Tariff Time

If you were going to schedule a trip in three months, you might say that you would do it in a "quarter." It's simple math, since three months is 25% of the twelve that make up a year. But it seems we have a new option. As part of President Trump's on again/off again trade reset, he has raised tariffs, lowered them, paused them, then done it all again multiple times with multiple players. And regardless of the amount, the direction or the target, the unit of time he seems to have settled on for each is 90 days. And so let me in this space be the very first to suggest we name this unit of time after the events that inspired it, and call a floating 90-day period a "tariff."

I can do this because English is built for hacking, unlike a language such as French. Since 1635 the Académie française has served as its gatekeeper, not allowing foreign phrases to infiltrate the sanctity of the French tongue. And so while a modern term such as "hotline" might be readily absorbed and used, the Academy mandates that (at least officially) the term of choice should be "numéro d'urgence."

Not so here. As captured in a standout "Saturday Night Live" sketch, Nate Bargatze as General George Washington told his troops why they were fighting: "We will live through the battle ahead because we fight to control our own destiny, to create our own nation, and to do our own thing with the English language. I dream that one day, our great nation will have a word for the number ‘twelve.' We shall call it ‘a dozen.'" A solider asks what other numbers shall have their own names. "None," he replied flatly. "Only 12 shall have its own word, because we are freemen."

So as a freeman I suggest we create the aforementioned calendar increment, something for which there is ample precedent. A textbook example: in November 2003 New York Times columnist Tom Friedman wrote, "The next six months in Iraq — which will determine the prospects for democracy-building there — are the most important six months in U.S. foreign policy in a long, long time." Friedman would go on to make variations of the same statement some 14 times over the next two and a half years. As such, that time period – "the next 6 months" – got to be known in certain circles as a "Friedman Unit," or just simply as an "FU."  

The FU joined a long line of specialized units of measure. They span literature, science and everyday life. Some are highly specific and exact in usage and measurement, while others are a bit more elastic and can encompass multiple areas of endeavor. Often they are named for their creators, other times for the individual that inspired them, still others for the relevant reference.  And it won't take but a New York Minute to enumerate some examples.

We'll start with astronomer Carl Sagan, whose ground-breaking science show "Cosmos" included his catchphrase of "billions and billions of stars." As such, a "Sagan" is defined as a very large quantity (at least 4 billion) of anything. Then there's the "Mickey." It's not about the cartoon character, but rather the smallest unit you can move your computer mouse, either horizontally or vertically. The "Waffle House Index" indicates the severity of a hurricane, and reflects how many of the 365 day/24 hour branches of the restaurant chain have to close. Likewise the "Jimmy Griffin Snow Index" is a measurement of how deep a lake effect snow is, named for the Buffalo, NY mayor who suggested it. It is defined as the number of cans of Genesee Beer you should lay in for consumption while you are waiting to get plowed out. And the "Wiffle" is equal to a sphere 89 millimeters in diameter, and used to measure corals. Turns out marine biologists use a wiffle ball as refence in underwater photos, as it is cheap and the open design means it doesn't get crushed by the water pressure. 

And so I say that henceforth 90 days shall be known as a "tariff." Time till fall? About a tariff. How long does it take to get over a breakup? Experts say it takes a tariff. How long should your prescription for Lipitor be? Your doctor will usually give you one for a tariff. Scoff if you must, but "horsepower" had to start somewhere. 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford has been filling this space for over 4 dog years. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot and as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Sweet News

It was a week filled with big announcements. In trade there was another 90 day pause on tariffs involving China, bringing then down to 30% for them and 10% for us. In baseball Pete Rose was removed from the ineligible list and now has a chance at the Hall of Fame. In business Boeing has signed a deal to sell its largest order of planes to Qatar, estimated to be worth $96 billion. And proving that God does indeed work in mysterious ways, in religion word came from Rome that a White Sox fan has been elected pope.

If you were keeping up with all these above-the-fold developments, plus the countless other ones that affect the economy, world peace and the very structure of society, you likely missed the big news coming out of Indiana. That's because while you had eyes on the Mideast and the president's first major state visit, or Turkey and the Ukraine/Russia peace talks, or Kashmir and the cease fire between India and Pakistan, in Indianapolis there were making news with the latest developments in sugar and salt at the 2025 Sweets & Snacks Expo.

