Apr 19, 2019 4 min read

As we approach Easter, one thing will be sure. My mother will arrive for dinner carrying one of her delicious homemade coconut cakes. There also will be assorted other goodies in her box, and among them will be my favorite treat of all, Peep jerky.

Peep jerky is the name a reader has given to marshmallow Easter Peep candy that’s been left to dry out. As I’ve written here often enough that you all know this about me, I will not eat a fresh Peep, for they are too sweet, too airy and soft. I want my Peeps hard and chewy, almost to the point of crackling when I bite off their cute little heads. (This is odd, considering I like my bagels soft and airy.) I think it has something to do with the sticky sweetness of fresh Peeps.

Sadly, this Easter will be Peep-jerky free for me, because a week ago I injured my tongue. While chewing a tortilla chip, I must have folded my tongue in half or something, because I chomped down on it so hard I yelped a little. I removed what was left of the chip and carried on with lunch, making myself a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich. By the time I took my first bite, the pain had subsided.

But the trauma had not. The farmer and my son almost simultaneously gasped in horror. They were pointing at my mouth.

Seems I’d chomped my tongue more vigorously than I’d thought. That red on my pbj was not strawberry jelly.

There are body parts that don’t heal so well because of their location. I was quite aware of this last summer while caring for my daughter after her tonsillectomy. Everything passes through there – air, food, water, speech, swallowing – and getting that to heal is a painful challenge.

“I sleep with my mouth open,” I told the farmer. “My tongue will get aired out at night.” But it wasn’t that easy. Before opening my eyes each morning I would rub my tongue against my teeth to see what progress I’d made overnight. The cut, which started as teeth marks, quickly turned into a bump. In the mirror, it’s just a small thing, but living with it has brought the mental image of a mesa atop the flat desert topography of my tongue.

“Itth sthill thewr,” I said the third morning. I noted that I’m in the writing stage of my next documentary project, and won’t have to record my voice until sometime next month. It’s a good thing, becauth I’m thpeaking floppy.

It’s funny how the mouth amplifies sensations in a way that doesn’t happen with, say, a knee. A bitten cheek swells to something that feels like a walnut. It’s really quite small, but large enough to cause you to bite it over and over.

My tongue doesn’t really hurt any more, but I’m babying it. The farmer made steak the other night, and by the time I’d cut it into teeny pieces it might as well have been a hamburger. Vinegary things sting, and salty chips are out of the question for now.

And Peeps? The thing that makes Peep jerky so delightful – the stringy chewiness that bites back – needs a good, strong tongue. And mine just isn’t up for it this Easter.

But that’s OK. I’ll take Grammy’s perfectly stale Peeps and hide them atop the fridge until I can enjoy them. Time is not a problem – the staler the better.

Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.