Yesterday I enjoyed a wonderful reunion with an old friend. No, it wasn’t my college roommate or even a former work pal … it was Mallomars. I know it sounds crazy, but these aren’t silly little cookies, these are Mallomars—an icon from my New York childhood—and I’ve been counting down to their arrival for more than a week. There are so many reasons to love fall--wonderful weather, pumpkins on every front porch, changing leaves . . . you know what I’m talking about. But every year in the first part of September an old friend in a yellow and black box comes back with a return as magnificent as the year before bringing with it memories of a simpler time. Mallomars are an integral part of the fabric of my New York upbringing. I know I’m not the only New Yorker with a soft spot for these spongy, chocolate-covered clouds! Whether you remember your mom putting them in your lunchbox, walking down to your neighborhood store to buy a box, or simply stealing them from your sibling when they weren’t looking, Mallomars bring back sweet memories for many.
My children inherited their deep affection for Mallomars from me. The reappearance of this familiar treat is somewhat bittersweet for this mother, however. While my daughter excitedly found a box on top of her dresser yesterday, the boxes I bought for my soldier son sit at the other end of this dining room table waiting to be packed into a shipping box. I won’t be able to see his deep brown eyes light up with excitement when he sees the boxes on the kitchen counter, but if I’m lucky, he’ll FaceTime me when he opens the box and the look on his face will be all I need. It’s not quite the same thing, but it’s a small gesture that makes the miles between us seem a little shorter.
Perhaps one day my kids will countdown the days until the Mallomars appear on the supermarket shelf. Maybe they’ll settle onto to couch with their own kids and as they open up that yellow and black box, my children will entertain them with stories about their crazy grandmother. One can only hope.