our family's experience with the Kirkland container of Jelly Belly beans.
But alas, learning (or not learning) lessons about food seems to be part of my life path.
Back in December, I purchased the Sam's Club container of Member's Mark Gourmet Jelly Beans, not for at home enjoyment but as part of my supply contribution to a Second Grade Moms' Gingerbread Decorating Party that I was co-hosting. As the beans sat poised on the dining room table in the days leading up to the party, each child repeatedly asked if they could be opened and was rebuffed. When we ended up with way more candy than the second grade moms of Pleasantville needed for their gingerbread creations, I brought the unopened vat home.
And then began a cycle of sampling, followed by disappointment and self-loathing, similar to that experienced with the Kirkland Jelly Belly vat. The main difference is that this time the cycle was experienced with jelly beans that were, on the whole, even less delicious than the Kirkland ones. I found the flavor guide on the Member's Mark Gourmet Beans to be unhelpful and took to avoiding certain beans that I renamed sunscreen, margarine, CVS green candle, and Pledge. Every member of my family (and we are not discriminating snackers) remarked on the disgustingness of the jelly beans.
And yet we persisted.
We were nearing the bottom when my middle guy caught me reaching in for another round of fruitless searching and sampling for a single tasty bean. He wisely suggested that we throw them out, and I'm proud to report that I complied.
Of course, I saved the empty container for two months before tossing it into the recycling last week, but that's a story about another part of my life path: the ongoing struggle with stuff.