Today I decided to track down a very special Brew of the Day. This quest took me to the site of a crucial World War II battle, in an abbey where Saint Benedict himself is entombed.
Oh, did I not mention I’m in Italy?
I speak, of course, of Montecassino Abbey, which Benedict founded high on a mountain in central Italy in 529. It’s an impressive structure and is considered the largest abbey in the world.
I won’t go through the full 15 centuries of history, so let’s jump forward to 1943, when Nazi Germany held control over Italy. Given its central, mountaintop location, the abbey was a key strategic site.
After the Allies defeated the Axis forces in North Africa, they turned to the task of liberating Italy. Allied troops landed in Sicily in July of 1943, and began slowly marching north toward Rome. By the winter of 1944 they were approaching the region of Montecassino. They believed the Germans had taken up positions at the abbey (a belief that may have been mistaken) and so in February Allied planes began a massive bombing of the structure. It was destroyed, and many monks and townspeople died. War, as they say, is hell.
After the bombing (apologies to Engelbert Humperdink) in 1944. [Di Bundesarchiv, Bild 146-2005-0004 / Wittke]
The structure was completely and faithfully rebuilt after the war, and the abbey remains active and important to this day. Indeed, the Pope visited here just a couple of weeks ago.
Inside the abbey’s church today, when I visited.
Now here’s the important part: It’s said that the abbey’s monks had been brewing beer since the time of St. Benedict (who himself advocated brewing as a form of self-sufficiency for the abbey). They grew their own barley and used rock-filtered water from a nearby spring. This all ended in 1944 with the Allied bombing.
Then–a miracle!–brewing came back to the abbey in 2018, when an entrepreneur named Daniele Miri launched Birrificio Montecassino (“Montecassino Brewery”). He set the place up in a rustic building on the abbey grounds.
And so it was that this afternoon I found myself at the brewery with friends Kristen and Dave, who happen to spend a couple of months in this region every summer. It was a hot day, and we had visions of a nice, welcoming brewpub with homemade beers on tap, a chatty brewmaster behind the bar, some good pub food, and comfortable high-tops. But it turned out to be more of a, well, Benedictine kind of brewery. The place is like a crowded warehouse with fermenting tanks running at full speed and workers turning valves and connecting hoses. There was really no room for guests, other than a small sales counter in the corner where a busy worker told us “we have three beers. Which do you want?” I chose the “Dubbel,” and we made our way to what appeared to be an old church pew in a shady spot outside of the brewery.
And that finally brings us to the:
BOTD
A Dubbel is a type of ale often associated with modern Belgian beers. It’s a traditional abbey-style ale. Like Birrificio’s other beers, it’s brewed using the same process used by the monks at Montecassio. So they’re again using that natural spring water and estate-grown barley, and allowing relying on the yeast to naturally carbonate the beer.
And you know what? This is a stunningly good beer. Let me count the ways. First, it has a rich, dark-chestnut color that’s got hints of dark ruby.
Great beer, mediocre (plastic) glassware.
Second, that natural carbonation is more delicate and better integrated than what you get from typical pressure-blasted CO2. This beer is fizzy enough to be interesting and bright, without assaulting your tongue and palate with what feels like a pack of Pop Rocks at every sip. Probably because of this, the beer has almost no head, save a bit of tan foam around the edges.
But let’s talk about the flavor: it’s malty and slightly sweet, with recognizable caramel and toffee flavors, mingled with hints of brown sugar and maybe anise. There’s just enough hops to prevent the sweetness from dominating. At 6.5 percent ABV, there’s also a slight alcohol burn that wards off any danger cloyingness that sometimes afflicts this style.
Now, in full disclosure, I should note that I was rather parched and hot when I drank this beer, so that may have contributed to my pleasure in drinking it. But there was absolutely no mistaking that I was drinking a high-quality, well-balanced beer. I may need to try another one.
Spending a few days in the desert gives you time to think. To ruminate. To meditate. To shorten your sentences to unconjugated verbs.
