From the dark recesses of a pit known as my desk hutch: This one’s for Tilly

Tilly Bud, you won’t believe this.

Last winter (January maybe?) I found Maltesers in the ethnic foods section for Great Brittan in the huge supermarket in the Big City.  So, I dutifully bought a package because, well, I just had to know what a Malteser of Laughing Housewife fame tasted like.

Now what you really won’t believe is that it made it all the way home (a 90+ minute drive) and into the house unopened.

Even more unbelievable, and down right sacrilegious I’m sure, is that it got put in my candy dish on the top shelf of my desk hutch (out of sight of the spud, who can sniff out candy from a block away) then buried under mail, spud artwork, homework and other flotsam for some 4 or 5 months until today, in cleaning off the desk and hutch, I unearthed the candy dish and rediscovered the existence of said Malteser packet.

Well, never fear.  This time I wasted no time in tearing into the packet and having a taste.  Good.  Very good.  Laced with a highly addictive substance, too.  Very like the Whoppers Malted Milk Balls they sell in the U.S., but not quite so sweet and somehow, lighter, less dense and the chocolate creamier, fudgier and less artificial tasting.  Eating a Malteser is kind of like eating a crispy chocolate cloud.  Eating a Whopper is like eating a chocolate-like substance covered pumice stone.  And, I used to like Whoppers.  But, once you’ve gone Malteser, you will never go Whopper again.

So, one of life’s more delicious mysteries solved.