Moonpie Sonata

My tongue is engulfed in the enchanting taste of my grandparent’s ambrosian dish, the Moonpie Sonata.

It is an eccentric recipe elegantly packed in a transparent, quaint, tall, drinking glass—as the recipe is incomplete without the glassware that houses this epic, dessert, extravaganza.

Its ingredients consist of a moonpie symmetrically crushed in equivalent mountainous mounds of vanilla. Continuous trails of whipped cream encompasses the plateaus of the mountainous mounds of vanilla. The whipped cream is then freckled with pecks of Oreo Cookie crumbs. The terrain edges of whipped cream is blotted with thin streaks of chocolate syrup. When the chocolate syrup creeps like molasses — gradually descending from the mountainous peaks of vanilla ice cream oozing, and rendezvousing with the grenadine syrup foundation at the lowest point of the glass, it glows luminously like molten lava.

When I immersed my mouth in the celestial flavors of the Moonpie Sonata, the taste incited a dreamy, orchestral classic “Moonlight Sonata”. This is the same tune my grandparents would play while crafting this eloquent dessert. The inert decibels of my imagination combined with the elixir of the Moon-pie Sonata was as peaceful as a diver’s oceanic ambience—melodically uttering “do” “re” “mi” “fa” “so” “la.”

Not even the signature desserts at the Cheesecake Factory nor Carrabas can contest with my grandparents’ eclectic Moon-pie Sonata. The taste is succinctly succulent. It’s a refreshing simple recipe, but in order to craft the recipe it takes finesse, an artful mind, and culinary prudence.

A movie is incomplete without cuddling, dim lights, popcorn, and confectionaries. Same concept goes for the Moon-pie Sonata. I could not watch a show, series, snippet, or saga without it. My face remained a poker face like Lady Gaga. My face was then rescued from melancholy expression when I was supplied my favorite childhood snack “Moon-pie Sonata”.

Calendars aged. I am now an adult -who graduated from college with honors. My grandmother passed away due to her advanced dementia. During her absence, I watch my grandfather stress. Daily, he grew more and more depressed. He took his frustrations out on the piano; I can hear the intensity through every key he pressed. He played a menacing version of Moonlight Sonata —altering the beats per minute, and the crescendo within the clef. I was scared to bother him, but eventually I mustered up the courage to make a request. That request was to make the Moon-pie Sonata. When he made the Moon-pie Sonata it was difficult to ingest. Since my grandmothers death, the essence of the Moon-pie Sonata was not at its best standard; it was less. My grandfather failed to execute the sublime of the Moon-pie Sonata, even though he was an expert pastry chef. I guess it is true what they say, “it takes two baby” one of the songs that my grandparents played sung by Marvin Gaye and Kim Weston; my grandmother never could enunciate her name well so she just referred to her as Kim West. The subliminal messsge I got from the song was, “if two people made something together, it takes two people to make it stay together. Because when two people sever, the same will happen to whatever they made together.” Obviously, this statement was true because when my grandfather himself tried to make the Moon-pie Sonata it was not an edible pleasure.

One morning, during the time my fiancée and I visited my grandfather for the holidays, I found him face first on his acoustic grand piano made by Yamaha. I now have lost both, my grandfather and my grandmama. The quality of my life was not the same. My happiness was in remission and there was a gradual progression into depression. I could not bear to hear or play Moonlight Sonata—as it would cause me to suffer from the macabre of musical trauma. “Food means nothing because nothing is just food”. This was a notable quote uttered by both my grandfather and grandmama. I could no longer hear their voice. Their words became imaginary words enclosed in inverted commas.

Over time, the recipe of my grandparents Moon-pie Sonata diminishes. I attempted to make it, but never could follow through nor finish it. I could not bear to even think of it; it reminded me too much of my grandparents every time I thought of the scrumptious culinary images. I then substituted my favorite childhood snack with strawberry shortcake — stuck in memory lane, while the strawberry syrup on the shortcake hemorrhages.

