One of the culture differences Paul and I regularly run across is food. This has made for some interesting conversations, and sometimes even debates over things like whether something is a ‘biscuit’ or a ‘cookie’. Being a southern girl to the core I know darn well what a biscuit is, and that the only acceptable way to eat one is with either homemade sausage gravy, or smothered in butter and jelly.

Those flat, skinny things he pulls out of a packet, often with one side of them covered in chocolate? Most definitely not a biscuit.

Culinary semantics aside, we also have pretty regular moments of “Omg, you’ve never had <insert food here>??? How could you not have had that???” Before Paul came over in December, I learned to my complete and utter dismay that he’d never tried a Twinkie.

Seriously dude? For real?

Twinkies are such an ingrained childhood thing here that we can’t imagine a life without them, even when we generally don’t eat them anymore as adults. Remember the great Twinkie Hunt Woody Harrelson’s character was on in ‘Zombieland’? Let’s just say I have no doubt whatsoever that should the world be taken over by flesh-eating freaks, someone somewhere will be stockpiling Twinkies.

Clearly the deficiency of Hostess goodness in his life had to be resolved when he came for his next visit.

Paul flew in on the 2nd of December, and on the 5th we went shopping for supplies for the housewarming party on the 6th. We got the necessary bits and pieces, and picked up a box of Twinkies, which I told him we had to wait to open, because our friend Heather had been so shocked at his Twinkie virginity that I told her she would be there when he tried them, and Paul said I made the whole thing sound like a threesome. Considering the semi-orgasmic taste experience of a Twinkie, I couldn’t really disagree.

That night with everyone over and someone recording on their iPhone, Paul got his first taste of a Twinkie. His reaction? See for yourself..