This morning I headed south on CA 127, and within the hour I was at Shoshone (official pop: 31). I say “official”population because one of the locals told me the actual population is now down to 13. In any event, Shoshone was founded in 1910 by Ralph “Dad” Fairbanks, by literally relocating buildings from nearby abandoned mines and towns. Shoshone was situated on the Tonopah and Tidewater Railroad line which, we learned yesterday, was launched a few years earlier to haul borax. Interestingly, the T&T’s name was an unfulfilled aspiration. It never reached north to Tonopah, and it never reach southwest to San Diego (which was the “tidewater” envisioned by the name). Anyway, “Dad” Fairbanks’ daughter married a boy named Charlie Brown (well, Charles Brown), and young Charles essentially became the heir apparent of the town.
All roads lead to Shoshone.
Despite its limited population, Shoshone today remains a going concern. It’s well-positioned as the southern gateway to Death Valley, and it’s at the crossroads of a couple of important highways. Services are therefore oriented towards travelers, with a gas station, a market, a restaurant, a museum, and even a generic Catholic church.
Note the ownership of the market. Also, is it just me, or is the sign done in the Googie tradition?
I decided to get breakfast at the “famous” Crowbar Cafe & Saloon. There were a few other people at the counter, and they seemed to be travelers like myself.
I’m still not sure whether the restaurant has earned the term “famous,” but Brianna–the server–is memorable. Friendly, attentive, and effervescent, with a sly sense of humor, she gives the place a buoyancy that goes well with the strong coffee.
Directly next door to the Crowbar is an old service station that’s been converted into a museum and visitor center. What the heck, thought I. Let’s see what I can learn about this town.
Even though it’s small, every corner of the building is packed with artifacts: old railroad schedules, household appliances, guns, photographs, maps, sheriff’s badges, even an old mastodon skeleton that was uncovered by local students. And of course there’s the requisite box of that white gold of Death Valley: Borax.
If I have any critique of the museum, it’s that some of the exhibits lack enough descriptive backstory. Fortunately, there’s a remedy in the form of Eliza, who runs the place (or at least today she was).
Eliza–Shoshone’s answer to Google.
It was Eliza who sketched the town’s history for me, who pointed me to the remnants of the T&T Railroad, who told me which local breweries were open and which were still getting their taps installed, and who insisted that I make a short detour to the date orchards of Tecopa for a date shake.
Based in part of Eliza’s suggestions, I first went across the street to Dublin Gulch, where miners dug rough-hewn caves into the hillside a century ago.
Be it ever so humble…
The ground around the caves is strewn with old cans. Presumably these once contained dinner.
More cans…
…and another….
Having seen what I could see in Shoshone, I got back in the car and headed out to Tecopa (pop: 169). Along the way I spotted a few of these 5-foot markers where the road comes close to the Amargosa River. I learned yesterday that flash floods are a real and persistent danger out here; the Amargosa Opera House has been flooded several times. I’m guessing the markers help drivers to judge the depth of water on the roadway?
Tecopa is a few miles off CA-127, and to get there you cross the Old Spanish Trail, that connected the settlements of Santa Fe with Los Angeles in the 19th century. I saw a small obelisk (about 5 feet tall, designated #32) marking the route. I surmise there are at least 31 others, and most likely many more. This may be the subject of an upcoming road trip…
The road to the date orchards passes along a string of privately-owned hot springs. Signage from competing outfits lines the road. Some of the claims seem a bit over-the-top…
I did eventually get to the China Ranch Date Farm, where I had me one of best of the two date shakes I’ve consumed in my life. But near the farm I encountered two sites that spurred the rumination suggested in the title of this post. First, there’s the U-We Wash:
It’s a long-defunct laundromat in a quonset hut. The equipment remains largely intact, seemingly spared from vandals.
It seems the place has been around since early in the last century, and has been abandoned for decades. It must have served visitors staying at the trailer and RV parks across the street. It’s got a bit of an eerie, Twilight Zone vibe, as though the the owners and customers all instantly disappeared decades ago, perhaps due to a nuclear explosion.
Now, hold that thought and consider the second site that got me ruminating: Just down the dirt road from the date farm is the self-proclaimed “Modest Museum,” which is a simple, old two-room building which a few neglected displays about the history of the area.
A sign on the wall reads: “We have deliberately made these exhibits accessible to the public, especially children, so they can get a real sense of the history here. Please behave honorably and do not remove or vandalize anything in this little museum.” And indeed, there are no signs of vandalism or theft, which is of course a good thing. And yet, there’s also no sign that the museum has been visited or cared for in the slightest. Dust is thick on the display cases, the photographs are sun-bleached and virtually indecipherable, and descriptive labels have fallen to the ground.
