Slayed by Santa

trigger warning: yummy food discussed in detail

I love peanut butter and chocolate. But I’m very specific about how I like them. Together and separately.


Truthfully, I don’t actually like peanuts. Blend them into a butter and add sugar … and my taste buds have a change of heart.

And I don’t like all chocolate. It has to be creamy. Preferably milk.


When peanut butter and chocolate mix, I like it creamy. Not crunchy. And definitely not chalky.


I’m picky. I’d rather not eat it if I’m not going to enjoy it.


Enter Smidgens.


Never heard of them? Neither had I. They are made by Gertrude Hawk Chocolates, based in Dunmore, PA. My fellow peanut-butter-and-chocolate-lover and Philly friend Matthew grew up with Smidgens and promised they would change my life. And he was right.


It was March of 2012, and my husband, Judah, and I had purchased our first home! Going from a one-bedroom apartment to a three-bedroom house meant we had lots of space to fill! I was home alone one day, putting together cubes for a create-your-own bookshelf idea I had for the upstairs office.


I was also sugar free for the month of March.


Matthew bought me Smidgens for Christmas. We hadn’t seen each other yet that year, so I didn’t meet the little demons until that Thursday in March when he dropped them off at my new house. Gertrude Hawk tailors their Smidgens to the season, so Matthew gifted me with a 14.5 oz bag of Milk Chocolate Peanut Butter Santa Smidgens.


I graciously accepted them, confessing that I was sugar free for the month, so I wouldn’t be able to fully thank him in detail until April, when I could actually taste the tempting treats.


I started unpacking the boxes and organizing the cube pieces, since there was some assembly required. There were 18 cubes total. Twelve small and six tall.


My mind drifted into the kitchen. The Smidgens hadn’t been properly stowed. I went to them and placed them in Judah’s cabinet, to the left of the kitchen sink, so I wouldn’t be faced with them every day for the next month. They were safely sealed inside the bag and would keep, out of sight, until April.


The cubes were made of recycled paperboard and came in pieces: one back and four sides. All I had to do was pull a strip of plastic to reveal adhesive, line up the two pieces of wood (side and back), and press them together.


A new plan formed. Judah could have some Smidgens when he got home from work. He likes peanut butter and chocolate too, though he’s not as picky as I am. He doesn’t mind the chalky kind. He could try them, let me know what he thought, and then in April, I’d try them.


The assembly of the cubes was pretty straight forward. The office was upstairs, but the boxes of cubes were heavy, so I was putting them together downstairs.


I should probably have a couple Smidgens, just to taste them. Matthew had been so thoughtful to buy them for me and to drop them off. Why make him wait a whole month for me to try them?


Once a couple of cubes were constructed, I would carry them upstairs.


“I’ll just try one.” I opened Judah’s cabinet, to the left of the kitchen sink, carefully peeled open the Smidgen bag, and took out one Santa.


Creamy might be an understatement. Matthew had been right. Gertrude Hawk knew how to do peanut butter and chocolate. It was delicious. Possibly the best blend I’d ever tasted.


As with most delicious things, I couldn’t have just one. I lined five more Santas up on the counter. For later.


Back to work. Pull the plastic strip. Line up the wood. Press.


The aftertaste isn’t bad either. But it was fading fast.


Pull plastic strip. Line up wood. Press.


I’ll have one more. Now. And the others later in the day.


Pull plastic strip. Line up wood. Press.


While I’m downstairs, I may as well have another.


Pull plastic strip. Line up wood. Press.


One more before I head upstairs.


Grab a couple assembled cubes and take them up to the office.


What is that noise?! The two remaining Santas on the counter were yelling at me from downstairs. Abandoned. Forgotten. Alone.


Back downstairs, I rescued the remaining Santas. I couldn’t leave just one, so I ate both. One at a time. I’m not a monster.


Now the counter was empty. So I put 5 more out. For later. And went back to work on the cubes.


This went on until there were only 10 Smidgens left in the bag. I realized if Judah was going to get any, I had to intervene. Ashamed (and astonished) by how many Santas I had devoured, I wanted to hide the evidence. If Judah didn’t know how many there were to begin with, he couldn’t judge me the way I was currently judging me.


I got out a resealable clear plastic bag and dumped the surviving 10 Smidgens in, safely sealed the Santas, and hid them in Judah’s cabinet … you know where - to the left of the sink in the kitchen - and so did I. It was a false sense of security. For the Santas. And for me.


I turned my full focus to assembling the remaining cubes. Then I would set them up in the office in the clever design I was so proud of creating. How fun to be setting up our home. Just like we …


There were only 10 left. If Judah never knew they were there in the first place, he would’t know what he missed.

No. That’s not nice. He deserved to at least get to taste them.


But Matthew didn’t get them for Judah. He got them for me.


Knock. Knock. Knock. Ten Smidgen Santas knocking on the cabinet door.


Argh! Why can’t I just work in peace?!


Hold strong. Focus on the cubes. Align the shelves. Arrange the books.


FINE!


Downstairs. Cabinet open. Plastic seal broken. Santas released. Sultry smell of peanut butter and chocolate.


One. By. One.

I ate them all.

I lost the battle.

But I also won. It was quiet.

One point for Santa.

27 views5 comments

Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.

Oscar Wilde