them to learn self-control and appropriate portion choices, we do allow, even encourage the occasional desserts. At the same time, quality is very important. I want them to learn what real pastry — made with REAL butter — tastes like. I want them to savor the delights of cracking a caramelized crème brûlée. I want them to know what freshly whipped cream and bittersweet chocolate are. I want them to crave the refreshment of a sorbet made with local fruits in season.
So, when we venture outside our usual territory, we try to find excellent examples of local cuisine or of traditional cuisine expertly produced. This, my dear readers, leads to discernment and taste…and hopefully a lifetime of mostly resisted crappy HFCS desserts that aren’t worth the empty calories and mediocre taste they offer. I want my children to know the sweet — not the saccharine — life.
I leave you with the following:
Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.