but look around – can you blame us?
it hasn’t come easy, and i in fact feel a little uneasy writing it even now.
but i think i prefer the Reese Big Cup to the regular peanut butter cup. strange, no?
there has already been much spoken, and i imagine written, on the delicacy of the chocolate/peanut butter ratio of the Reese Peanut Butter Cup, a balance upon which the entire success of the product rests (and on the disruption of which many spinoff products, such as the Reverse Cup, have capsized) so i’ll refrain from adding to that already ample body of discourse. at the risk of sounding iconoclastic, however, i think the Big Cup does it better.
i just now (circa last may), while craving a Big Cup specifically, forced myself to buy a package of regular sized cups in order to test my suspicions, and i feel fortunate that in doing so i have clarified somewhat the facts of the matter:
there is something altogether too fleeting about the Regular Cup. despite there being 3 to a package they each and every one seem to be dispatched with unsatisfying quickness, leaving one with the sense that one could eat a whole other pack and be left in a state of dissatisfaction persisting, hand in hoof, with one’s inevitably mounting nausea.
in contrast, the Big Cup is almost perversely substantial. the peanut butter is really thick, almost off-puttingly so, and one thus has the time to truly register their teeth descending through a pat of pb of some heft and depth. (note: funny that we tend to think of our teeth as descending as we bite down on or into a substance, when since only our lower jaw is a mobile hinge, we are actually propelling our teeth upward into the food and pushing it against our stationary top teeth, like an unfortunate Mortal Kombat combatant uppercutted into a ceiling of spikes. still, the semantic and somatic illusion persists. i wonder what came first; the idea or the sensation?)
but its greatest strength lies in how the Big Cup proclaims its sheer excess, even before the first bite is taken.
it is immediately disproportionate in several senses – of different proportions, chocolate to peanut butter, than the Regular Cup, but despite this it is comfortingly in proportion to itself, which is to say that it, you know, tastes good. but then in another sense it is out of proportion to the world – it is, in relation to the proper order of things, oversized, misshapen, and faintly grotesque; but still so close to the familiar as to render it that much more subtly disconcerting. like one of those miniature dobies (or maybe they’re just doberman-flavoured chihuahuas): of slightly different proportions than a ‘normal’ sized doberman, but while still retaining a certain sensibility in the parts’ relationship to each other, unavoidably out of the ordinary in its relationship to the world, and thus unavoidably hilarious.
so just as the mini-dobie is strangely too small, so is the Big Cup strangely too big: it is made strange – alienated – by its Bigness. in this alien encounter the usual circuit of understanding is disrupted. one asks oneself “Is this magic?” “Can I eat this?” “What will happen?” and it is thus in its excess that the Big Cup becomes enough, and becomes truly satisfying, in contrast to the satisfaction deferred in perpetuum of the Regular Cup. it is enough because it is always already too much, somehow sidestepping ‘more than enough‘ entirely. and so it would be on its own, but of course it comes in packs of two, forcing one into that awkward position of it seeming inappropriate to eat both, but which one inevitably does.
i don’t feel so good.