Starting in 1977 as the All Candy Expo in Chicago, the event has broadened and rebranded itself, and now has an attendance of some 15,000 industry professionals. Those buyers, journalists and reviewers wander through 1000 exhibitors to look at new products and services related to all the stuff you eat between meals. Product categories include (deep breath) chocolate, candy, gum, salty snacks, cookies, packaged cakes, biscuits, popcorn, granola bars, breakfast snacks, nutrition bars, meat snacks, fruit snacks, nuts, seeds, packaged goods, and ice cream (you can breathe again) as well as the ingredients, packaging and equipment it takes to make all those and sell them. 

Attendees wandering the aisles saw the big guns such as Hershey's (Kisses, and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups), Frito-Lay (Doritos and Cheetos) and Mars Wrigley (Snickers and Starburst). In addition, there were lots of smaller boutique manufacturers who are trying to break into the markets. Nomad Snacks had their Pad Thai Flavored Popcorn, breathROX was showing off their Popping Breath Mints in Blue Raspberry, while Snak Club was trying to make an impression with their Ramen Flavored Snack Mix. Some of the big names weren't just sitting still either: Mondelez International (the former Nabisco) was pushing Glow-In-The-Dark Sour Patch Kids candies. 

Those products and others like them reflect the key trends that emerged from the show. Top of the list is the move toward bold flavors, especially those that lean on global cuisines, such as mango habanero popcorn and Dubai-style chocolate (chocolate mixed with pistachio, tahini and knafeh pastry).  In that same vein manufacturers are creating even more flavor mashups such as shortbread cookies with strawberry boba (those are the chewy, sweet pearls made from tapioca starch that are a key ingredient in bubble tea). And there is growth in novel textures, like Jolly Rancher Freeze Dried candies. 

These are reflected in the winners of the various categories for Best In Show. Top prize went to Belle's Gourmet Popcorn and their Matcha Latte creation. In the gummy category Nerds Juicy Gummy Clusters in Strawberry Punch took the cup. The chocolate winner was Pop & Sol's Coconut Flaked White Chocolate Covered Cashews, while the novelty category was taken by Ezee Freezee's Freeze-n-Peel Strawberry Pop. And proving there are snacks beyond sugar and salt, the meat winner was Bavarian Meats Original Lil' Landjaeger Individually Wrapped Stick.

But the tease at the top of this column was about big announcements. And there was perhaps none bigger than that from Ferrero. A name well known for their eponymous Ferrero Rocher Chocolates, they also have in their portfolio Famous Amos cookies, Tic Tac mints and Butterfingers, all of which made "news" with product extensions (Famous Amos will add an oatmeal varietal, Tie-tac is partnering with Dr. Pepper, and Butterfingers will have a marshmallow version).

All of that, however, pales next to the flash from their Nutella brand. For the first time in 60 years, the iconic chocolate hazelnut spread announced a new flavor with Nutella Peanut. It was developed especially with the peanut-crazy US market in mind, where consumers gobble down 8 pounds of the legume annually in butters and candies. "We didn't want it to be another peanut butter," said Senior Direct of Marketing Seth Gonzalez. The new product "combines the distinctive creaminess of Nutella cocoa hazelnut spread with the delicious taste of roasted peanuts." As good as that sounds, you'll have to wait a bit: it's slated to be spread in spring of 2026.

As for me, I know what's really important. And so you can set the Google alert on your phone so that it goes off for an update about Diddy or Caitlin Clark or a Supreme Court ruling. Mine will only ping me when the new Reese's Peanut Butter and Jelly cup in strawberry makes an appearance. Now, that's news you can use.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford considers snacks a major food group. His column appears weekly via email and online on Blogspot and Substack as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

The Nice Price

Starting from when we are little and are busy sussing out the way the world works, we continually absorb multiple lessons. Don't grab the dog's tail. Hold on when going down the stairs. Yelling will attract attention. Messy foods are usually good. And though it's a gross generalization, moms are usually more protective, while dads are generally more silly.

We're also taught from our earliest moments that honey gets you more flies than vinegar. And so we bake politeness into our daily routine interactions to an almost instinctive degree. We learn to wait our turn and to share what we have. We listen when others are speaking and offer to help when there are things to be done.  And to a reflexive extent we start most requests with "please" while ending them with "thank you."

In general the feedback we get using these last two small innocuous phrases encourages us to repeat them again and again. They are so ingrained in our speech patterns that they even get used when they aren't really warranted: there are any number of times you say "thanks" not so much as an expression of gratitude, but rather as an acknowledgement of delivery. 

As has been pointed out many times, it takes so little effort to add those phrases with great effect. But that's for us mere humans. It turns out that it takes some extra energy for computers to do the same. That's because when you are nice to them, they have to parse and process more words to get to the meat of your request, likewise to respond in kind. And anything that takes additional computing power means it takes extra dollars.

