The Great Twinkie War
A couple of days ago the Twinkie turned 75. We don't eat Twinkies around here, but the anniversary reminded me of an event AHM still calls The Great Twinkie War.
See, not long after we moved to the south from California (talk about culture shock), AHM joined a local church and got involved in a committee or two. The meetings were in the evenin', once a month, and sometimes I snuck in. (I am impeccably behaved and welcome almost everywhere, includin' schools.)
Anyway, at this meetin' they were discussin' the feedin' the homeless project. One day a week the church ladies from all over the city take turns puttin' on a big spread for the less fortunate--although there was some question if the people were really less fortunate or just lookin' for a free meal.
Mostly the ladies are real nice--aside from their tendency to call me "cute" which a certain generation of women like to do. But, ya' gotta understand somethin' about the older class of genteel southern women. They're the Powder Puff Girls--with verbal stilettos. And most of 'em still haven't reconciled to great-great-granddaddy surrenderin' back at Appomattox.
But they're committed to good works, 'specially when it's through the church. If ya' can survive the verbal admonitions that go with 'em, they'll be glad to help ya' out. Problem is, they have their own idea of how the homeless and/or disadvantaged should behave when handed free meals. They're thinkin' afternoon tea party when they should be thinkin' of feedin' time at the local kennel.
They learned the hard way.
Continued in Read the Rest!
The tale was told by one very outraged church lady whose prim, elegant southern accent made the whole incident even funnier--'tho I doubt she thought so.
It seems the good ladies gathered together one Saturday and set up all the long tables for the meal. No one's dumb enough to use real silver and china, but each place settin' was arranged in the best Emily Post tradition--provided Emily Post would approve of plastic, which I doubt. Then they went into the kitchen area, puttin' together big tureens of whatever they were dishin' out, mixin' fruit juice drinks, heatin' up the water for coffee, and all that stuff. Everything's donated, of course, and on that particular weekend some good-hearted soul sent over a case or two of Twinkies.
I guess a couple of the ladies decided the bare tables with their plastic utensiles, plates, and glasses needed to be spruced up, so they used the Twinkies for decoration. One Twinkie was artistically arranged beside each settin'.
At the appointed time a sizable crowd was lined up outside the doors, waitin' for their meal. Metal pitchers of juice were put out and the ladies set up at the head of the tables with their tureens at the ready to ladle out the vittles. The doors were flung wide.
Now evidently certain types always muscle their way to the front and that day was no different. You understand those types are not the ones you'd find at your average lawn and garden tea party. (Hell, even I behave better at the average lawn and garden tea party than those guys.) The first half dozen charged in--
--and spotted all the Twinkies.
Those church ladies never had a chance. Their great-great-grandmamas might have fought off the Yankee horde to save the family plantation, but there was no stoppin' these human locusts. The first strike group split up, chargin' all the tables, grabbin' those Twinkies as fast as their grimey hands could move, stuffin' 'em in coat pockets, pants pockets, down their shirt, down their pants and in their socks for all I know. It was like an entire of platoon of Sandy Bergers runnin' amuck.
Naturally those behind the original shock troops objected to losin' out on their Twinkie treats and went after the marauders. Plates, cutlery, glasses--everythin' was flyin' around while the ladies clung to their tureens for dear life.
Luckily there were a bunch of husbands who had gone along to help, so order was eventually restored. Never heard much about the eventual surrender (AHM and I had to leave the meetin' room 'cause she was about to bust tryin' to keep from rollin' on the floor laughin') but I have visions of metal pitchers bein' used on a few heads and lots cream fillin' squirtin' hither and yon.
Don't think what was left of those Twinkies ever got passed out evenly. I do know everyone had to listen to a stern lecture on table manners from an entire host of outraged church ladies which may or may not have taken the pleasure out of lickin' up the remains of those purloined pastries.
