Karl Klockars

Continuing the theme of All Pumpkin All the Time, it’s time I did a month-end rundown documenting my pumpkin addiction. In my quest to ingest as much seasonal pumpkinny goodness as possible, I have reached my own personal LD50 for cinnamon, nutmeg, and other such autumnal spices.

I estimate my intake at somewhere around a few ounces of pumpkin per day. It all started so innocently – a Pumpkin Spice Latte here and there. I didn’t think it would turn into a habit. But here I am, as the leaves wither and die around me, sucking down pumpkin like it’s going out of style. Even enough to demand two – count them, two – screeds of blithering about pumpkin in one month. Including this one, that is.

What could Your Narrator manage to find by way of pumpkin eatin’s?

Starbucks: It Begins Here

This is where it all began. I used to be violently anti-Starbucks when in my early 20s or so. Why would you spend $4 on a cup of coffee when a $.95 cup of gas station mud does the same thing? One would only want to caffinate themselves with this swill, right? No one actually likes coffee, do they?

Only when a girlfriend got a job making lattes for book purchasers at a Barnes & Noble in the suburbs did I start to enter into the world of fancypants coffee. Access to free coffee on demand affects me more than my disapproval of Planet Starbucks. And once that door has cracked open a peek, it often gets kicked wide open by the jackbooted thugs of coffee bliss.

Somewhere along the line someone bought me a Pumpkin Spice Latte. Goddamn them. This is all your fault. Not so much gourd as it is nutmeg and cinnamon and such, but who cares. It’s good. As someone who can appreciate the creation of such a beast, I like to watch them pump…pump…pump in that factory mixed spiced goo. Sexy back indeed.

I don’t know why the simple addition of a crappy syrup made for this unbearable need to consume anything with a round orange graphic on it. Could be worse, I suppose. But then, eggnog latte season is coming up, and peppermint as well. It’s going to get messy.

Trader Joe’s: Not Just For Cheap Wine Anymore

Shopping through the granola-crunchy hippie-dippie aisles of TJ’s, I usually wander around trying to find something that doesn’t have flax seed or hummus in it. Then I end up buying some shit wine for the same price as a 40oz. Colt 45. Huzzah for budget alcoholism! On my way to check out with the multiply-pierced too-cheery shopgirl I spotted a box. An earth-toned box, of course.

Specialty Trader Joe’s (who is this Joe? What does he trade?) Pumpkin Bread Mix. This stuff could have been pure lead shavings and sawdust for all I care – I was gonna make some pumpkin bread, godblessit. Two eggs? Check. Quarter-cup of vegetable oil? Check. Desire for moist, sweet, pumpkinny bread? Check and check plus.

This might have been my best pumpkin experience, and if I were smarter I’d save this for the end to finish this blithering off on a high note. As it is, I think chronologically and we’re all the worse for it. I apologize to English teachers across the land. You have failed me – strike that, I’ve failed myself.

Suffice to say, there was pumpkin goodness at the break of each day for the next few mornings. I spent the afternoon breaking out the rarely-used KitchenAid for the mixing, just for the sake of using it. Wedding presents are awesome, and look great on my counter. After the bread was baked, I set it on the counter. Then I drank beer and fell asleep.

When I awoke, there was a cakestand cover on my bread, saving its moisture and sweet sticky pumpkin goodness from drying out. I have a lovely and thoughtful wife. In the parlance of addiction, she’s now a pumpkin enabler. Thanks, sweets! Verdict: Pumpkin power!

Southern Tier Pumking: OH GOD ITS PUMPKIN

The Bears/Packers game, depending on the timing of the season, is often the first real holiday of the fall. Even though it was about 80 degrees at night during the game, and we sweat our way through all four quarters, it was the real autumn kickoff for me. I had visions of making trays of buffalo wings, hot chili con queso dip with Fritos galore, and some various other hors d’ ouvres.

Then I got lazy and hot and brought over some pita chips. Then I ate all of my host’s ridged potato chips and dip. What a jerk.

On the other hand, I did pick up a huge bomber of pumpkin beer that was my hands-down favorite from the Delilah’s tasting I stopped in at. I would have had the full bottle there, if the beerdork to my left (HI MY NAME IS STEVE he intoned at me when I sat down) would have been able to stop spitting on everything while trying to order his beer samples. Standard social cues were lost on this guy and I was embarrassed sitting next to him.

During the 1st quarter of play, I popped the top of my Pumking and HOLY LORD ITS PUMPKIN. I put my nose over the mouth of the bottle and snorted – a fistful of pumpkin meat punched me full in the septum and called my mother foul names. I passed it to my left to allow my gracious host a sniff. He’s on his way to making a full recovery, but still can’t remember his shoe size or his blood type.

This is a pumpkin beer that does not suffer fools. This will pumpkin you up and leave you begging for mercy. All the bland little sissy beers bow down in awe of the Pumking. If you leave it alone in a room with your girlfriend you will be single by the time you return with the popcorn. It’s potent. Run- do not walk – to get it before it’s gone for the year.

22 ounces later I was out of Pumking but it wasn’t out of me. I can still literally taste it. And when I say “literally” I don’t mean it in the idiot use of it as in “My head literally exploded.” No, it didn’t. But I can still taste it. It’s moved in and squatting on my tongue. I’ve posted an eviction notice but I think I’m going to have to get nasty.

All the Rest: Coffee Knockoffs, Donuts, Muffins and More.

The desire to experiment led me to Dunkin Donuts one cold morning. I have rules for pumpkin coffee – it can’t be over 68 degrees in the AM while ordering. Warm air during pumpkin consumption ruins the whole deal. The morning in question was hovering at the 60-degree level, which makes my heart cry out for coffee.

I didn’t feel like throwing down for the Starbucks version so I slummed it. And let the record show that in no way did Rachael Ray’s endorsement have anything to do with my decision to stop by. I swear. Cross my heart. In any event, it was bad. Bland. Boring. Yawn. Pumpkin donuts at the cider mill? Hell yes. Pumpkin pancakes? The quest continues. I will have you. Month ain’t over yet. I have run out of words about pumpkin. Fin.