Back when I was a tyke, it was those Mister Salty boxes that captivated me. I used to dunk them in milk. I'm not sure that's the ideal destination for a pretzel but it was for me. I'd eat some pretzels and drink some milk right before bedtime. I'd dream then of more salt-covered twists dripping with milk.
As I got older, I would branch out beyond the tried-and-true Nabisco brand. For the longest time, I eventually settled on the Snyder variety of large sour dough pretzels. The key with me is the crispier and more brown, the better. I'm not one who relishes the pretzels sold on the streets of Manhattan. Those big doughy twists that lay in your stomach for days. No dice. If I'm going to bite into a pretzel, I need to hear the snap and the crunch that result in a plethora of crumbs cascading down my shirt.
Snyder's fit the bill for me all these years. When I moved to the left coast, I was delighted to see that Snyder's had distribution here. But I made a noteworthy discovery. In Los Angeles, these damn things tasted different. Snyder's, like all good pretzels, were manufactured in Pennsylvania. But were the Los Angeles editions actually produced here using different water in the mixture? Something made it taste a little different and, sadly, not as good.
I'd go back to New York and buy the same Snyder's Pretzels and enjoy them like they were brand new. Yes, the east coast version was better than the west coast. For all of the annoyances we all have in our individual lives, this was one of my biggest. I was so confounded by it all that I actually wrote to the folks at Snyder's Pretzels to find out why there was such a disparity in flavor. They essentially told me that there was no difference and, oh, by the way, here's a couple of coupons for my next purchase.
So, I kept buying Snyder's Pretzels in Los Angeles but enjoyed them a little less. Like a married couple that was feuding but never got divorced. I was still a pretzel fiend but missing the glory of a really, really good one.
So, one day, I was buying some toiletries in Bed, Bath, and Beyond and I noticed that this chain was now including in its store a grocery section stocked by the Cost Plus World Market chain. Cost Plus offers you a wide variety of food products, but none of them have name brands. I wandered past the snack section and noticed the bag of pretzels you see adorning today's blog. I was vapid enough to fall in love with its look immediately. Toasted brown. Almost burnt. Pennsylvania Dutch pretzels from some outfit called Uncle Jerry's in Pennsylvania. I peered inside the clear bag. These pretzels were loaded with tons of salt. I was intrigued. A bag came home with me.
That night, it was unusually hot and humid in Los Angeles. I sat in the living room with the fan blowing on me. With the Dodger game on TV and a frosty glass of diet root beer at my side, I decided to try these newfangled pretzels.
One. Then two. Then three. Before I knew it, half the bag was gone.
It was sensory perception all over again. I was suddenly a kid again. Having a wonderful summer night's snack. Baseball. Ice cold soda. An electric fan with its cool breezes. And the best damn pretzel I have ever tasted in my life. Crap. How do I get more and now?
I first Googled this Uncle Jerry character and found the company website. Indeed, it's some old guy who started his own pretzel company in Pennsylvania two decades ago.
More importantly, I needed more and fast. I went back to the Cost Plus at BB and B. They were gone. Per the clerk, we get them in sometimes and then sometimes not.
I wanted to strangle her on the spot. Instead, I went to three other Cost Plus markets.
"We've never heard of them."
Audible scream. How does one of your stores sometimes have the product and others do not? Aren't you a fucking chain? Don't you people talk???
It had been only a week, but I was already an Uncle Jerry's Pretzels addict.
I went back home to seek out help from the company website which was now one of my bookmarked sites on Mozilla Firefox. Oh, look, Len, you can buy them on line.
I immediately started to load up my virtual shopping cart with the Extra Dark variety of these freakin' pieces of heaven. Six pound boxes. Hmmmm. Will eighteen pounds last me into the fall?
This was a great plan until I hit "shipping options." There was only one. UPS. And, to get these blasted twists from Pennsylvania to Los Angeles, it was going to cost me thirty bucks.
Even junkies have their limits. I needed to rethink. Could I possibly get a job as a purchasing agent at the closest Cost Plus Market?
But, wait. In the top right corner of the website, there was a button.
STORE LOCATOR.
I clicked it immediately. And promptly said a prayer that it wasn't going to point me to the three unhelpful Cost Plus Markets I had just visited.
Indeed, in Los Angeles, there was one single location. The Farmshop gourmet store in Brentwood.
I was there the next day and found my fix. There were seven bags of the "stuff" on a counter. I picked them all up and plopped them down on the checkout table.
"Will there be anything else?"
No.
"These pretzels sell fast. Lots of people come in for them."
Oh, yeah, well, screw them. I'm in the way now.
This is just one of three bags I bought. I now order them myself on-line. Again. And again. And again.
I have found my perfect pretzel.
Dinner last night: Pizza.
