You ever find yourself staving off sleep, only to have some random object, word or phrase jolt your conscious mind back into coherence (c’mon, don’t act like it’s just me over here)?


I remember a time when it was cool to stick ’em in the toaster and cook ’em until the breaded edges were slightly burnt. That’s when you knew the filling was runny and the frosting was melted. Mmmmm delicious.

My grandma had a knack for smoking ’em. I’m serious! She must’ve burned every Poptart she ever cooked for me, when I was 12. But, it got to the point where I wouldn’t eat a Poptart unless grandma Amanda toasted it in her special-translation dilapidated-toaster.

Today, my kids eat ’em straight out of the box; no toaster necessary. I can’t help but pity them for they know not the exquisite joy of the patented burnt Poptart of my youth. These kids are all about quick and now. Young punks. No respect for patience and perfection. You’ve gotta respect the classics.

Think I’ll hit the pantry and plug in my toaster before I go to bed; pay homage to my late G-ma with a strawberry filling late night snack.