Responding to an inquiry of X, OpenAI CEO Sam Altman said that being polite cost the company "tens of millions of dollars" in additional computing power. A flip answer or a legitimate bottom line tally? Well, estimates are that a response from ChatGPT requires about 10 times more electricity than an equivalent Google search, as well as more water required to cool the servers. How to quantify that "politeness surcharge?" One study said that a ChatGPT-4 response of 100 words requires about three bottles of water to keep the servers from melting, while adding "You are welcome" adds an additional 1.5 ounces. That doesn't sound like much until you do the math. ChatGPT handles about 1 billion queries every day, so if even just half of those treat you with respect, we're talking a backyard swimming pool over a mile long. That's a lot of polite.

On the flip side, so what if you are rude or ungracious to our AI buddies? It's not as if they are sentient and can feel the slight. (For purposes of this we won't factor in that at present they answer to us, while at some point in the future the situation might be reversed. And do we really want to be impolite to our potential overlords? But that's a discussion for another time.) In a study posted on Cornell University's arXiv research platform, researchers concluded that when talking to AI assistants "impolite prompts often result in poor performance." They note that the responses "not only reflect human behavior but are also influenced by language, particularly in different cultural contexts. Our findings highlight the need to factor in politeness for cross-cultural natural language processing." Their conclusion? "In most conditions, moderate politeness is better."

The reason they say "moderate" is that, as with people, turning flattery or insults up seems to trigger responses more loaded with gratuitous answers or snarky comebacks.  Unless you are trying to make a point, asking for help from a person by starting with "Oh wise sir, please help me" is just as bad as saying "Hey dummy." Likewise, querying ChatGPT or Microsoft's CoPilot by beginning with "All knowing machine" is just as bad as "You stupid hunk of silicon." And so sticking with the tried and true formulations that work on your neighbor might be the better way to go.

But don't take my word for it. I asked Google's Gemini just that. Its response: "It's thoughtful of you to include 'please' and 'thank you' in your requests. While I don't have feelings in the same way humans do, I recognize that these are polite conventions in human communication. Using them makes our interactions feel more natural and considerate, which I appreciate. So, in short, yes, it's a nice touch! How can I help you today?"

How indeed?

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Marc Wollin of Bedford is learning to write better prompts to his AI buddies. His column appears weekly via email and online on Blogspot and Substack as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Damaged Good

Whenever you buy something these days you are asked to pass judgment. Within days of your purchase the retailer will reach out with a series of questions: was it what you were expecting? Is it well made? Does it work as intended? The hope is that your answer will offer useful intelligence to the store and the manufacturer, not to mention other potential customers. This makes sense for a washing machine. It makes sense for a phone, a pair of shoes or a mop. But for a piece of damaged wood? Yet that's the assessment the email was asking for. And it was all because the ground had shifted. Literally.

This has nothing to do with politics. We're not talking abortion, we're not talking immigration, we're not talking Middle East policy, tariffs or DEI. We're talking dirt. After 20 plus years, our backup generator which sits on the side of the house had a pronounced tilt to it. I mean, if you really want to drag Washington into it, you could maybe perhaps possibly say that climate change had something to do with it. But just as likely it had to do with a 500-pound piece of machinery sitting on a gravel bed settling over 2 decades. So let's leave NOAA out of this one.

It wasn't a big deal, but it was noticeable. And it wasn't really a problem, as it's a pressurized device, and the oil circulates through it the same way to does through your car's engine when it's on a hill. But after talking to the techs that maintain it there were two possible issues. First, we might not get an accurate reading on the dipstick if it got too far out of true. Second, if it tipped too far, it might pull on the wires and hoses connecting it to the house. At the rate it was going it might be years (if ever) until that happened, but it seemed prudent to fix it on the next regular visit.

So when the guys finally came to do their usual scheduled maintenance, then reset it back to level. Ken suggested that it would probably be good if we reinforced the base, replacing the rotting boards in the frame and adding a few bags of gravel to stabilize it. He gave me a tip: go to Home Depot and look in the back of the lumber department. There they usually have damaged pieces of wood that they sell at a deep discount. And since this wood was going to be mostly buried and covered with rock, damaged was just fine. And so I had a project.

I went to the store, and sure enough, in the very back of the department was a 12-foot plank of pressure -treated wood that was mangled on one side. I chatted with the guy manning the floor, and he offered it to me for five bucks. He cut it to the lengths I needed, and I threw it on a cart along with a few bags of stone. I got it all home, lined up the planks around the gennie, banged a few steel stakes I had into the ground to hold them steady, and poured in the gravel. All in all, a few hours and $30 set us up for the next 20 years.