To me, the U-We Wash is cool and intriguing, an artifact in our midst that testifies to a different time. But the Modest Museum is depressing: a well-intentioned and hopeful endeavor that has fallen flat and/or been abandoned. Why my different reactions? Why are some artifacts cool, and others are junk? I’m thinking now of an old home-made theme park in Wisconsin that I visited in 2022. The man who lovingly created it had recently died, and the place was falling into disrepair. As I walked through it on a rainy afternoon I felt melancholy but appreciative of his effort. I did not feel like the remnants of his little park should be torn down. Just as I did not feel the U-We wash should be torn down. And to be fair, it’s not that I think the Modest Museum should be torn down exactly, but if the owners still believe in the mission, they need to give it some TLC or think of a new approach.
Part of this rumination comes from something that tourguide Sue mentioned at the Amargosa Opera House. According to Sue, Marta Becket had always insisted that, after her death, no one should ever restore or otherwise repaint any of the murals she had painted on the walls of the opera house and the hotel. She believed that the desert will rightly reclaim all that she did out here, and she was OK with that. Don’t fight it, she said. And so, as our tour group walked through the opera house, we saw areas of peeling paint and torn fabric that, according to Sue, the caretakers just have to accept.
I spent a lot of time thinking about this today, and the thought that keeps coming to my mind is the notion of burying the dead. Trees die in our gardens and we cut them down. Buildings become uninhabitable and unsalvagable, so we take a wrecking ball to them. An open bottle of wine goes bad and we pour it out. And, of course, our pets and our relatives die, so we return their bodies to the earth. I still don’t know exactly why I don’t feel that the U-We Wash shouldn’t be torn down. But I do know that the guy in my neighborhood with the weathered, broken, and rudderless boat in his side yard needs to get rid of the damn thing.
Out here in the desert there seems to be different attitude about death. Desert people appear to do a better job of accepting the concept. The imagery of death of all around the desert, including, of course, in the name Death Valley. So I’ll leave you with some of that imagery.
I’m betting the deceased was a singer. Har.
BEER OF THE DAY
OK, that was a little heavy. So let’s end with the Beer of the Day. I had a beer at Steelbound Brewery and Distillery in Pahrump, NV (pop: 44,000). (I had to make a 20-minute detour across the state line to find a place to spend the night.)
Speaking of imagery of death…
This brewery/restaurant feels a little weird, and seems to still be trying to find its niche. (I’m told the place recently changed ownership.) It’s attached to the Best Western hotel, which seems to seriously undercut its effort to appear like a hip microbrewery. Video gambling machines are situated at every seat at the bar. Giant TV screens show The Price is Right, a program that’s punctuated with endless ads for prescription weight loss and asthma drugs. The menu is overrepresented with Indian food. The Sirius country-western station is piped over the speakers. The whole place has a soulless corporate feel. Even the servers seem robotic.
But they make their own beer. Perhaps because they’re still in the start-up phase, they only had three beers on tap. I chose the Chocolate Peanut Honey Cream Ale. Believe it or not, I considered this to be the safer choice.
And I wasn’t disappointed! It’s got a golden honey color with a slight cloudiness. There’s no nose to speak up, but it is definitely refreshing. It’s not too hopped, not too carbonated, but neither is it flat or bland. I’d call it “brisk.” The mouthfeel is slightly creamy. I don’t taste the “chocolate” mentioned in the name, except maybe that slight chocolate essence you get from chocolate bitters. A full pint of this stuff was not filling in the slightest. If I lived near here, this would be my go-to summer beer. 5 out of 5 stars.
Speaking of Edgar Allan Poe…today is the 176th anniversary of his death. In celebration of the occasion, I’m providing this bonus post. No need to thank me, but feel free to remember me in your will.
So, I spent last weekend in Baltimore–the city where Poe wrote several of his better-known works, and where he is said to have died under mysterious circumstances. (For an entertaining, alternative history explaining those and subsequent events in Poe’s life, please see my short story “Poe’s Last Lament.”)
Anyway, I was, as I say, in Baltimore, where every October a crowd gathers in the neighborhood, where Poe once lived with his wife and mother-in-law/aunt, to participate in the International Edgar Allan Poe Festival. Among other things, we drank a toast to Poe at his gravesite at Baltimore’s Westminster Hall, visited the catacombs beneath the church, and watched a burlesque performance by an Australian stripper whose precise connection to Edgar Allan Poe continues to elude me. I’m not making this up.
