Fresh, cheap, ready-to-melt popsicles are delightful. Cold, wet, fruity, refreshing... I would go on if I weren't thoroughly aware that my raptures have a singular, masculine, 3-pound source who keeps me overheated 90% of the time these days. My third-trimester obsession has taught me something curious: popsicles expire. They're no more than sugar and ice, yet for some reason they can't keep up with my frozen bell peppers or chicken enchiladas, which are still delicious after the popsicles have lost their luster.
It's not just freezer burn. They gather a sticky outer coating of syrup, encrusted with ice crystals. Run under water, the outer layers vanish to reveal half the original popsicle (now edible), but it's a tragic waste.
Who would have guessed it? And why the transformation? Quite a mystery - and one Josh is probably lamenting, as he's usually the one sent to replenish our stock when the frightful syrup appears...though he was kind enough to praise my self control which allowed the popsicles to accumulate such syrup in the first place. No need to remind him that my self-control was supported by an inordinate amount of watermelon...
No comments:
Post a Comment