this proustian moment brought to you by world market

Y's family is relatively exotic. There are weekly phone calls to family members in other countries, in foreign languages. A charming aunt lives in a flat in Europe, just waiting for a visit from her American great-nephew. At holidays his parents bake traditional foods that, growing up, I didn't know existed. (like sufganyot at Chanukah. Why would America deprive its Jews of jelly donuts?)

I'm boring in comparison. My Russian grandmother did pass on her  delicious kugel recipe,  but let's face it: kugel is old news to any Jew who's ever been to a synagogue luncheon.

While shopping at World Market the other day I found my answer to his family's homemade jelly donuts and schnitzel. 

My eyes met that package of sprinkles and I swear I heard cheesy romantic music. In the middle of World Market, the rush of memories nearly knocked me over: the crunch of sprinkles on top of toast and the perfect combination of chocolate and butter. 

Because it turns out that I do have one exotic connection, a magical place where parents feed their children toast with chocolate sprinkles on top for breakfast. I don't remember much from the three years my family spent in Holland, but oh how I remember hagelslag. 

Or as I described it to Y when I got home, chocolate sprinkle toast. 

He approved. Is it possible not to approve? 

And in the game of exotic childhood treats that he didn't know we were playing until this post, I like to think I win.  Chocolate sprinkles for breakfast every morning > jelly donuts once a year.