Halloween of Horrors

Trick or Treat has come and gone: Sir did his usual stirling job handing out sweets to a variety of small ghouls and goblins (vampyres were also heavily represented this year) while the Kid Squid lurked in the shrubbery alerting the candy-man to approaching customers via his walkie-talkie (our doorbell is out, and the munchkins have trouble knocking, for some reason.). We witnessed one novel approach to the traditional threat and/or supplication: a mother came to the door with a large pillowcase, explaining that she had taken over her cherub's rounds because he was 'in the van, tired of walking.' If it had been me on door duty, mom would have been sent packing, but Sir is a far more generous soul and coughed up the loot. He really is one in a million, is Sir - but I think it's the end of civilization, I really do.

Anyway, it was a very cold and windy night, and as a result business was a bit less brisk than usual, leaving us with several bags of unclaimed sugary delights. This is no great hardship, as I always make it a point to buy candy that, should there be a surplus, I myself will enjoy in the months to come. As the family settled down later to Cecil B. DeMille's technicolor extravaganza The Ten Commandments (after all, what better says 'Halloween' than Yul Brynner in a top knot and Charlton Heston in a fright wig?) I selected a few bags of my favorite goodies from the Trick or Treat bowl to enjoy during the festivities.

What girl can resist Twizzlers, I ask you? Not me, that's for sure. I am a red licorice fanatic. I mean, I really love the stuff, especially RJ's, the world's best, manufactured by gifted Kiwis in Levin, NZ. RJ's is quite rare in these parts: I have been known to buy bags of it wherever I happen to see it and smuggle it home wrapped in dirty laundry, like unpasteurized cheese or biltong. Usually I make do with Twizzlers, and mighty fine they are, too.

While Anne Baxter vamped it up in her best Egyptian-minx mode and I snacked happily away, the Kid Squid raised the alarm. 'Mom, are you sure Twizzlers don't have gluten in them?' Well, no, I hadn't checked the label because I thought there was no need: I had assumed red licorice was nothing more than corn syrup, gelatin, and chemical food coloring. Certainly nothing I needed to worry about! Something in the urgency of the Squid's tone of voice got me thinking, however, and I crept back to the bin to dig out the original packaging.

Of course, there it was. Right after corn syrup. The dreaded wheat flour. It was like a bad dream, which was appropriate, given the time of year, but most unwelcome just the same.

Leaving Charlton Heston halfway up the mountain, I scurried to the internet. Sure enough, wheat flour is the binding agent in most red licorice, even RJ's.  It was deja vu all over again, just like the soy sauce episode, only without the happy ending. There was no way I could kid myself into believing that gluten was not present in the final product, and every authority on the web agreed. Alas, and alack, no more of the licorice I love, although there appear to be several g/f varieties out there, made with rice flour.

When my wounds heal, I will probably send away for some.

Can you believe it? Neither can I.
It's an outrage.
My first gluten (accidentally ingested) since tasting
the Kid Squid's Barilla for doneness 
on Sept. 24 (thank you, Moleskine, for your peerless record-keeping)