Every fall, just after Halloween, I begged my mom to order the Sears Wish Book. I spent hours poring over the book, making a list of the toys I wanted most. My parents always let me pick out one really impressive toy for the first night of Hanukkah and a few small “stocking stuffer” gifts for the other seven nights. My kid sister Janet and I would fight over the book and had to take turns, until my mom realized she should order two copies. Yet even with eight nights of celebration, I suffered from Christian envy and was a bit jealous of my best friend Joan’s beautiful large Christmas tree with colorfully wrapped gifts underneath. I fondly recall when her parents graciously invited me over for a few hours before their Christmas eve celebration. Thus, via a scaled-down version, I experienced the joy of Christmas along with my potato latkes, chocolate gelt, picking hardened dripped wax off the menorah, and my eight gifts. The best of both worlds, you might say.
I blame my dad – but all of my dentists can thank him. My lifelong love affair with candy began when I was just a youngin, thanks to my dad’s unique love for sweets. I say unique because back in the 1960s when there were no gourmet candy shops in Chicago, my dad would order bountiful amounts of gourmet candy from Russ and Daughters on his annual December business trip to New York City. Among his favorite candies were pastel-colored chocolate lentils and dark chocolate covered raspberry jelly rings . I visited Russ and Daughters the last time I was in NYC and they carry very little candy now. My personal choice for an awesome array of candy in the Big Apple is Economy Candy. I must say we had the best candy in our house when I was growing up. One year my dad ordered a gingerbread house kit complete with gumdrops from B. Shackman Company. Before my sisters and I finished making this wonder, it became infested with ants and my mom had to toss it. My dad told us stories about growing up dirt poor in Brooklyn and saving money so he could buy a broken candy bar for 2 cents at the corner store – he couldn’t afford the whole bars. He certainly made up for this over the years, buying high-end gourmet chocolate from near and far at candy makers/shops including Bendick’s, Fortnum and Mason, Bissinger’s, and a now defunct Ma and Pa candy shop in Chicago called Martha’s Candies. He really didn’t care much for Frango Mints or Fanny May, but would reluctantly eat them if bought as a gift.
A few days ago this article was simply going to discuss a TV commercial that Betsy and I cringed at every time it aired. The commercial in review here is for Talbots, a “Women’s Clothing and Apparel” store. The music is the first thing I noticed – a jarring, growling female singer going on about evolving, revolving, revolution and history repeating. When I actually watched the commercial I was annoyed by the woman who the ad focuses on. She’s oh-so properly dressed in what looks like a business suit with leather gloves and a big purse hanging from one arm. She’s swinging her hips like a runway model as she walks through city streets. Most annoying to me was the smug, almost predatory look she has throughout the ad.