Hot Peeps

Easter is the time when organic eatin’, local food luvin’ folks fall off their proverbial wagons with baskets of temptation filled with jelly beans, malted robins eggs, chocolate bunnies and that ubiquitous marshmallow confection that’s been around since 1953—Peeps. The amount of available candies rival that of Halloween.

During my childhood two things were certain for Easter. My father would bite the ears off all his kids’ chocolate bunnies while we went to church and grandma’s house would have a plethora of Peeps as those were her favorite.

After moving away from home, Peeps became less of a tradition with other vices replacing them as Easter break morphed into spring break. They were completely off my radar until one year at market a customer turned me on to the Washington Post’s Peep Show, a contest of themed dioramas featuring Peeps. I looked forward to this annual tradition more than I did the egg hunts the local civic club hosted in my small town. Even more traumatic than biting the ears off my chocolate bunny one year, Dad saw I had an egg in my basket that signified I had won a baby bunny. He threw that one on the ground and my cousin picked it up. Maybe that’s why my first foray into farming was rabbits. I had hundreds of them and no one to tell me NO (except my landlord).

I was heartbroken when the Washington Post cancelled the Peep Show a few years ago. No more political satire, historical and current events, imitations of classic artwork, and outtakes on pop culture. If there was one good thing to come out of the pandemic it was the revival of the Washington Post’s Peep Show even if it migrated to TikTok. No matter how much I loved the Peep Show I still had no interest in eating one of those extruded critters which are little more than corn syrup and gelatin rolled in sugar.  Add to that the pink ones contain a potentially carcinogenic dye. No thanks.

One thing I will eat is a plain ol’ marshmallow toasted over an open fire while star gazing or enjoying the full moon on a clear night, especially when the peepers (the amphibian kind) are singing their hearts out. After a s’mores bender at Girl Scout camp that rivaled any bad night of tequila shots I tend to stick with a few roasted marshmallows and call it good.

Astrological wonders call for a good fire pit and as I geared up for a clear night offering a spectacular view of all five planets I stopped by the local grocery store to pick up marshmallows. They were out of stock.  About to admit defeat and opt for a savory evening of kabobs or sausage grilled over the coals I spied the packages of bunnies and chicks in an assortment of colors and more flavors than I had ever seen. In a pinch, I grabbed a package of yellow peeps.

That evening I skewered up the grail of my childhood Easter and began my experiment. The sugar caught fire quickly and the peep plopped into the flames on my first try so I switched to a long fork for better stability and kept the peep rolling for an even toast. When I worked at a restaurant it was my job to melt the sugar for the crust on Crème Brulee. I got good at creating the perfect glassine topping that would perfectly shatter when tapped with a spoon but not before obtaining several blisters while trying to remove failed crusts before the burnt sugar taste seeped into the custard. If I bit into my Crème Brupeep too early I’d end up with hot lips and not in a good way.  A slight tap proved the sugar crust to be solid and a gentle bite offered a molten center—perfection.

When I shared my discovery with my fellow vendors, especially the foodie ones, an assortment of confectionary confessions came to light.

I like putting them in a microwave and watching them blow up.

My kids won’t eat them so I usually do. They’re better when they’re stale.

Peeps in hot cocoa are the bomb.

My wife bakes them in a cake.

The one thing we all agreed on though, it wouldn’t be Easter in the DC metro area without a good Peep Show.