Poe’s final resting place.
We also toured the beautiful and brooding Green Mount Cemetery (est. 1838), where a number of Poe’s relatives are buried. Green Mount is where I encountered the topic for this blog post. Take a gander at this headstone:
A standard element of a regulation Ouija board, the phrase “goodbye” is especially apropos on a gravestone.
Readers of a certain age might remember this design from the family game closet, where the Parker Bros. Ouija game was kept.
Turns out the Ouija headstone marks the mortal remains of the man who patented the Ouija board. Here’s a pic of the reverse side of the headstone:
Note that this headstone does not claim that Elijah Bond is the inventor of the Ouija board; he’s just the patentee. The full origin story of the Ouija board is quite convoluted, disputed, and fascinating, and I have now spent several days going down an Ouija rabbit hole. Here’s the Cliff’s Notes version:
The “talking board” (which is the broad category the Ouija board fits into) has been around for over a thousand years….well before the establishment of the US Patent Office.
Talking boards became insanely popular in the US near the end of the 19th century and the early 20th century, during the heyday of Spiritualism.
A prototype of the Ouija board was made famous in 1886, when it was used to supposedly communicate with a long-dead spirit.
A few years later, Elijah Jefferson Bond–a Confederate veteran, inventor, and lawyer–sensed an opportunity and patented this version of the talking board. He called it Ouija. The Baltimore boarding house where he came up with the name still stands. Of course I had to visit it.
The building where Ouija get its name. Note that the ground floor–once a boarding house–now hosts a 7-11 store.
Plaque inside the 7-11.
Bond sold the US distribution rights for the Ouija board to the Kennard Novelty Company.
A few years after selling the distribution rights, however, Bond started selling a knock-off version of the Ouija board that he called “Nirvana.”
And here’s where I really feel down the rabbit hole: Bond created a company in 1907 to sell his Nirvana board. And what was its name? The Swastika Novelty Company. These are words that I would never expect to go together.
Now, to be fair, the swastika would not come to be associated with the Nazis for another decade or two. But according to Wikipedia, the company wasn’t dissolved until 2014!
Sadly (?), Parker Bros (now owned by Hasbro) no longer produces the Ouija board as part of its regular lineup. But it does occasionally offer a specialized version as a movie tie-in. Therefore, it seems that your best bet might be to seek out an old, original one on eBay. You might even track down an old Nirvana version…but you’d have to explain to your friends that the swastika is “grandfathered in,” as it were.
Modified Ouija board, with patent-evading design and pre-Nazi swastika.
Please let me know if you know of any other trivia related to the Ouija board (besides the oh-so-obvious link to The Exorcist). And thus we end this special post related to Poe, Baltimore, and Ouija.
Today I took US 20 from Northlake, IL to Iowa Falls, IA. Near the beginning of the day’s drive I noticed this huge sign on a barn in the town of Freeport, Illinois (pop: 24,000).
Why not? I followed the directions and was soon at this miniature version of Wrigley Field. It’s kind of cool–I’m sure a Little Leaguer would get a kick out of playing on that field.
The Friendly Confines.
Now, while I was on Freeport’s surface streets I encountered this marker:
Knot your average city.
And do you know why Freeport calls itself “Pretzel City?” Is it because it produces more pretzels than anyone else? No. Is it because the roads twist and turn like a pretzel? No. Is it because the world’s pretzel production relies on Freeport’s proprietary yeast? No. In fact, it turns out that Freeport once had a German bakery that made pretzels. Like 150 years ago. That’s it.
And for that small and random fact, the local high school’s mascot is a pretzel. I’m not making this up.
I wonder if they’re sponsored by Snyder’s of Hanover?
Now, you may think I’m mocking Pretzel City. And I am. But I happen to love pretzels, and all this ruminating on the snack brought on a hankering for a big, soft pub pretzel with beer cheese. Surely I could get one here in Pretzel City.
No. “Pretzel City” does not sell big pretzels. There isn’t even an Auntie Anne’s in town.
So I ended up scanning each town I passed through for either a German bakery (unlikely) or a brew pub (more likely). Around noon, when I was passing through the town of Elizabeth, Illinois (pop: 694), I hit the jackpot. Right next to the road was the Highway 20 Brewing Company.
