Picture first that aforementioned cubic centimeter of my heart. Already did that? Great. Do you see it as red, and sort of firm but wiggly? Okay, good. When you picture it, does it look sort of familiar, like, oh, say, Jell-O? A-ha! Together, we are right on track. Sort of a gross track, but we're together, and that's what matters.
Back in the day, there was this neat little thing called Knox Blox. Later, they came to be called Jell-O Jigglers, which, if you ask me, is a terrible name. Jiggling just isn't a good thing. Have you ever heard it used in a positive way? Bodies aren't supposed to jiggle, furniture isn't supposed to jiggle, and, for crying out loud, food should certainly not jiggle. And, if for some odd reason it does jiggle, we should certainly not speak of it. So, here, henceforth, we shall call it not a jiggler. We shall resort back to its former name, the one in which the second word is actually spelled wrong. If there's one thing I hate more than words like "jiggle," it's words that are misspelled so that they'll look cute. You know, Kid's Krazy Korner, Olde Tyme Shoppe, Ruff n' Tuff Stuff. And, falling into this same category, of course, is Knox Blox. Somehow, though, I have overlooked this verbal atrocity in the name of childhood memories.
Growing up, Valentine's Day wasn't lame. In fact, it was terrific. Maybe a tiny bit nerve-wracking, but, all in all, something I really looked forward to. Oh, the magical things! The valentine mailboxes that we got to spend actual class time working on, the valentines themselves, carefully crafted for weeks beforehand, and, best of all, the Valentine's Day party at school. I. Loved. That. Party. The other school parties were always exciting, but none of them could even hold a torch to the Valentine's Day party. I was giddy with excitement as I attached my mailbox to my desk, and ecstatic when it was time to deliver everyone's mail. For several years, we could give them to anyone in the class we wanted, but then came a School Rule, stating that we were required to give everyone a valentine, so there was no picking and choosing recipients for your cards. This made me so nervous, because I had to figure out what to say on everyone's cards. I remember being so worried about it, trying to figure out what to say on a card for someone I wasn't really friends with, and I was shocked to hear my parents' suggestion that I could simply sign my name. What?! I hadn't thought of that brilliant possibility! I didn't have to write a ten-page letter to everyone in the class! Phew. Relief. If I wouldn't have had that particular guidance, I would probably still be writing out my second-grade valentines.
Still, though, it was exciting! Some teachers underestimated the amount of space that the mailboxes had for card storage, and they'd burst at the seams with cards, or a pile would need to be started on each desk for the extras. In some classes, we were allowed to open our valentines right then and there, and sometimes there just wouldn't be enough time in the school day, so we'd have to take them home. If time allowed, I'd open some at school, but I always saved the fanciest ones to open at home. I liked to be there to open my valentine mail, where I could focus on savoring the best ones. As an adult, I still need to read letters and cards when I am completely alone, preferably sitting on the floor (for maximum concentration purposes).
Fancy correspondence aside, let's not kid ourselves -- the party treats were pretty important, too. Being sort of a cuisine-obsessed kid, I took it all pretty seriously. I'm surprised that I didn't have aspirations of becoming an event planner or a food critic, considering that I was probably the only kid who kept track of all the room parents' treat-bringing history. (Not on paper, just in my head, of course. Do you take me for some sort of total freak or something? Sheesh.) I knew who brought the best cupcakes, and who would bring the best cookies, or who had the savory snacks under control. I knew who would cop out and just bring store-bought cookies, and who would bring warm 2-liters of soda (ick) rather than juice. I knew who would bring the most well-decorated treats, and which ones would actually taste good. Since I had all of this information stored in my young, terrifically-obsessive brain, it's shocking that I was actually ever able to enjoy myself at the school parties. But, who knows? Maybe I was over in the coatroom, tucked away in all the rows of quiet snowsuits, scorecard in hand, sampling tiny bites and taking copious notes, the Shirt Tales binder balanced on my knees as a desk. Maybe. Maybe all this, and I've spent years blocking it all out. Anything is possible.