My life then turned into a melodrama. I began indulging in excessive consumption of alcoholic beverages. It didn’t matter if it was beer, wine, or cocktails such as Pina Coladas. My newly formed depression, birthed the recession of the Moon-pie Sonata. The taste was monotonous, bland, and innocuous; it was obvious I could not make it like my grandfather and grandmama. I thought to myself, “Is there a correlation between Moonlight Sonata and the Moon-pie Sonata?” while looking at my grandfather’s dust covered Yamaha. I tried to keep desolate thoughts out of my mind. When the mind is idle and depressed, you tend to let the devil entrada; I struggled to tame the monologue of my inner monster like Lady Gaga; the depression seemingly was never ending, and was as lengthy as a fermata.

I spent the next several years deteriorating morally, and not expressing myself orally. I went to sweatpants and T-shirts, from dressing casually, and formally—continuing to eat poorly. When it came to fruits and vegetables, I ate nada. My depressive diet consisted of mostly fat, caffeinated drinks, processed and refined sugars, alcohol, candy, pies, fried foods, and Epanadas.

Years of unhealthy binging, and infringing on my wellbeing caused health problems. One day, I was rushed to the hospital by the paramedics. This happened when I once again attempted to make my grandparents’ Moon-pie Sonata. I was shopping at the same grocery store and bought the same food ingredients my grandparents used to make the Moon-pie Sonata. I went home. I placed all the alluring edible delicacies in the blender. Suddenly, I lost consciousness. What happened…? Till’ this day I can’t quite remember. I woke up in the emergency room. The doctor was my childhood health care provider. He asked me, “what happened”? I critically thought and remembered my lip swelling and my throat getting tighter and tighter. I then blacked out as quick as a flickering flame from a lighter. He asked, “what did you eat last”? Depression caused me not to have an appetite; food was not my desire. The only meal I ate was the Moon-pie Sonata; I have not had anything to eat prior.

Days after running tests, he informed me my allergies has become dire. I have become hypersensitive to the ingredients of the Moon-pie Sonata in entire. He informed me I have to avoid eating it completely—influencing me to eat more things that are nutritious, take 5000 IU’s of Vitamin D, drink more water, and to increase my intake of dietary fiber. There had to be a misdiagnosis! I been eating this since I graduated into a child—growing from an infant in a diaper. I never had any lactose intolerances, nor allergies from Breyers, nor all the other ingredients: the chocolate syrup, the moonpie, the Oreo cookie, and the grenadine. The doctor insisted on saying I’m allergic- showing me test results that displayed high tryptase, and high levels of histamine. I hated this lifestyle; my diet went to narrow, from wider. It was torture looking at my blender. I intermittently imagined the moonpie being cylindrically mixed—as the blades of the blender spin and stir. In that moment, I’ve learned “Our joy blurs, as we reminisce embracing the happiness we once were”. I never had an allergy to any of the ingredients included in the Moon-pie Sonata: not even the slightest. Visit after visit I was told multiple things. First, I visited my primary care physician to be diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis. Then, I was referred to a Rheumatologist for Rheumatoid Arthritis. Then, I was referred to an ENT due to complications with my sinus. Then, I was referred to an allergist due to Urticaria and Pruritis . And guess what…? None of them could figure it out! No successful diagnosis—just lots of money spent on co-pays and other healthcare services at costly variable prices! It’s like every visit was an educated guess; it felt like they were just rolling the dices! There was something else going on as to why I would have an adverse reaction to my favorite childhood snack. What they were telling me…is it fiction or fact? I didn’t know what was going on to be exact, but I felt there was some knowledge my care team lacked. My lip swollen. Multiple episodes of my throat nearly closing. Several tests revealing high counts of immunoglobulin. I was convinced that the delight of my favorite childhood snack was forever stolen.

