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I don't come across marzipan often, and even then it's almost always doled out in disappointingly tiny morsels-- hidden inside a fancy piece of chocolate or layered super-thin over the top of a cake. These little, impure tastes keep me going, but I live in wait for pure marzipan, alone, sans chocolate, maybe not even molded and dyed into tiny fruit shapes. It's an addiction I share with my dad, and I figure I can blame him for it, since he had it first. He loves to explain it to people who don't know what it is (and to people who do)-- how you mix a pound of sugar into a pound of almond paste, with just a little water in there to stick things together-- and to reminisce about the day he got to eat all the little marzipan fruits he wanted. I've heard about it so much, and for so long, that I can't remember the first time I ate marzipan. It's always been so firmly established in my head that marzipan was the food of choice under any circumstance that, when I finally actually tasted it, not much changed.