Despite my love for the perfect pink cupcake, or the rare-but-welcomed party carrots and dip, I held one party treat on the highest of pedestals. This was, of course, the Knox Blox. For Valentine's Day, red ones, in heart shapes. Wiggly, silly little colloids! How unbelievable that this item, which seemed so toy-like, was actually a food! Simply brilliant. I loved it when they showed up at the party, but my favorite was when my own mother was in charge of bringing them. This meant that I, the self-proclaimed control freak (I'm getting better, I swear!), could have a hand in the actual production process. I'm not sure I actually ended up doing much, because A.) my mom made the best Jell-O anything, ever, so there! and B.) making Jell-O really only consists of pouring and stirring boiling water, anyway. But I remember we'd shop for the boxes of red Jell-O, dig out the red plastic heart cookie cutter, and go at it. My mom gave me a lot of freedom in the kitchen, but it was because she taught me the proper ways to do things first. Then she'd trust me to do things like stir the pool of boiling hot, stain-making red ooze when I was only three feet tall. And see? Not one single Jell-O burn wound on my body yet!
So, the Jell-O would glisten in its Pyrex pan, and we'd clear a space on a refrigerator shelf. In it would go, and I'd be an excitable wreck for the hour that it took to firm up. I'd open the refrigerator door, peek in at it, and sometimes (quickly, slyly) poke at it to see if it was done yet. I'm not sure if I actually drove anyone crazy while I waited for the Jell-O, but it's possible. When the pan came out of its hibernation, it was a different animal! All smooth, melted rubies, perfect for carving. And we'd make the hearts as carefully as we could, each one more precise than the last. The leftover bits, the negative space of the hearts, was alright to snack on, but it wasn't the same. The hearts were what mattered. The night before we took them to school was a restless one -- somewhere along the lines of waiting for Santa meets waiting for the President to taste the soup you made him for dinner. Agh, the plights of childhood!
The funny thing about Jell-O is that I really only ever had it at a school party or when I was sick (although it would come to my bedside in much more ordinary form on sick days), so my memories of it are strange. They seem to straddle the line between the pure pleasure of parties and the sheer distress of illness. I hated being away from school, and sickness meant I was trapped in a den of non-education, which made me miserable. Once Jell-O became available in the individual plastic cups, we got to have them in our lunchboxes sometimes, and I liked it, I think, but I remember wondering, is this really, actually food?
In homage to this non-food Knox Blox of my youth, I crafted some yesterday. They were sort of fun to make (okay, so not really). They were pretty at least. Red, like the rubies, and smooth as the skating pond. They were, though, much stickier than I remember, sort of leathery, and a total pain to cut into shapes. (There is totally a reason that my mother would sometimes insist on just cutting them into squares, rather than making heart-shapes.) I think I added too much gelatin, or maybe I didn't mix it all in well enough. Or, as my mom suggested (upon hearing this tale last night on the phone), maybe they were never actually good. We laughed then, like we do together, and we both thought, I know, of all the things that aren't good because they are good, but are good because they are special, because they bring us together and shape us into who we are. You know, shapes. Wiggly, shaky shapes. Like Knox Blox.
Valentine Treats for the One You Love
aka Knox Blox
4 small boxes of red Jell-O (Or blue! or green! Go crazy!)
2 C boiling water
2 packets gelatin
Boil the water! Add all the Jell-O and gelatin packets. Stir really well with a whisk, until it all dissolves. Add 1/2 C crushed ice and stir until it dissolves. Pour into a 9"x13" pan (Pyrex if you have it). Cover with plastic wrap and put your little darling into the refrigerator. Pace, or knit, or make some valentines for 45-80 minutes while it all firms up. You may poke at it to see if it's done, but make sure no one's looking. Cut into shapes. Try to figure out something to do with the scraps, like maybe make something nice to wear? Now, eat the shapes and don't forget to give some to your valentine.
You have some very specific and non-pop culture adherent ways of not wanting to describe snack foods: treat, jiggle.
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