I was depressed growing more discontent—as my intent, was not to circumvent, the advice of my healthcare providers. I was bile, in a state of denial, caught by surprise by an unfortunate chain of life events—looking at pictures of my former self wondering, “where has that guy went.” Without my grandparents, without my optimal health, and without the Moon-pie Sonata, I did not feel whole. It’s like someone else other than me had custody of my soul. I loathed how I was living life at that moment; I once glowed. Now I’m at cloudy point of my life—as the clouds of crisis eclipsed the moonlight my soul once bestowed. I would go out in public, pitifully clothed. Reminiscing—remembering my grandmother crafting the Moonpie Sonata with her crumb covered hands in a bowl, while my grandfather sat at his grand piano playing the melodious, Moonlight Sonata Ode. Getting back to who I was, my former optimal health, and the snack I loved, were my only goals. Frequent events of allergies caused dietary uncertainties, consistent sadness, and consecutive emotional tolls. I wanted too so bad, but I couldn’t muster up the courage to eat my favorite childhood snack during the time I was in solitude—while watching the Super Bowl.

Finally, I couldn’t take it no more. I began researching my symptoms. Daily, I was reading Reddit. The things I’ve read was hitting home—seeming more than theoretic. There appeared to be some hormonal changes rather than a condition I inherited from genetics, which many healthcare professionals have suggested—despite the results of the tests they’ve administered, and the specimens they’ve collected. Thinking I was allergic to everything I made sure all materials were I wore and slept on were hypoallergenic. Due to fear of eating in general, I lost weight appearing more and more anorexic. When I asked questions, the doctors felt as if I were trying to be disobliging. It’s just I didn’t agree with the information they were providing. My tongue would swell. I could not make a complete fist due to my hands swelling and tightening. I had to manipulate my diet—not to my liking. Once more, I made the Moon-pie Sonata—this time I took away the Oreo cookie crumbs, and the grenadine syrup, and the vanilla icing.

I went to sleep and woke with my lip swollen, which was quite frightening. Using myself as a Guinea pig, I was trying trial and error. I had nothing to eat but a moonpie the next day. The day after I awakened with my lip, and tongue swollen. I was in terror! There had to be something wrong. I have been eating moonpies for years: within the metabolic and allergy test results there had to be an error! I knew continuing to toy with my own health in this manner will land me in the presence of a pallbearer.

One day while shopping, I bought a box of moonpies. Once I was in the parking lot, I opened the box and ate one moonpie. I hadn’t had anything to eat that day —feeling faint, weak, and dizzy as if my sugar was low. While pushing the shopping cart to my car, I nibbled on it. Immediately after, I felt constriction in my esophagus. I fell to the concrete and I felt someone stab me with my epi-pen; at the time this person was anonymous. The person who stabbed me with my epinephrine pen was an out of state vacationing, endocrinologist. Out of concern, she accompanied me to the Emergency Room. Once I discharged she told me my she is convinced my symptoms are gastrointestinal. She then gave me a card and recommended me to see a special health care professional.

Now here I am at the gastroenterologist. He was also a writer— a well known health and wellness columnist. He pulled out a box of moon pies. His hypothesis was that there was a preservative that was causing the Urticaria, the swelling of my tongue, lips, and esophagus. He pulled out two boxes of moonpies from two different generations and found a manufacturing flaw. He stated he had the same thing happen to one of his patients that loved apple danish and bear claws. He told me, “manufacturers are only required to list common ingredients that cause allergies by law like peanuts, soy, wheat, milk, eggs, tree nuts, coconut, and other products in meats and fish that are raw”. He found no classic evidence of allergies from the results of my labs. He then told me a lengthy story about something called leaky gut syndrome —a proposed intestinal condition in which a weakening of the intestinal walls allows bacteria and toxins into the bloodstream. He referred back to the two different moon-pie boxes insisting my reaction was due to an additive or preservative, as it was not Hereditary Angioedema or any other autoimmune condition within my genes. You see, when I was young my grandparents’ used moonpies that were from a total different generation. Back then, they used different manufacturing processes. Back then, you didn’t have all the additives and preservatives. Everything was mainly natural. He joked —telling me, “nowadays, finding things that are 100 percent natural is extinct like a pterodactyl.”

