THE BORN LESAR

I'm among the world's foremost experts on candy bars

This week I figured we'd either chat about the root cause of racial inequality in sub-Saharan Africa as it relates to economic disparities among Aboriginal tribes that live in patriarchal caste systems, or candy bars.

Really? Candy bars? Now what am I gonna do with my weekend? Here I was all set to jet off to Zambia for research and live interviews. Guess I'm just gonna have to watch the Super Bowl to hear the pre-game show with ex-jocks talking about Tom Brady as if he's the second coming of J...

Ha. Thought I was gonna say Jesus, didn't you? I was thinkin' more like Johnny Unitas. But, then again, if Tommy Boy can make it to 10 Super Bowls, I suppose walkin' on water ain't out of the question.

Anyway, so chocolatey snacking goodness, it is. Turns out, I'm well-qualified for this topic as I've probably chewed up enough Milky Ways and Butterfingers in my day to fill a Great Lake (I'm thinkin' Huron). Right now, matter of fact, there's a half-eaten Take 5 in the top left hand drawer of my desk, but if you try to look in there for proof, I'll break all of your fingers and your wrist and you'll be lucky if your elbow gets away with just dislocation. Not that I'm protective of my treats or anything.

When I was a kid growing up in the Willard wilderness (yeah, we had indoor plumbing, but I chose not to use it), I had a great aunt who owned a general store. Every year for Christmas and my birthday -- which were (and still are, now that I think about it) some 55 days apart -Mary would give me a shoebox filled with candy bars. And it was full, too, to the point where the wrapping paper would barely hold on the lid, and there were Snickers in there and Zagnuts and Three Musketeers and bags of M& Ms (plain and peanut), and Hershey bars (plain and with almonds) and Kit Kats. Basically, from late December through March of every year between the ages of 7 and 15, I was hopped up on enough sugar to gag an elephant (which, if you've never tried, ain't all that easy to do.) I'm sure I ate more nougat and caramel in my youth than I did vegetables, and maybe that's why the neighbor lady once asked my mom why I looked so weak and pale. Well, it was that, and the eastern European heritage. None of us have much in the way of skin tone.

Naturally, when one consumes candy bars almost as an occupation (I did say once in a fourthgrade essay that I wanted to grow up to be Willy Wonka), one tends to develop favorites. I never was one of those prissy fruity candy kids, and would turn my nose up at Starburst, Skittles, Smarties, Blow-Pops, Airheads and Runts (don't even get me started on Twizzlers) and focused my full attention on milk chocolate and anything around which it could be melted. If Mars would've put out a bar with chocolate, peanuts, nougat and frog guts, I'd have eaten 'em by the dozen. No wonder my childhood dermatologist said to my mother regarding my acne situation, 'Maybe you outta just get a nice mask for this one.'

For some reason I'm still not able to quite comprehend, I was not allowed to raid my candy bar stash for breakfast. I mean, c'mon, Pop Tarts were acceptable, or cereal loaded with enough sucrose to embalm a Holstein, but if I tried to sneak a Heath bar before getting on the school bus, I was that evening grounded from watching the Flip Wilson Show. Given that the only other thing to do in our house in those days was toss meat scraps down the fuel oil furnace heating ducts and make guesses as to when they would stink, that was a big punishment.

Of course I was at school for lunch and unable to access my supply, but in the evening, after dinner, standing between me and my bars was like loitering downstream from the Red Sea when Moses parted it (c'mon, that water had to go somewhere). I'd base my treat selection each night on my particular mood, i.e., a Milky Way when mellow, a Butterfinger when belligerent, etc., and then retire to the sofa for an enamel-erasing event. Sometimes, say, with a Three Musketeers, I'd nibble off all the chocolate so all that remained was the naked nougat, or I'd suck on a Kit Kat stick until all the covering melted away, leaving just a long kinda-crispy cookie center. Man, if I'd have put as much time into my homework as I did my dessert, I might've gotten Cs.

OK, Ds. Kinda got carried away there for a minute.

So, with all my candy bar knowledge, I thought I'd rank a few here for you. I'm thinking it might help me feel as if my childhood wasn't a complete waste. We'll see.

10.) Almond Joy. Are you kiddin? Coconut? In a candy bar? Just whose idea was that, anyway? I'd rather have Chernobyl chunks in my chocolate. Whenever Great Aunt Mary slipped one of those in my box, well, I tossed it and shut up. I might have been finicky, but I wasn't stupid. 9.) Mallo Cup. These were little cups filled with a cream-like center, not too bad, but then 'sprinkled' with coconut. That's like saying Berlin was 'sprinkled' with bombs in World War II. Again, uchies. 8.) Charleston Chew. I'd give it a C+ tops. Stuck to my teeth. Needed to brush afterward. 'Nuff said. 7.) Baby Ruth. Not bad, hefty, lotsa nuts. I didn't like the wrapper. I had my standards. 6.) PayDay. Peanuts stuck to a caramel roll. Not a bad idea, good mix of salt, crunch and chewiness. But no chocolate? Was that even legal?

5.) Mr. Goodbar. Simple chocolate bar with imbedded peanuts. A definite step up from Pay-Day. I always wanted to know, though, if Mrs. Goodbar had nuts, too. Wasn't all that strong yet on anatomy in those days.

4.) Butterfinger. Really an enigma among classic candy bars, this one featured a center made of hard candy melted with peanut butter. Strange texture, yet addictive. Might've cracked my top three if not for such fierce competition.

3.) Milky Way. Oh, that stringy caramel. That sweet nougat. An almost-perfect wrapper. If I would've looked at a girl that way back then, I'd have been in juvenile intake at age 11.

2.) Three Musketeers. OMG. A fluffy center made of hot sugar syrup with whipped egg whites, blanketed in the finest chocolate known on earth. If heaven is as it's been described to me, this will be dessert.

1.) Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. Chocolate. Peanut butter. Ain't no more needs to be said 'bout that.