I read Jonathan Mark’s piece about the death of Hostess and Drake’s cakes with great sadness (“When The Goose Is Cooked,” Route 17, Nov. 30).
I too ate more than my share of Funny Bones, Devil Dogs and Yankee Doodles during my youth. In those days there was no guilt about eating delicious food in excess.
Upon learning of the demise of Hostess products, I rushed to the supermarket in a last-ditch effort to sinfully eat one last Ring Ding. But when I arrived I found that the shelves were bare. And I discovered that I was competing with my fellow baby boomers, who were equally disappointed that they too were shut out in their quest to enjoy one last Yodel.
It was the first time that I had a bonding experience with other 55-year-olds in a King Kullen in our futile attempt to relive our long-past youth. We have become victims of both greedy management and uncompromising unions. What a shanda!
What’s next, the discontinuance of Bazooka Joe?
