Now I'm not warning you to stay away, or to serendipitously close or put your hands over your eyes when you gaze into the time travels of "Sand Tart" peaks and valleys as it goes through the portals from the dough being made, it being rolled out, egg washed and sprinkled with a sugar and cinnamon mix, baked, cooled and transformed into bagged product ready to be delivered by elves to the customary victims of chance, but whatever you tend to get all over yourself will certainly have been by choice.
This is a yearly endeavor put into what I usually call my industrial sized brain matter by my dear departed Mother. Even is she wasn't feeding us these Jewels of the Nile while we were growing up and handing them out to the neighborhood kids so she knew where her kids were, but after we made the leap of faith into our own silly dilly dallying daily lives, allowing her to enjoy an empty nest sort of feeling, she kindly sent once a year these gorgeous creatures either in a coffee tin or old shoe box, as if she was the second coming of the lady who lived in a shoe, to our humble abodes scattered across the continental United States as any coalition of Military Brats would have the tendency to do.
Since there is a visual I won't waste anymore of your time, detailing or explaining the course of Sand Tart events, but only state that whatever mindset you encounter the rest of the day, your mouth, your taste buds and your brain are only going to linger in a cerebral labyrinth wishing you were here, but realizing you are rather there and in no proximity to produce the party in your mouth that these babies do. Until then, I bid you a fond farewell, and a gracious and motivating holiday season with friends, neighbors, family and co-workers.....Steven
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