No Sugar Added

On April Fool’s Day, Tom thought it would be funny to replace the sugar in the sugar bowl with salt, and yeah, it was pretty funny to see the sour look on his Mom’s face when she took her first sip of coffee that morning.  But just to spite him, I guess, she didn’t say a word.  She puckered up her cheeks, half closed her eyes, and gulped it down fast.  I could tell Tom was not only disappointed, but a little scared too. He wolfed down his cereal and orange juice, then darted out to school early, probably worried what his mother might say or do next.

After that, his Mom rushed out too, but she came home at noon.  This was unusual.  I watched her.  She threw on her apron and set to work fast, pouring chocolate mousse onto a graham cracker crust, and then she sprinkled salt heavy all over it.  She used what was left in the sugar bowl.  Oh, she was grinning in a kind of diabolical way.  She was looking mighty smug.

That evening she dished it up to Tom with a practiced flourish.  “Somethin’ special, son,” she chanted, and you could see he wasn’t happy.  Poor kid.  His Mom had forgotten what it’s like in junior high.  You can’t trust anybody in middle school on April 1st—didn’t she know that?  He’d probably had a rough day, looking over his shoulder the whole time.  But he knew he’d brought this dessert on himself.  He nodded stoically and took a big bite.  Mom sat there, waiting eagerly.

Tom’s eyes grew big and he held the chocolate mousse in his mouth for a long time, as if he were savoring it.  He swallowed slowly and looked up at his mother with a look that was indecipherable.  “What?” she asked, on guard again.

“This tastes really good,” he said, obviously surprised.

“Oh, I am not falling for that again!” she exclaimed, pushing back from the table and heading to the sink, dishes in hand.

“Don’t throw it out!” he shouted, standing to stop her.

“You are not tricking me into tasting this,” she said tartly.

“More for me,” he said, taking another bite.

She picked up a fork, took a tiny bit off his plate and dabbed it on her tongue.  She smacked her lips.  “Huh. It’s interesting.”

“Interesting,” he repeated, mocking her faint praise.  “This is amazing.”  He paused for another bite.  “I bet it would be great with caramel.”

His mom got a jar of caramel sauce from the fridge, and they both sat down with the sweet/salty treat to eat themselves silly.

That’s the story of how Mrs. Carter and Her Son Tom created the Chocolate-Caramel-Salt Pudding that put the tiny town of Nirvana, Nebraska on the map.  They say their publicist created this story to ensure a real down-home branding, but that’s not true.  I saw the whole thing from my favorite perch, floating near the ceiling of their 1959 kitchen.

To be honest, I don’t remember who I was before I landed at this address sometime and place in mid-century America watching Tom Carter and his Mom Cheryl.  They were entertaining enough for me, I guess—the stories they’d tell each other, the people who’d come by, the party foods they’d indulge in—jello salads, hamburger casseroles, sheet cakes, and fruit pies.  There was a lot of laughter there in that kitchen.  I don’t remember much but I know I didn’t have that in the life I lived before.

The house is gone now, but I’m still here.  It’s very quiet now.  I’m not sure if there are any humans anywhere anymore.  There are tree roots cracking the asphalt roads and rivers reclaiming the levees.  I watch it all, and I feel very little.  I have released my desire for some kind of elation, some modicum of happiness.  In the slowness of nature I have discovered a peace that surprises me.  Perhaps there will be something more someday, if I may call this time “days.”  For now I will follow the river.  It leads me south/southwest.  To the ocean.

Photo by American Heritage Chocolate on Unsplash