Mallo Cups - The Candy God Gives Out At Halloween

In case you're wondering, yes, I ate this whole package. In case you are also wondering, yes, two of the mallow cups fell on the floor. And, yes, I ate them both as well.

Don't let the name fool you. The filling of the Mallo Cup is closer to a sticky whipped cream than a genuine Marshmallow. In fact, the packaging makes no claims to marshmallowdom, referring only to a "whipped cream center." Not that it really matters what the filling is, because it looks, feels, and tastes incredible.

How incredible? If I could replace all of the fresh water on earth with Mallo Cup filling, I would do it - even if it meant the permanent extinction of all animal life. I would swim gaily in lakes of Mallo cream and ski, very slowly, down coated mountainsides while all humanity cursed my decision and progressed toward inevitable death by dehydration.

Who conceived of this diabolical chocolate cup filled with coco-nutty gooeyness? What mad super genius set their mind to the creation of confections instead of explosives and, no doubt, saved the world from their otherwise certain discovery of the neutron bomb? Was the Mallo Cup even conceived by man, or rather, as some would have us believe, was it deposited onto the earth by celestial powers beyond both our solar system and our ability to comprehend?

Take this example. Here we see a photograph of a 7,000 year old petroglyph on the wall of a cave in Val Camonica, Italy. Does it depict two ancient men? Or rather does it show two ancient astronauts from Mars bearing sweet sweet gifts? We may never know.

Actually, they're from Pennsylvania. Two brothers, Bob and Bill, confronted with the great depression decided to start making chocolate. In so doing, they stumbled upon the incredible idea of covering a marshmallow in chocolate and putting the whole thing in a little piece of paper. Which is to say they invented the chocolate cup. But unlike many of the tasteless hacks who later rode on their shoulders all the way to the bank, Bill and Bob Boyer filled their chocolate with a sticky-mallo-creme more delectable than the sap of Laurelin.

Later, in 1969, presumably having become the two richest men in the world, the Boyer's decided to move to their heretofore undisclosed Moon villa* and sold their company to American Maize, a company which, the Boyer's Wikipedia article proudly proclaims, "specializes in the manufacturing of corn." Safe bet American Maize Products came to regret this purchase as rather foolhardy and very different from corn in a great many ways. So it probably came as a surprise to nobody when, in 1984, Boyer was again sold to a rich entrepreneur, Anthony Forgione.

Whoever Mr. Forgione is, no one can deny he is a man of great vision and genius. Slowly but surely he has brought the Mallo Cup from the brink of extinction back into the national spotlight. Although, to be fair, these things sell themselves. They're the heroin of the candy world. Sweet milk chocolate, housing a succulent center of pristinely white, viscose vanilla cream. Little pieces of coconut are interspersed inside and linger on the tongue alongside the taste of butter and the joy of a million children.

To put it simply, Mallo cups are the ideal candy experience. They are to candy as alien progenitors are to the human race - something pure and otherworldly which spawned a host of mere replicas, imperfect and striving tirelessly to return to grace. This isn't to say I endorse the Paleocontact Hypothesis or anything. All I'm saying is if an alien race landed on earth in the distant past and birthed the human race, there were probably Mallo Cups on-board their space ship.

*Where, with the assistance of proprietary technology of their own devising, they currently reside as functional immortals. Look for my new biography "Brothers. Forever. On The Moon." in bookstores soon.