RIVER CITY JOURNAL: PSST! WANNA KNOW WHERE TO GET A PERFECT PRALINE?

A while back, epicurean epistolist Tom Harte, who writes mouth-watering food columns for this very newspaper, elaborated on pralines.

Maybe there are some other praline addicts out there, but I haven't met them yet. If we could get three or four of us together, we could start a self-help group. To my way of thinking, any help I can get finding the right praline is worth going to meetings.

Like so many vices, praline addiction usually sets in at an early age. That's what happened to me. I was a whole lot younger then. What the heck. These days some Supreme Court justices look like kids to me.

There really aren't any warning signs of praline addiction. You take a bite of what looks like a fairly innocent lump of pecan-filled confection, and the next thing you know you're stark craving mad.

Take my word for it.

Most of the praline recipes in Tom's column looked absolutely scrumptious, but none of them seemed to come up to the standard of what I'll call the Perfect Praline.

I got hooked on the Perfect Praline when we lived in Dallas. Being a naive fellow from Missouri, I wasn't prepared for the wily ways of praline pushers in Big D.

To look at the woman behind the cash register at the El Felix Mexican Restaurant, there was, I swear, no way to tell she was dealing pralines.

My wife and I fell under the spell of Tex-Mex while we lived in Dallas, and, in our opinion, El Felix was the Chez Deluxe of refried beans and other goodies -- including handmade tortillas slapped into shape by the nicest Mexican grandma right there in the middle of the restaurant.

On the way out of El Felix on our first visit -- after a feast of Mex-Tex staples which just might have left me in some kind of stupor -- I stopped at the cash register to pay the bill. As she handed me some change, the woman behind the counter smiled and said, "Wouldn't you like to try one of our pralines?" If I'm not mistaken, her eyelashes fluttered a little when she looked at me.

Now, I ask you. Would you have said no? I was brought up to mind my manners, and this woman was perfectly polite, which meant as a Missourian I owed it to her to be polite too.

That's the simple truth.

And that's how I got my first taste of the Perfect Praline.

I just got finished telling you that El Felix was a great restaurant because it had really good Mex-Tex food. But, upon reflection, I should also tell you that everyone left El Felix with a Perfect Praline sometimes three or four, if they really needed a fix.

The only way I know to kick the Perfect Praline habit is to move out of Texas. I can tell you there are no Perfect Pralines anywhere else. I've looked.

And looked.

You fans of Louisiana pralines and Georgia pralines and even Alabama pralines -- with peanuts, if you can imagine such a thing -- are probably stewing in your Cheerios by now or even throwing things at the cat.

I understand. People get hooked on other pralines. I know that.

But I hope you don't choke on your muffin when I tell you any praline is not a Perfect Praline. It's like the drunk who buys his cheap whiskey at a convenience store or the alcoholic who orders his favorite malt blend from a distillery in Scotland. See the difference?

If you leave Dallas and move to New York, you have to go cold turkey. When we did that very thing in the 1960s, New York had never heard of pralines of any ilk, much less Mex-Tex. There were Spanish, Cuban, Hungarian and even Icelandic restaurants everywhere. But Mex-Tex? You might as well have been from Yonkers.

Over the years, I've searched for the Perfect Praline. I put out the word to some nickel-and-dime dealers in confectionery contraband. No luck.

Then I saw Tom's column.

Here, I said to myself, is someone with connections.

So I sent a long, whiny e-mail to Tom and basically told him to find me a Perfect Praline or start thinking about a do-it-yourself column on plumbing tips. I was pretty blunt.

The very same day I sent that e-mail, Tom told me he was on his way to Texas.

To be frank, I had no idea I had that kind of clout.

It felt good.

I'll be darned if Tom didn't show up at my office several days later with a huge praline from Grandma & Grandpa Goodies in La Marque, Texas. I was skeptical at first. I couldn't find anything on the label about El Felix.

Then I took a bite.

When Moses and his bunch were looking for the exit sign in the wilderness, God sent manna from heaven. I happen to know that "manna" is the Hebrew word for praline. Look it up yourself. But I had no idea God outsourced his manna to a factory in a place called La Marque, Texas. Who would've figured?

I asked Tom if he had tasted one of the La Marque pralines himself. Yes, he said -- and several other varieties too.

That's the only thing I really regret about all this.

I never intended to turn Tom into a praline addict.

Honest.

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.