Snapshot Rice Krispies used for ‘national’ treat

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The United States Rice Krispies Treat. Using a Milton Bradley cardboard map puzzle, cereal and foam poster board (as an election platform), marshmallow goop literally becomes the political glue currently holding our country together. | Photo courtesy Kar

Updated: October 26, 2011 1:55AM

Every June, my face is on the floor stuck to carpet as I maneuver a long-handled duster to retrieve one of many dust-carpeted Milton Bradley cardboard map puzzles which I buy in bulk.

The 1990s Milton Bradley puzzles work best. The states are laminated on both sides — perfect to deflect marshmallow goop.

Puzzled? Stick with me.

Each puzzle averages $3.99 plus tax or shipping. Add in white foam board, two boxes of Rice Krispies and bags of large marshmallows — I’ve already spent $25. This doesn’t include sparkly garland and the handheld flag which garnish my United States Rice Krispies Treat.

Each May our family looks forward to an invitation to an awesome June pre-Independence Day celebration. I mapquest (Mapquest is now a verb, right?) the address of our hosts, Ginny and Larry Yasdick. I tape their “House of Yaz” address on the foam board where Canada should be. Our Lake County friends, Ginny, a Northbrook native, and Larry, everyone’s favorite guy — love the personal touch. 

I literally put people on the map.

The morning of Ginny and Larry’s party, I add extra marshmallows at the request of my sister-in-law Courtney, using margarine (best for crowds with dairy allergies and hot weather, butter for my indoors family). Big marshmallows contain less starch, making better glue to galvanize my country. A political lesson here?

“The Rice Krispies Treat Map puzzle has nationwide appeal and tastes great especially when it’s extra gooey,” says Courtney Luc, also of Lake County. A compliment from Aunt Courtney means something. Her refined palate has sampled three-star Michelin-rated cuisine worldwide.

With this much family pressure I must work fast before the recipe hardens. I look forward to the crowning glory: Old Glory. I pledge allegiance to the flag by patriotically inserting it over Gurnee, Northbrook, Chicago, DuPage County, your choice. The same spot by Lake Michigan works for Chicagoland parties.

When founding my country like George Washington, but with no legal building permit, I never have enough goop for our country’s coastline. Grafting surgically saves the Florida Keys .

South Carolina’s low country is named correctly. The Big Apple falls off. I rob Peter to pay Paul, stealing Hollywood and her California hill to rescue the East Coast. FEMA, The Terminator and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers would faint.

Then I divide my country. Poor Abraham Lincoln who worked so hard to get us all back together on the same foam board page.

My arm trembles while slicing down the murky Mississippi River south into my pretend Gulf of Mexico. I gotta hand it to Huckleberry Finn and his buddy Jim, that’s one viscous ride.

Try cutting the Oklahoma panhandle with a paring knife, no offense to policymakers before 1939, but talk about shoehorning in retrofitted rural planning. I urge party guests to (pretty please) not tear off the panhandle’s three counties, that’s just downright disrespectful to displaced Oklahoma homesteaders championed by author John Steinbeck in The Grapes of Wrath. 

My sweet tooth is guaranteed nearly 50 servings if I quickset 50 states plus Puerto Rico, right? Thank you U.S. Constitution! But Connecticut, Massachusetts and Rhode Island all share tiny cardboard real estate, perfect for dieters and some Democrats.

When my United States Rice Krispies Treat is unveiled, landlubbers disguised as kindergartners emerge. Party-pleasers politely spar over California and Texas but most dive guilt-free for Florida. Texas is the biggest piece, bigger than Alaska . 

See how cereal seriously teaches geography?

Cool Hawaii is lava hot. All ages debate over Illinois like they’re Stephen Douglas. But hey, it’s my Land of Lincoln – this ain’t Monopoly.  

I have one universal, friendly, politically correct reminder written in black Sharpie marker: “Pick your state, keep your state.”

The next day, I find puzzle states in my children’s dirty clothes. Already awful at doing laundry, I’ve flooded popular Minnesota, making it truly the Land of 10,000 Lakes. No chance of Illinois getting mildew with mom of six me forgetting color-safe bleach (oops, my colors are now foamboard whites).       

Good thing cardboard Wisconsin left its unfair share of Zebra mussels in Lake Michigan , so no domestic infestation clogging this residential plumbing. Chicagoland is much too close for comfort to downstate’s New Madrid Fault, but I worry more my soggy Midwest is no match for Tide detergent.

I hope I am not fingered for OxiCleaning our glacial topography.

Enough incriminating fingerprints have been made by my sticky fingers. Maybe I should snag those dust bunnies I keep avoiding. But that’s a sticky subject for an election day. 

So I’ll state it right here. I’d rather spend my sweet time chewing on the North Shore and more.