And you know the worst of the fake news? Sprinkles. There they are, leering from the shadowy pantry. Hello, sailor ... why, yes; I will have a spoonful. We all know where that leads.
Except for this time.
Enter a 7.5-ounce bottle of Wilton brand rainbow nonpareils. You know the type: tiny, colorful balls of crack sugarcane. They made made all the usual promises: The colors!: check! The visual texture of ten thousand tiny, little balls of bliss: check! The unrepentent wooing: check! Exotic use of the inscrutable term 'nonpariel': check!!
Spoon digs in easily, as per usual. That sound of metal utensil colliding with ten thousand yielding orbs of sweetness only heightens the anticipation. Yes. The spoon, modestly, only partly filled, pours its payload onto my tongue.
... aaaaaand - nothing. Worse than nothing. The promise of bliss collapses A light burst of flavor washed through my mouth and my teeth began their descent for the best part of all: When you bite down on a fresh pile of nonpariels, there's an explosion of texture and pure-as-the-driven-crack-cocaine sugar.
The needle ripped off the vinyl. Betrayal. There was no crackly-crunch of what is effectively hundreds of tiny lawbreakers rendered harmless by their diminutive size. A brief visit of sugar, they collapsed, rather than crushed. The equivalent of thinner aluminum taking the manliness out of crushing beer cans.
That cop is pulling you over. The baseball went through the neighbor's window. If flavor could give you whiplash, this would do it.
Sugar, corn starch, confectioners' glaze, FD&C Yellow 5 and Red 3, carnauba wax, FD&C Blue 1 and Red 40.