There’s something about Kit Kat’s that makes them the perfect candy. The combination of chocolate and wafer. The fact that they break apart and you have two mini servings. It may be that one mini Kit Kat never feels like enough, but the cravings don’t kick in until you’re presented with a bag at the supermarket.

You stand in the aisle— eye to eye with those damn black and red bags. You’re jostled by tourists searching for low-quality biscuits and top ramen. Maybe they aren’t, but you’re deliberating because before buying matcha-flavored Kit Kat’s for your friend’s girlfriend back in America, this Kit Kat thing wasn’t a problem.

Buying a small bag once or twice a month is hardly a problem. But this comes from the guy who hasn’t religiously consumed sweets since childhood. So much so, that you’d shed your moniker “Candy ____.” Your sibling coined it, and others ran with it. It described my propensity for sweets and my ineffable quality of luck. It used to drive my middle sibling wild when people would give me things for free. There is no rhyme or reason, just another cosmic instance of the youngest child hitting the jackpot once again.

I’m sure you’re thinking, Hamjackal (or maybe even HJ), wasn’t this originally some inane rambling about Kit Kat’s and their position in the pantheon of sweets? And you’d be right to ask that. Because yes, it was. But now, I’m meandering through memories of formative palette-forming experiences.

When I was around five, I received a toy model semi-truck for my birthday. The truck in and of itself didn’t align with my fancy of 1970s AMC High Boys and the 1950s Chevrolets, but it possessed a functional trailer packed full of peppermints. This gift came from a cousin that I admittedly can’t fucking stand. But credit where credit is due, she knocked it out of the park. I’m sure the peppermints were a last-minute addition— and honestly, kind of a choking hazard when considering I was still pre-elementary school. But it did form my enduring love of peppermint.

This newfound love of peppermint crossed seasons and forms. I’d scour the tree at Christmas for all the candy canes. Peppermint paddies weren’t safe within five hundred yards. Neither were Junior Mints (although I tried to carefully measure those out since my dad was protective of his supply). The worst of all is mint gum. I was once told in a wildly uncouth party game that if I had an essence, it would consist of sweat, mint gum, and soccer. Now, at the time, I wasn’t too keen on the sweat remark but had to admit that showing up to all my college classes with a light sheen of perspiration on my brow following whatever shenanigans I’d been doing before didn’t help.

For the record, I’d argue that I’d also smell like Old Spice (original or endurance) and rosemary (due to my penchant for always snagging a sprig and crushing it in my palms whenever I pass a bush). My point is that we all have scents or flavors that define how we’ve passed through life up to this point.

How many people ask themselves these questions— “What scents would define you?” Dear reader, could you answer that question?

What about how you walk? Your stride. Or the way you stand?

I know, I know, this is venturing far away from the point of Kit Kats and their place in the hall of great snacks. But I think we’re not as far as you’d think. I believe this entire scribble scrabble is centered around the acquisition of taste, personal notable tastes, and how it shapes your image.

There’s an aspect to art in all of this. We make choices as we craft meals— as we discern our palettes. We imagine these things to be mundane, but considering the history and effort behind almost all of it (indeed, history turns into a rabbit hole once you start pursuing spices and sweets), you must admit it’s anything but. There’s nothing ordinary in constructing a Kit Kat when viewed from a slightly larger perspective of time. Cocoa, industrial production, plastics manufacturing— the entire world and its history can be tied to a single snack. And even if you break it down the middle to create those wonderfully delicious left and right sides— it doesn’t matter. Because even after you’ve pondered all the history and serendipity—The vastness of it all hidden within a candy bar.

You’ll just want another god damn Kit Kat.