If he only knew…
posted by Harrison at 1:54 PM
See, not long after we moved to the south from California (talk about culture shock), AHM joined a local church and got involved in a committee or two. The meetings were in the evenin', once a month, and sometimes I snuck in. (I am impeccably behaved and welcome almost everywhere, includin' schools.)
Anyway, at this meetin' they were discussin' the feedin' the homeless project. One day a week the church ladies from all over the city take turns puttin' on a big spread for the less fortunate--although there was some question if the people were really less fortunate or just lookin' for a free meal.
Mostly the ladies are real nice--aside from their tendency to call me "cute" which a certain generation of women like to do. But, ya' gotta understand somethin' about the older class of genteel southern women. They're the Powder Puff Girls--with verbal stilettos. And most of 'em still haven't reconciled to great-great-granddaddy surrenderin' back at Appomattox.
But they're committed to good works, 'specially when it's through the church. If ya' can survive the verbal admonitions that go with 'em, they'll be glad to help ya' out. Problem is, they have their own idea of how the homeless and/or disadvantaged should behave when handed free meals. They're thinkin' afternoon tea party when they should be thinkin' of feedin' time at the local kennel.
They learned the hard way.
Continued in Read the Rest!
The tale was told by one very outraged church lady whose prim, elegant southern accent made the whole incident even funnier--'tho I doubt she thought so.
It seems the good ladies gathered together one Saturday and set up all the long tables for the meal. No one's dumb enough to use real silver and china, but each place settin' was arranged in the best Emily Post tradition--provided Emily Post would approve of plastic, which I doubt. Then they went into the kitchen area, puttin' together big tureens of whatever they were dishin' out, mixin' fruit juice drinks, heatin' up the water for coffee, and all that stuff. Everything's donated, of course, and on that particular weekend some good-hearted soul sent over a case or two of Twinkies.
I guess a couple of the ladies decided the bare tables with their plastic utensiles, plates, and glasses needed to be spruced up, so they used the Twinkies for decoration. One Twinkie was artistically arranged beside each settin'.
At the appointed time a sizable crowd was lined up outside the doors, waitin' for their meal. Metal pitchers of juice were put out and the ladies set up at the head of the tables with their tureens at the ready to ladle out the vittles. The doors were flung wide.
Now evidently certain types always muscle their way to the front and that day was no different. You understand those types are not the ones you'd find at your average lawn and garden tea party. (Hell, even I behave better at the average lawn and garden tea party than those guys.) The first half dozen charged in--
--and spotted all the Twinkies.
Those church ladies never had a chance. Their great-great-grandmamas might have fought off the Yankee horde to save the family plantation, but there was no stoppin' these human locusts. The first strike group split up, chargin' all the tables, grabbin' those Twinkies as fast as their grimey hands could move, stuffin' 'em in coat pockets, pants pockets, down their shirt, down their pants and in their socks for all I know. It was like an entire of platoon of Sandy Bergers runnin' amuck.
Naturally those behind the original shock troops objected to losin' out on their Twinkie treats and went after the marauders. Plates, cutlery, glasses--everythin' was flyin' around while the ladies clung to their tureens for dear life.
Luckily there were a bunch of husbands who had gone along to help, so order was eventually restored. Never heard much about the eventual surrender (AHM and I had to leave the meetin' room 'cause she was about to bust tryin' to keep from rollin' on the floor laughin') but I have visions of metal pitchers bein' used on a few heads and lots cream fillin' squirtin' hither and yon.
Don't think what was left of those Twinkies ever got passed out evenly. I do know everyone had to listen to a stern lecture on table manners from an entire host of outraged church ladies which may or may not have taken the pleasure out of lickin' up the remains of those purloined pastries.
"So, does culinary instruction ever include Twinkies?
"We did an interactive game as part of a leadership training where teams had to build a tower of Twinkies and plastic forks that could support the Twinkie box," [Chef David Pantone, dean of the Florida Culinary Institute] said. "Twinkies are valuable teaching tools."
If he only knew…
posted by Harrison at 1:54 PM
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