CARLTON FLETCHER: Candy’s not a food group … but it should be

I want candy.

— The Strangeloves

Yes, it’s true enough, kids, that one of the coolest things about being a bona fide grown-up is that you get to decide your own bedtime. Heck, if you’ve got the energy and you’re not that crazy about the lame-o job you have anyway, you don’t even have to go to bed.

Social life aside, though, one of the really cool things about being an adult — and it’s one of those things that most grown-ups won’t talk about because they hate to admit it — is that thing your mom and dad had about limiting your candy intake. It means nothing now.

A man whose wisdom has helped shape my adult life — that great philosopher/observer of the human animal Jerry Seinfeld — sagely wrote in his book “Sein Language” that, until you’re about 10 years old, candy is the most important thing in your world. And while I can’t claim Seinfeld’s purported power to distinguish between the different-colored M&Ms based on flavor, I do consider myself something of a connoisseur of confection.

Yes, being an adult and all, I know “Snickers” is not one of the healthy basic food groups of that well-balanced diet that they told us about in science class. But I defy the Rosa Browns of the world to name me one representative of the vegetable group that comes close to tasting as good as that perfect mixture of chocolate, peanuts and caramel.

If put under the gun, I’d classify naval oranges as my favorite food in the world. And you mix some kind of mushroom concoction with rice, and I’d eat it breakfast, lunch, dinner, supper and for a midnight snack. Fixed just right — without tomatoes, onions or any of those weird little things that like like the middle of flowers but with green olives and the cucumbers peeled — and I could subsist on a nice tossed salad.

Plus, steamed cauliflower, carrots, broccoli and corn are amazing, with or without any kind of flavor enhancement.

But do you think I’m ever choosing any of those over a Heath bar? Or those little Ferrero Rocher chocolate-covered nut balls that look like the prickly things we used to throw at each other when there were no chinaberry trees around? Or the gold standard of candy, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups?

At the risk of going into one of those boring “things were better back in the good old days” rants — this is no Werther’s commercial, after all — candy is different today. The most obvious differences are you pay a who-o-o-o-le lot more money for a who-o-o-o-le lot less candy. Admittedly, we didn’t even have Mentos or Gummies back in the day, so things weren’t perfect. But, man, I recall getting one gigantic “malt ball” — the kind where the powdery coating got all over your fingers and face — for a couple of pennies that was way bigger and way better than half a box of Whoppers, which I really like.

We weren’t allowed to eat a lot of candy back then — “It’ll spoil your lunch!” — but believe me, we managed. And it was a Charlie and the Chocolate Factory feast.

I loved the wax harps that you could actually play music on, and the red hot-flavored (cinnamon) square suckers ruled. Coconut Long Boys were twice as long as the tiny ones you get now, and it would take you a day and a half to try and work your way through a Sugar Daddy on a stick.

I’m sure it’s just my imagination, but I’d swear Hershey’s Kisses tasted a whole lot better when they were called “Silver Bells” and didn’t come in all these confusing varieties.

I should note here that there has been one constant in the candy world: Those god-awful orange marshmallow peanuts tasted just as bad years ago as they do now and should only be eaten in desperation, when there’s nothing else available.

I don’t even pretend I’m buying candy for kids or grandkids when I go to the Zippy Mart these days. Sure, I’ll share, but usually when I get Snickers, Mentos, Pay Days, Peanut M&Ms, Baby Ruths, Almond Joys, Chick-o-Sticks, Lemonheads, Life Savers, Kit Kats or Nestle’s Crunches, they’re for me.

The sub-par Milky Ways, Three Musketeers, Goobers, Twizzlers and Sweet Tarts? Those are for the kids.

Email Carlton Fletcher at [email protected].