Seven days to 30: Honeycomb.

I overthink everything. There’s no point telling me not to; it’s not a conscious choice, and as far as compulsions go, my tendency to overthink things really hurts no one but myself. So when I tell you that I’m turning 30 in a week and I’ve been giving a lot of thought to things I’ve accomplished and seen and the things I’ve yet to accomplish and see, I don’t mean that it’s passed idly through my brain. I mean that there are lists (currently only two of them, although with one week left to go there may be 17 by the time I’m 30). One of these lists (30 things that make turning 30 OK)  is going on the website the day I turn 30, and the other (40 things I want to do before 40)  is going on the website the day after I turn 30.

Still, I’m impatient, and having that list of stuff I want to do sitting on my desktop for several weeks made me anxious to cross stuff off the list. So I did. While I was grocery shopping two nights ago I remembered the stack of honeycombs I always eye longingly when grocery shopping. I’ve always wanted to bite into a honeycomb, although I’m not sure I really understand why. To a certain extent, the process by which bees produce honeycombs is just so absurdly incredible. Also, there’s a pretty epic scene in Northern Exposure when Chris, the eloquent ex con radio DJ, has this bizarre fantasy about a priest at a monastery involving bee stings and honey. Lastly, the idea of biting into a honeycomb felt like a variation of eating a raw vegetable rather than waiting for it to be processed and canned. And I’m sure as hell not going anywhere near a raw vegetable, so honey it is.

So I spent the $13.69 (the honeycombs are $19.99/ lb.) for a plastic box from Savannah Bee Co. Raw Honeycomb and took it home. I’d never really been able to justify spending that much money on food because I simply wanted to try it, but when I realized how excited I was about the idea of it, I felt kind of stupid for putting it off for so long. I’ve spent that much money on many a stupider thing. Plus, it made me feel like that was one more thing I’d done before I turned 30, even if it only was taking a bite of something different. Colin was on hand to document the first bite. And then, after I washed the honey off my hands, I took over the camera and photographed him taking his first bite of a honeycomb.

It’s difficult to describe the flavor and texture–thick and raw, but still honey, and of course, with the challenge of eating around the wax, which is a lot of fun to bite into but not all that much fun to spit out when you’re balancing a giant honeycomb in your hands.

The lesson? Go out and buy a honeycomb and bite into it, if you haven’t already. It’s not really like anything else I’ve ever eaten. Or, if not the honeycomb, if you’ve got something you’ve been wanting to do or try and it’s well within your means but you’ve been putting it off for some reason, go do it. If anything, it will make you more eager to do and see more. And it’s nice to have that satisfying little surge of accomplishment, even if it only is because you bit into a honeycomb.


I spent a good half hour just poking at the honeycomb, marveling at how cool it looks.


Easing in with just a little taste.


First bite.


I look absolutely demented when I smile. Like, really smile.


Colin takes a turn. Apparently honeycombs and beards don’t pair all that well.





  1. One of the best things about bees. I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into a comb after my first harvest …

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