Barbara Bretton: Wish You Were Here

What's Cooking?

The Food Goddess is in the Kitchen! I am delighted beyond words to present my friend, my pal, Kali Amanda Browne (daughter of the beauteous and talented Marie) aka The Food Goddess. Enjoy!

Halloween

This is my column's first anniversary. I have great memories of writing about food here (research has never been so sweet). This month is about sweet memories, something a little different . . .

I love Halloween!

But I mourn the demise of its celebration because it does not happen as it did when I was a kid. This was the one holiday when childhood and whimsy were one. It possessed the perfect alchemy of fantasy and joy.

As a small child, we went on the house-to-house journey. That required true theatre. First, we acted out our costumes, and then the adults humored us in an affected manner: "Ooooh, you are a scary monster!" "Good evening, Your Majesty." "Who could that lion be?" We understood this charade was necessary in order to parade in drag and then get candy for the effort.

Later, the adults would cover up a ping pong table and place it on somebody's driveway. The bounty on the table included punch, tiny sandwiches, chips, juices and sodas. Of course, there would be tiny bags full of tooth decaying candy. The block closed, we ran around like tiny lunatics, in full costume, and burned off all the excess sugar in our systems. Much later, the celebrations became after school parties. Then, abruptly, I was told I was too old for Halloween.

I never understood that and I still refuse to believe it.

I long suspected my grandmother never quite got the whole idea, despite having raised four children prior. She always picked my costumes. She said it was my costume but she never agreed with my choices. According to her, my choices were always inappropriate. Batman, Superman and pirates were for boys, she said treacherously anti-ERA. Every year I lobbied for the witch, but each time she gave me the evil eye and bought something else. Like Coco Chanel, I always felt an affinity to the ageless elegance of a little black dress; but it offended her Roman Catholic sensibilities. Consequently, I endured the humiliation of being Casper the Friendly Ghost (who was a dead boy), angels (sexless) and princesses (oh please) for many years.

This month's column is not so much about food as it is about a flight of fancy. Call it food art if you wish . . . One of the things I love about Halloween now is making the goody bags that Mom makes for her legion of young fans. My personal favorite is the disembodied witch's hand.

This requires clear latex gloves, black ribbon, candy corn and caramel popcorn. The candy corn masquerades as nails, placed in the fingertips. The gloves are filled with caramel popcorn and sealed with the black ribbon. The popcorn, all reddish and brown makes the gloves look like a bony, rotting hand . . . and can be manipulated by crunching the popcorn slightly.

It's pretty gross. Kids find that sort of thing charming. Some of us never grow up, not where Halloween is concerned, and the bony hand of death is sweet. I know because I always eat one while I make the others. Creepy but true. Happy Halloween!

You can email me at kali.templeofdoom@gmail.com.