I missed the Fluff festival held in Somerville, home to the sugary white substance, but perhaps it’s not too late to celebrate with a post commemorating the 90th anniversary of Marshmallow Fluff. No one I know likes the stuff, but I have a soft spot—a soft, sticky spot—for the stuff, not because I enjoyed peanut butter and Fluff sandwiches like my entire elementary school class, but because my mom used to beat it into a marshmallow substance (just add water!) that we put on sundaes. To this day, I forego whip cream and insist on marshmallow topping because I love the way it oozes off the glass dish, mingling with the hot fudge.
The celebration did get me to thinking though, what if the giant Fluff holding tank were to burst? Would it be the Great Molasses Flood of 1919 all over again? Incidentally, could we just pause here to consider a flood of molasses. When the giant tank burst, it left the North End streets covered in two to three feet of the sweetener. What?? Twenty-one people were killed by molasses. Could Somerville ever recover from streets running white and wild with the sweet glue? Apparently, it took 87,000 man hours to clean up the mess last century, but if the Fluff factory explodes, I’m willing to go out there with a giant spoon.