Let us brew.
The brewery is in an 1875 Presbyterian church with beautiful stained glass and a large outdoor seating area. What could be better? I parked the car and strode up to the Narthex. And there I was foiled: The place didn’t open until 3 pm. I seriously thought about killing a few hours until they opened, but it was such a tiny town I couldn’t think of much more to do than drink a beer and eat a pretzel in a church. Muttering words that shouldn’t be spoken on church grounds, I got back in the Perigrinator (as I’ve taken to calling the Altima) and continued along Route 20.
Shortly before I got to the Iowa state line, I entered the town of Galena, Illinois (pop: 3,300). Now Galena is an interesting place. Most of the town is recognized as a National Historic Site, and just passing along the street feels like you’ve gone a century or two back in time. Virtually all the buildings in the downtown are historic, and most of them seem to cater to tourists. Among other things, Galena plays up the fact that General US Grant retired here after the Civil War, and his home is a major tourist draw.
Of course, the main draw for me was a place called the Galena Brewing Company. It’s in an old building from 1849, that once housed a print shop. They make a good selection of interesting beers, and I’ll discuss my choice when we get to the BOTD. But my immediate goal was to get me a big pub pretzel. Voila!
It’s a one-pound pretzel, which the brewery claims it is “famous” for. I don’t know about that, but I do know that it constituted my entire lunch. I was supremely happy.
While scarfing my pretzel I chatted with a few other people at the bar. We were all out-of-town visitors. Tom had just visited his sister nearby, and had a 300-mile drive home in front of him. Steve and Ann had come over from the greater Rockford area to spend a few days, and this was their third trip to Galena Brewing Company. There was also a woman from Denver visiting a relative in the area. Bailey the Bartender kept us all happy. It was a very enjoyable hour. And that’s not just the pretzel talking.
Left to right: Tom, Bartender Bailey, mystery bartender, Steve, and Ann.
OK, now that I’m done with that twisty tale of pretzels (har!), let’s go back to a couple of other sites of note along today’s drive.
In Marengo, Illinois (pop: 7,600), I spied this mysterious old tower right next to the road. It abuts a decaying, old stone wall–like ancient Italian ruins. Is it a watchtower of some kind?
Mysterious Marengo Tower.
This wall behind the tower surrounds a plot of overgrown brush and random pieces of cast concrete.
Looking upward along an enclosed ladder on the side of the tower. You can see the enclosure above the door in the first photo. I considered climbing the ladder, but chickened out.
My internet sleuthing didn’t turn up anything definitive to explain what the heck I was looking at. ChatGPT thinks it’s a fire watchtower, but it seems to be confusing the structure with a steel tower not far from there. Anyone know what we’re looking at here?
The most melancholy site of the day was Donley’s Wild West Town, also in Merango. This sign caught my attention:
Following the sign, I encountered what appeared to be a giant Frederic Remington sculpture:
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?
Judging from the iconography so far, I assumed this Wild West Town would be similar to a place near my childhood home, called Frontier Village. Frontier Village depicts a sanitized version of the Old West, with rodeos and bloodless shootouts and gold panning and alcohol-free saloons and pony rides and such. I remember it being great fun.
So, hoping to relive a few moments of my youth, I turned into the parking lot. The place was clearly closed for the day, and despite the presentable-looking front doors, the facade was looking a little long in the tooth.
Cue the whistle from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.
Must have been a pretty fun place, back in the day.
Peeking behind the fence.
A search of the internet confirmed that the place is permanently closed. This made me feel kind of melancholy, for two reasons. First, it’s always poignant when someone’s dream dies. From the little I know about Wild West Town, it seems like it was a family-owned, family-friendly place with a lot of heart. It reminds me of an abandoned place in Wisconsin that I discovered in 2022. You can read my post about it here. And if you do, make sure you scroll all the way down to the comments at the end, where the son of the park’s founder makes a surprise appearance.
Anyway, the second reason the demise of a park like this saddens me is because it reminds me of the passing of an era. It seems that these low-tech, sweetly-corny, flesh-and-blood places aren’t popular in the modern, digital world. I know that makes me sound like a Luddite, or at least an old man. Which I am. But still.
