That's a mouthful. And so are these classic candies. Queen Anne Dark Chocolate Peppermint Cordials are what the hilarious female, bee hived hair in rollers, watching her stories, would eat in a sitcom. Or a fifties screwball comedy.
The two tiers of ten cordials are filled with drippy fondant and red syrup wrapped in dark chocolate. It doesn't really matter if they taste of plastic and cardboard, and who cares how old they are, you can keep a box in your bomb shelter, and they'll taste the same as they did the day you got them.
The piquant cordials lock in a taste which sticks to your teeth long after you've come to your senses and pushed them aside.
Fools, you can't just close the flap on a box of Queen Anne's Cordial Cherries and be done with it. The creamy sweet filling clings to you like a living thing. They call to you in the night. You'll think how well one or two would go with a glass of skim milk.
"It's skim milk," you'll tell yourself. "There's even milk in the ingredients and peppermint will help with my indigestion (indigestion from eating half a box of cordials)."
The cherry cream is harder to scrape off than a bad boyfriend. You can't wash him off, he's everywhere. Drinking your beer, eating your leftover Uno's Pizza, never filling the ice cube trays...I mean the peppermint cordial cherries (shouldn't that be cherry cordials?) which have oozed onto a copy of my tenant's rights, stick to everything. I've washed my hands twice in the last 15 minutes, and I think there's a kind of Lady Macbeth thing going on with this candy.
You'll have to excuse me, I need a minute to, uh, wash up, yes, wash up and go to bed.
[Evil laugh muffled by the sound of chocolates being stuffed into mouth ends Act V Scene 1.]
WARNING: Apparently the note "REAL CHERRIES—may contain pits or pit fragments" isn't as funny as I thought. These things are getting more sinister by the minute.