As kids, Jake was always the brave explorer. He would mash any button, thrash through any woodland trail, and test any cuisine. There was an entire summer during which Jake dragged Mom and me to the most obscure restaurants in Cartersville, Georgia in an attempt to satisfy his adventurous taste buds.

We slurped down greasy French fries and hot dogs at the Four Way Lunch, we tested spicy Louisiana crawfish at Gumbo to Go, and we nibbled on minced meat covered cardboard at Tacos and Subs. Even when my stomach turned at the sight of some of the provisions we encountered, Jake wiped his hands, clutched his fork, and usually gulped down the remainder of my meal as well. Jake had such a stomach of steel that to this day I distinctly remember the first edible encounter he just couldn’t handle.

It was just after Christmas and Jake and I crunched happily through the snow-covered sidewalk, trailing Mom and Dad. As was our ski vacation tradition, our family had braved the cold and made the trip into downtown Steamboat Springs, Colorado. Here we always marveled at the glowing holiday lights that dotted the snow-covered evergreens and purchased chocolate “avalanche” from Mom’s favorite Colorado candy shop.

Jake and me both let our jaws fall to the floor as the bells jingled on the door entering the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Shop. From floor to ceiling every square inch of wall leaked with sugar dusted gumdrops, pretzels drenched in smooth chocolate and glistening bricks of fudge.

While we frolicked through the store, admiring the delights, Dad told Jake and I we could both pick a treat to take with us on the trip back to the condo.  Before I could plunge the little red scoop into the sea of chocolate covered raisins, Jake shrieked, “WAIT!” Puzzled by what could possibly cause him to halt my sugary sojourn, I craned my neck to see him staring at a display of small boxes in the corner of the store. Intrigued, I reluctantly turned my back on my favorite candy to investigate his finding.

I was nine and Jake was still eight. In our minds, receiving the remainder of our education at Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was still a very real possibility. That’s why once we laid eyes on Bertie Bott’s Every Flavored Beans, we refused to leave the candy shop without them. We raced to the cashier and carefully placed our treasures in her possession.

“You’re sure that’s what you guys want?” Mom and Dad both asked.

“Absolutely,” Jake and I responded in unison.

We teetered back outside, clutching our packages tightly against our chests. As soon as we boarded the bus, Jake and I tramped to the very last row and wedged our way between our parents, facing the open interior.  Wide-eyed, we pried the tops of our cardboard boxes open. Fingering the smooth, oblong bean, I scanned the side of the box. By the speckled pink coating I gleaned that I held “strawberry cheesecake” in my palm.

“Dirt.” Jake said aloud, also examining the side of his carton.

“Maybe we should start with some good ones and then eat a few of the weird ones when we’re warmed up?” I offered.

“Nah, are you kidding me? I eat dirt all the time!” Jake giggled as he popped the jellybean into his mouth. I stared, waiting for his gag reflex to kick in. “Deeeelicious!” he resounded, without so much as a cough.

As the ride continued, I stuck mainly to the normal, fruity flavored beans in the box, occasionally venturing out to try the “soap” or the “black pepper.” Jake however, in his usual exploratory style, easily downed the “soap” and much to my disgust, even the “vomit” and “earthworm.”

With two stops left to go, I had consumed nearly every viable jellybean in my box, but Jake was still going strong.

“What’s that one?” I asked, as he studied the seemingly harmless yellow piece of candy.

“It’s just buttered popcorn,” he replied with dismay.

“Oh! I still have one of those too. Let’s eat them together. On the count of three!” I said, fairly confident in my ability handle this flavor. “One, two, three!” And with that, we threw the sugary wads into our mouths and began to munch.

Relief washed over me. This one actually tasted pretty good! Much better than the remainder of my box, I was sure. I glanced over at Jake, seeking praise for my new flavorful conquest. But something was wrong, very wrong.

I was certain Jake must have eaten too much “grass,” because his face was starting to turn the color of our front lawn in the summer. His mouth contorted and his body squirmed. What was happening??? Had some hex or curse from the magical beans befallen him? I had to help! “JAKE!” I screamed, thrusting out my arm to support him.

If only Hermione Granger had been there I’m sure she could have whipped up a potion to stop the events that ensued, but as it stood, my sorcery experience had been restricted to waving about sticks at home in our back yard. Therefore, I was unable to do anything but watch in terror as Jake’s entire box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavored Beans made a second, half-digested appearance.

“Woho hooooo! Gnarly dude!” the two grungy snowboarders beside us yelled, half in disgust, half in grotesque amusement as they jumped away from the sickening heap Jake had projected onto the floor.

“What flavor was that???” Mom exclaimed, half laughing and half crying at the scene we had created. Jake dismally replied, knowing that his stomach had finally met its match, “Buttered popcorn.”