I encourage you to watch this 2016 video of highlights from the Wild West Town. You’ll see what I’m talking about.
But let me end on a somewhat more inspiring note: Near the end of the day I saw a sign along US 20 urging me to visit the “Field of Dreams.” Yes, that Field of Dreams. It turns out that after they made the 1989 Kevin Costner movie, the town of Dyersville, Iowa (pop: 4,000) preserved the baseball diamond that was created in a cornfield. It’s now a tourist attraction.
Sure, it’s a little corny (ha!), but it was heartwarming to see kids and families playing catch on the field. What a perfect bookend to a day that began at the Little League version of Wrigley Field.
Build It and They Will Come indeed!
BRIDGE CORNER
This overpass carries traffic from Seippel Street in Dubuque over US 20. To me it looks like a fairly new structure, and it seems to incorporate old steel arches from a prior bridge. I cannot confirm any of this with my research though. Our research team will keep working on it, but any tips would be appreciated!
BEER OF THE DAY
As noted early, the BOTD comes from Galena Brewing Company. I had the “All Day Reveille,” which is a black lager. It’s as dark as a stout, but with a much thinner body and less robust taste.
This beer is quite balanced, with a dark, malty base that’s countered with a moderate amount of hops. After fermentation, they add some cold-brewed espresso from a local coffee roaster. This gives the flavor a stronger backbone. Still, it’s not overpowering, and the flavor profile is fairly flat. The ABV is 5.7, which is about average. I’d call this a pseudo-stout for people who don’t like stouts. I’ll give it 3.5 stars, which means I wouldn’t go out of my way for one, but I’ll enjoy one if it’s in front of me. I give the accompanying pretzel a solid 5 stars.
Today I’m in Bodega Bay (pop: 912), the setting for Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds. And if that isn’t a good Halloween tie-in, I don’t know what is.
Several of the iconic buildings from the movie are still going strong over 60 years later. Checkitout:
Potter Schoolhouse, then.
Potter Schoolhouse, now.
St Teresa of Avila Church (on right), then.
St Teresa of Avila Church, today.
And of course even non-historic places are trying to get in on the act.
Meanwhile, while we were enjoying coffee on the deck….
Somehow, I managed to get through my cappuccino without having my eyes pecked out, so it’s on to our Treat of the Day:
I happened by one of those independent, upscale candy shops that cling like barnacles to the quaint Main Streets of small, tourism-oriented towns. It was here this pumpkin pop called to me through the window.
I hear and I obey.
This little treat is made by the Mendocino Chocolate Company, and it’s irresistibly adorable. Money was exchanged and moments later I was the proud owner of a pumpkin on a stick.
Conceptual Soundness: This is a white chocolate pumpkin that’s been colored orange and stuck onto a rolled-paper stick. You’ll recall my earlier rant about putting treats on a stick where there’s no logical reason to do so. This is one of those cases. Why couldn’t I just eat the pumpkin candy by hand, as I did with yesterday’s Ghirardelli square? I can’t get behind this creeping stick-iness. Zero points.
Appearance of the Treat: It’s undeniably enchanting. The orange pumpkin head, with well-defined features rendered in chocolate icing, is friendly and slightly quirky. The ribbon is festive, with matching orange jack o’lanterns on a chocolate-brown background. I do now recognize that the stick helps to secure the ribbon, and thus it might not be as superfluous as I initially thought. I’ll give one point back for conceptual soundness. In terms of appearance of the treat, I award the full 4 points.
Taste: Hack! Gag! Never has such a cute candy tasted so revolting. Clearly the “confectioners” (emphasis on the “con” part) decided to pump their “candy” full of wax to aid in the molding process. Eating this pumpkin is reminiscent of eating a candle. I suppose there must be some white chocolate in the pumpkin, just as there must be some worthwhile programming on network TV. But in both cases you need to search for it. While I was gnawing on the edges of the pumpkin the little face seemed to adopt a mocking look, as if to say “who’s the real sucker here?” It would be malpractice for me to award any points for taste. Zero points. In fact, this is so foul, I’m taking back that bonus points I awarded to the stick for supporting the ribbon.
Value: I parted with $2.75 to get this “treat.” Now, to be fair, as a purely visual Halloween prop it’s perfectly delightful. And $2.75 ain’t a bad price if it tasted decent. But it doesn’t. I’ll give it one grudging point.