He had me sign a waiver. He gave me a moonpie from generations back. Before I ate it I asked, “will this make me swell?” He stated there is a zero probability. Before I ate it, he state it will strengthen my digestive abilities—continuing to eat this will repair my stomach lining —eliminating any intestinal permeabilities. I ate it and nothing happened. But why…? He told me many things in simple terms and logic. He told me my grandparents Moonpie Sonata did not just resonate within my household. Amongst the neighborhood it was iconic. It was more than a snack. It was filled with ingredients that promoted healthy bacteria like probiotics—deterring illnesses and eliminating any substances within the body that are toxic. There was no mocking it. Others in the neighborhood tried to replicate the Moon-pie Sonata but, they failed—lacking the culinary cognizance. Remember, earlier in the poem when I stated the Moon-pie Sonata took a culinary competence…? Besides probiotics and the delicious food contents, it was skillfully blended with small quantities of anonymous antioxidants. What was going on in my body’s interior was my digestive system was not breaking down all the substances that entered my body. Histamine released as a result of mast cell degranulation due to leaky gut. Leaky gut caused artificial additives to deplete my stomach lining —allowing bacteria to move past my depleted stomach lining —entering other areas of my body. More than likely what worsened my condition is unhealthy eating, alongside of not having the probiotic and antioxidant ingredients in the Moon-pie Sonata —which for years provided maintenance to my physical well-being.

Little that I knew, my grandparents never bought moonpies from the stores. They made their moonpies from scratch—from the soft cookie shell to the cream in the core. Now it all made sense why I would have an allergic reaction to the moonpies I bought in the store, and as to why my health was poor. From childhood to early adulthood, my grandparents were non-supporters of agricultural reform and modern medicine. So they crafted a homemade dessert that was both, a snack, and a homemade healthy regimen.

After continuous trying, the treatment was successful; the probiotics stimulated healthy bacteria that repaired my stomach lining. My health began inclining. I was eventually discharged from the hospital and went back to mi casa. I ate my first bulky dinner, garlic bread with Fettuccine Alfredo Pasta. After dinner, I made my grandparents’ Moon-pie Sonata. This time, I added the missing ingredient, a probiotic —which replicated the exact flavor of my grandparent’s Moon-pie Sonata that gave it its distinct amber glow like molten lava.

My grandparents always told me “never go along with history. Reinvent and add to history and let your contributions to history be a mystery. Because if you fail to do so, your originality will be compromised, and you will never be the epitome. Those who add to your history will receive an instinctual calling specifically —as they will add to the content of your original contributions mixed with their own eccentricity.”

With that said, this time around I added my own twist to the Moon-pie Sonata. Just like Bruce Lee took the best parts from the many martial arts he studied later crafting his own art Jeet Kune Do, I transformed the art of my grandparents’ Moon-pie Sonata mixing it with various things like Krav Maga—by incorporating the best parts of all the worlds famous desserts; I made the Moon-pie Sonata an extraordinary extravaganza. I even made an antioxidant, probiotic, alcohol version of it for those who wanted to get inebriated—mixing it with either Tequila Sunrise or Pina—Colada.

One night, I shared it with all my friends who came over for dinner. Nothing was as stellar as my version of the Moon-pie Sonata. While my friends enjoys multiple servings of the beverage, I sat at my keyboard piano playing Moonlight Sonata, with a tempo that increased in increments—mixing it with stringed instruments. I played the resonating melody that is somber, adding the diminished fifth —giving it a sound that is all inclusive of dark, beautiful, heavenly, and dissonant. I’m am glad to see my friends enjoy the desserts’ brilliance. Their sunken eyes, and delighted faces, proved my grandparents dessert was more than a an edible dessert. The tranquil taste births a melodious euphoric vibe that solidifies, its imperishable resilience.