No more Twinkies? What the hell is happening to the world? Next thing you’ll be telling me is that we have a socialist for a president!
I grew up as a migrant farmworker. Really. Before the migrants came from Mexico and started feeling sorry for themselves, they migrated from Oklahoma (Okies), Arkansas (Arkies), and Kansas (Jayhawkers). I know this first hand because my parents and grandparents were part of that great migration. Read The Grapes of Wrath.
As a very young boy, I started working right along with my mother, grandmother, and siblings in the orchards of the Yakima Valley. We started picking cherries in the summer as soon as school was out, migrated from one orchard to the nextÂ following eachÂ fruit that needed to be picked,Â and finished the season harvesting grapes in the early fall.
And it was great.Â Yes, it was especially great the day you got paid because you were able to reap the rewards of your labor. But in addition to that, thereÂ was just the thrill of the work day itself.
We were up and out of the house before dawn so that we could maximize theÂ daylight hours. And a big part of that thrill was, you guessed it, Hostess Twinkies andÂ Cupcakes. I loved them. And I still enjoy them although my palate has mautured a little.
They may have not been the most nutritiousÂ item on the food pyramid but they were a pure delight toÂ this young farmworker. I hope I get some for Christmas. (Hint, Hint.)