Childhood memories have a condensed milk sweetness to them. Mine do at least. Everything was fresher, brighter, more worth experiencing as a child. Adult memories have a tartness to them, the sweetness greatly mellowed (oh the empty sugar calories!!!). Perhaps they’re tart from knowing you can no longer come home from that park with the impossibly long swings, dust covered, wild haired, a little out of breath, to find that perfect combination of condensed milk, key limes, eggs, and Mom. I can’t eat a pie that sweet anymore. My teeth ache from it, and somehow it just isn’t as good as the one my mother made. Same recipe, different results. And the adult version, well, it is tart, with just a hint of sweetness.