A few days later I got the follow up from Home Depot, asking me for a review of the lumber. "What features stand out the most?" Uh, the fact that it was that it was damaged. "What do you like about it? The damage. "Is there anything that would make it better?" More damage so I could get an even lower price. "How many stars would you give this product?" Since it was damaged it gets a five; had it been perfect it would have gotten a one.

In this case I'm not really sure that my review would help anyone. I guess I could give props to the tree that grew it, more to the poor handling that damaged it, and bonus points to the guy on the floor that marked it down to a pittance. But as to its suitability for use in a deck or fence, I'll let other more experienced carpenters weigh in.

I can't wait for them to ask me about the rocks.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford doesn't mind doing small projects around the house. His column appears weekly via email and online on Blogspot and Substack as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Mistake/Remedy

In today's world everything is binary: it's either great or it's a catastrophe, and you have to let everyone know what's what. Whether it's a rave or a pan, it gets posted as the ne plus ultra of all things, or you scream bloody murder and threaten to burn the house down. Hard to imagine, but there is another way: let the responsible party know one-to-one of the situation, and offer praise or complaint. If there is an issue, get it resolved and retreat, not to corners to do battle again, but to carry on living. It may be a throwback, but it's certainly a less confrontational way to exist. And it brings me to this story.

It starts with a restaurant in Brooklyn our son suggested as a destination for dinner, noting he had been there multiple times with good results. The atmosphere was pleasant and the service attentive. The menu was Tuscan Italian, with fresh pasta and interesting rustic dishes. We ordered some appetizers to share, selected our mains, and opened a bottle of wine.

When it came time for dessert we opted to try some of their homemade gelato. From the flavors available that night we selected two, and when the bowl came put it in the middle for all to sample. I started with the coconut stracciatella: creamy and rich with bits of coconut flecked throughout. I spun it around and dug into the lemon sage. It was tart and aromatic, but I was surprised to feel something solid: I assumed it was a piece of coconut that had crossed the line. On second bite I realized it was much, much harder. I spit it out thinking it was a piece of plastic, and indeed it was an oblong white shape about an inch long and half an inch across. But when I flipped it over, I saw that it was a complete acrylic nail with a French tip.

Needless to say, I was not happy. 

I called a passing waiter and told him to get the manager immediately. From my tone, he realized it was not a request. A young gentleman came over. I explained to him what just happened and pointed to the puddle of gelato in front of me with its centerpiece. His face froze, as horrified as I was. He apologized profusely and echoed my remarks that it was unacceptable. He grabbed a napkin from an unoccupied table and swept up the nail. Apologizing again, he immediately said he would comp our entire meal, and offered us anything else that we might like, along with the owner's email. He told us to take as much time as we liked, ask for anything we wanted, and left us alone.

We sat a bit more talking about it, then moved on to other topics. When it was time to leave, I headed to the bar where the manager was working. He saw me come over and quickly wrote down the email of the owner, handing it to me with another apology, along with a promise to find out why it happened.

The next day I wrote to the owner, explaining my version of the event. He quickly wrote back, saying he was equally distressed, and been informed almost immediately. He detailed their normal process of manufacture and serving: "Our gelato is produced in a dedicated commissary kitchen by employees in full food handler's gear (hats, aprons, gloves, closed-toed shoes, etc)." However, he noted, the best procedures can be thwarted by human error. "After talking to everyone working last night, we've determined that the fake nail belonged to our host at the door. Apparently, after staff meal, she went to scoop a small bowl for dessert. While she is trained as a server and runner, in her mind she was just scooping a little for herself, so she didn't put on gloves, and didn't notice her missing nail until later that evening. She feels absolutely terrible and wanted me to extend her sincere apologies to you for her mistake."

He apologized again. "Being in this business for over 24 years, I know that mistakes will always happen. It's how we learn from them, and how we deal with them, that defines true hospitality. I'm happy that you were having a good experience until this, and equally happy our manager reacted quickly and gracefully." He offered us an additional gift certificate, as well as a direct line to him to arrange a reservation at any of their three restaurants if we were willing to give them another chance.

As my wife pointed out, we ate in several restaurants last week, and even with the nail, this was the best. Do we wish it hadn't happened? Of course. But the whole situation can also be seen as a model of conflict resolution. We talked to each other as opposed to an audience, and not with a goal of adding points to some imaginary scorecard. The bottom line: we will go back again, and yes, order the gelato. 

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Marc Wollin of Bedford enjoys trying new places for dinner. His column appears weekly via email and online on Blogspot and Substack as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.