Recipe: Deep-Fried Candy Bars

I was an only child for seven glorious years where nothing was shared, everything was for me, and I could have it in any combination I wanted. America's a good place for only-child nostalgia. We celebrate double-decadence in the form of chocolate chunk ice cream — nobody eats plain ol' chocolate anymore. So if we drive our gas-guzzlers down almost any road in America, we've got a KFC on one side and a 7-11 on the other. Either fried food or sweets sounds orgasmic. Ahh, so many choices! Which to pick? This is America, damnit, and an American should be able to have both at once.

In the age of low-fat, decaf, no sugar, what's-the-point lattes, McDonalds advertising a healthy fruit and walnut plate, and Wendy's giving the option of a Caesar salad with your burger and diet soda, where's a junk food junkie to turn? Actually, you need to make two turns to get to high-cal heaven — first the convenience store, then your kitchen.

In the dingy lighting of the store, you see the glistening white light of a heavenly place. It's the middle aisle where they keep the real goodies. Go on, grab a Snickers, a small bag of Oreos, a Twinkie, or maybe all of the above so you can compare the flavors and textures. Why not? If you're going to eat one sweet treat fried in 375-degree oil, you might as well have three or four, right? Curiosity coaxes us into doing things we never expected ourselves to do.

Wave at all the pucker-faced women downing their bottled waters and second side salads as you make a mad dash from the car to the store, and then back home. Throw your head back and, embracing the muggy air peppered with the scent of greasy burgers and fries, giggle maniacally at the thought that you're the only one in town who will experience true bliss on the kitchen counter tonight.

If you're in the mood for a caramel cloud nine, do Snickers tonight. First, freeze it. Then go wash your face, drink a beer — whatever you want to do while the candy bar chills. Once enough time has passed, peel back the wrapper, taking in the glistening chocolate skin of the candy. Lay it down gently on a cutting board and separate it into smaller pieces. Look at them longingly as they lie there with their peanut hearts on their sleeves, and tell them to hold on for a minute while you prepare the batter.

In a bowl, mix a cup of pancake flour, an egg, a cup of milk, and two teaspoons of cooking oil — oh, so nasty. Turn up your radio and get your groove on while you mix the ingredients together into a creamy texture. No lumps allowed. Think of it like your favorite lingerie — you want it smooth and silky. To quote Rod Stewart, "Tonight's the night."

When that's all done, prepare the oil. If you're not friends with a deep fat fryer, just fry the Snickers on the stove. Fill a saucepan with about two inches of golden nectar of the gods — pure cooking oil — enough to cover your pieces. While the oil's heating up, take your Snickers pieces and submerge them in your sweet batter. Make sure all nooks and crannies are covered — you'll get more of an even "fried" appearance that way. Once the oil is hot you can slowly drop the Snickers chunks to their volcanic rebirth. The aroma will fill the room, tugging you back to childhood when you ate all the junk food you wanted with no guilt — only your mother nagging, "you'll never get to sleep after you eat all that sugar." Well, who's getting some sugar now? And who needs sleep? Not you!

The pieces won't need to be covered in oil for very long. When you're done rocking their world, lay them out gently on a paper towel to cool off just a bit. Don't leave them too long; you want to eat them while they're still warm and gooey. Pour yourself a glass of milk. Turn down the lights; turn down the music. If you're not in comfortable clothes, indulge yourself now while the Snickers are cooling. You won't want anything to disrupt your pleasure. If it's your first time, do it right: throw a red scarf over the lamp if you like, or maybe spritz on your favorite perfume.

When you're settled with your plate of deep-fried Snickers and your glass of milk, take that first bite. Feel the slightly crispy chocolate warmth spread over your tongue and coat your teeth. Indulge your taste buds, letting the collage of flavors slip across them, back and forth, gliding along the wave of your strongest muscle. The melded chocolate, caramel, nougat, and batter are one. They are the marriage of bliss and beauty, relaxation and climax.

The Snickers bar no longer looks like a Snickers, its parts melted together to create one new masterpiece, bloated, eager, and selfless, aiming only to please you. You won't feel guilty — you'll feel proud. You have stepped over the threshold to become a junk food junkie of the world. Sip your milk to erase most memory of the taste and engulf another Snickers piece with your mouth. Experience the intense pleasure time and time again — in one sitting. Then stand up, stretch, smile sleepily, and go to bed satisfied.

— Crystal Schwanke (crystalschwanke@yahoo.com)