Here’s a eulogy for sweet sodas and the Butterfingers I left behind.
I am sitting here right now, staring at the condensation dripping down the side of a zero-sugar Dr. Pepper, practically begging the universe to turn it back into the real deal magically. I have a sweet tooth. Not just any sweet tooth. That’s an understatement. I have a sweet skeleton.
I am writing this to you in a state of emotional withdrawal because I’m currently trying to lose weight, and my usual sugar fixes have been mercilessly cut back. It’s a tragedy, honestly. Every sip of this zero-sugar carbonation is a haunting reminder of the man I used to be.
Let’s be completely real about my sugar habits. Mom used to bake fresh apple cake and peach cobbler, but I don’t just casually enjoy a dessert after dinner. I’ve been known to buy candy by the bulk and lug home bags of sugar and flour like I’m preparing for an apocalypse. At times, my pantry looks like an unsupervised child won the lottery. Let’s get into the details: my maple syrup must be real—none of that fake corn syrup nonsense. I also easily tear through about a ½ gallon of raw honey in a single month. And Dr. Pepper? Good lord, Dr. Pepper doesn’t even know what they’re missing by not making me their official, sponsored spokesperson. Back in my glory days, I would crush 24 cans in a week, by myself, regularly. I was essentially a human soda fountain.
Taking another sip of the “fake” Dr. Pepper. It’s cold, but it lacks that thick, syrupy sugar high.
Just another sweet tooth
Where did this sugar-coated curse even come from? Oh, my grandfather Saxton is a likely culprit. Mom also used to complain about how much chocolate he ate while visiting. We always had sweets sitting around the house during the holidays. The sweet tooth comes honestly.
According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the phrase “sweet tooth” dates to the late 14th century. Back then, the word “tooth” was used metaphorically to mean “taste” or “liking.” So, having a sweet tooth literally just meant a fondness for sugary stuff. I take comfort in knowing I’m not alone in history. Among candy-lovers, online sources point to Queen Elizabeth I and President John F. Kennedy.
Right now, my cabinet is a graveyard of good intentions. Usually, they’d be housing the Hershey milk chocolate bars I’d actively try to ignore. Gone from my freezer are reassuring containers of Turkey Hill cookies and cream ice cream. Years before this whole crusade, my morning routine was an absolute disaster. Butterfinger for breakfast? Yes, please. Two king-size bars, to be exact, drowned with 48 ounces of Red Bull. It was the breakfast of champions who were actively courting a coma. I used to inhale Snickers, too. Even their old jingle still loops in my head: “Packed with peanuts, Snickers really satisfies.” The irony? I’m not in it for the peanuts. I just want that pure, unadulterated hit of chocolate and caramel. Throw in some Reese’s Pieces, and my day was set.
Turning sour
Speaking of peanuts, let’s talk about the absolute apex of flavor profiles: the sweet and salty, and the sweet and sour combinations. Any salty treat mixed with extra sweet chocolate might as well be a deadly sin. It’s a culinary dark art, and it’s a sin I am fully willing to go to hell for.
Just recently, my girlfriend and I went on an outing to a local ice cream parlor and chocolate factory. You know what I bought? Sour candy and a vanilla shake. Why? Because I was absolutely terrified of the impending catastrophe of chocolate melting in the hot car. Listen, I will let a bag of spinach turn into primordial green slime past its expiration date and toss it in the trash without shedding a single tear. But melted milk chocolate? That is a profound loss. That is something to legitimately cry about.
Another sip. The Dr. Pepper Zero is almost gone.
No matter how much weight I want to lose, I know I can never fully get rid of my sweet tooth entirely. It’s hardwired into my DNA. I’ve cut back. I’ve compromised. I’ve tried to be an adult. But the craving is always there, lurking just beneath the surface of this emotional, sugar-deprived exterior. We haven’t begun to scratch the surface of all my sugar fixes over the years. But for now, I’ll just keep sipping my zero-sugar soda and try to survive the day.
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