A bittersweet goodbye to a true love

For most people, the recent news that Hostess Brands was shutting down its operations merited nothing more than a quick “wow, can you believe it” conversation at the dinner table or a chuckle at a comedian’s joke about a Twinkies shelf life.  But for me, it meant a lot more.   You see, I’m a recovering Hostess Cupcake addict.  

I was a very picky eater when I was younger.   The list of what I wouldn’t eat (or even try) was endless - peanut butter, grilled cheese, hamburgers, hot dogs, waffles.  Don’t ask about fruits or vegetables.  I didn’t even like pizza or French fries, staples of most kids’ diets.  I lived on a half dozen or so items – plain pasta, steak, chicken, bread, ice cream and Hostess Cupcakes. 

I don’t mean that I had a Hostess Cupcake occasionally.  I ate 6 of them a day.  They were my breakfast, my snack with lunch (which for all my years of public school was chicken and a roll and butter), and my after school or after dinner treat.   Over the course of 10 years, I consumed thousands upon thousands of cupcakes.   Surprisingly, I never had a cavity or a weight problem – in fact, I was always very thin (probably because I ate Hostess and so little else.) 

My Hostess obsession was well known.  I was teased by my family, made fun of by friends, and lectured by both about how unhealthy my eating habits were.  But I didn’t care.  Nothing could keep me from my beloved cupcakes.   At age 15, when I left home for the first time to attend a summer program at Cornell, I packed them in my luggage.  When I discovered that the local supermarket didn’t carry Hostess products and I wouldn't be able to replenish my supply, I had my mother mail them to me.

By the time I went away to college, I had recognized that my cupcake consumption was a tad excessive, and that I needed to cut back.  The fact that the cafeteria didn’t serve Hostess made this easier.  I’d still get them occasionally at the grocery store, but ice cream, which the cafeteria had in unlimited amounts, became my dessert of choice.  Over the next decade, I’d continue to have a Hostess every once in a while, but I didn’t crave them the way I once did.  The spell had been broken – or so I thought.

When I was pregnant I developed gestational diabetes and could not have sweets until after my daughter was born.   During the last few months of my pregnancy I dreamed about some of my favorite desserts (vanilla ice cream, oreo cheesecake, seven layer cake, oatmeal raisin cookies) and how I couldn’t wait to taste them again.  But there really was never any question of what my first dessert would be.   Only one thing would suffice in this situation – my first and true love.   In my hospital bag, along with diapers, clothing, and toiletries, were Hostess Cupcakes.  I bit into them just hours after my daughter was born, and it was like coming home after a long and difficult trip.  Nothing had ever tasted as good.

Those cupcakes reminded me of what I had been missing, and Hostess again entered my life.  My husband liked the cupcakes but he was more of a Twinkie fan, and would frequently forego a cupcake if offered.   But my daughter shared my love.  I had learned that moderation was the key to being able to safely enjoy and appreciate many things, so I tried to limit our Hostess consumption to special occasions such as birthdays or vacations.  Somehow, special events expanded to include holidays such as Valentine’s Day, July 4th, and Mother’s Day.  They also grew to include things such as a great grade on a test; my daughter getting her license; bonus day at work.  We would sit at the kitchen table and slowly unwrap our cupcakes, taking a moment to just inhale the wonderful aroma.  I ate mine the way most people eat a cupcake, biting into it as a whole.  My daughter would sometimes eat hers from the bottom, or would eat all the icing first.  To me this was a travesty.  But it didn’t really matter how she ate her cupcake.  What did matter was that we were eating them together.  We bonded over our love of the cupcakes.  It was something just the two of us shared, like our love of gossip magazines, Gilmore Girls, and Andrew Garfield.  We’d frequently sit and talk long after our cupcakes were eaten.  Because eating them brought back memories for me, I would often share stories about growing up, and this would lead to discussions about what was happening in my daughter’s life.   Sharing the cupcakes led to sharing feelings, fears, frustrations and joys.   They brought us together in a way no other food could.  

But Hostess weren’t only reserved for good times.  They were better than chicken soup on sick days, and they were a source of comfort when times were tough.  This summer, I was downsized, two days before my 50th birthday.  Friends and family called and wrote, all with words of support and encouragement.  But the best source of comfort came from a former colleague, when we met for lunch.  She walked in carrying a package of Hostess, knowing somehow that they were exactly what I needed.  

So the news that Hostess was closing really touched a nerve with me.  I know that another company may buy the cupcake line, and that if not, there are other companies out there that already make fake Hostess, aka Fauxstess.  (I never had any of these while Hostess was still ongoing - it would have felt like cheating.)  But it won’t be the same.  As soon as I heard the news, I went to the supermarket, and stocked up, buying some individual packages and a few boxes.  The individual packages were soon eaten, but the boxes remain in my fridge and freezer.  I’ll hold on to them for as long as I can, taking comfort in their presence, knowing that when I eat the last one, I’ll have to say goodbye to my oldest friend.   But I’ll break the first box next week, when my daughter comes home for winter break.  We’ll sit down at the kitchen table and we’ll slowly unwrap our cupcakes, as we always did.  We’ll lift them up in a toast to Hostess and say thank you for the many memories before we take our first bites.  This time though, the taste will be bittersweet.