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Harry and David made its name with business gift-giving, but the main principle of business gift-giving — to impress — easily applies to civilian gift-giving, too. Harry and David, whoever they are, understand that, 1) People want to pay a respectable amount of money on gifts for their clients/family/friends, and, 2) It doesn't matter what they're spending the money on, there just has to be a lot of it. Accordingly, the food in the Harry and David catalog is described in terms of heft and height. Which brings us to The Tower of Treats. A much-imitated Harry and David creation, The Tower of Treats is an enormous multi-box gift, each box containing a different delectable, like pears, chocolate truffles, cashews, smoked salmon, baklava and bricks of cheese, stacked one upon the other and held together by yards of ribbon. How much Tower do you need? Depends on how much you need to spend. There's the Chocolate Lover's Tower ("Five boxes of bliss"), the Deluxe Tower of Treats ("seven irresistible gift boxes"), the Grand Tower of Treats ("nine generous boxes of epicurean taste and enjoyment"), the Ultimate Tower ("Our tallest and tastiest: Eleven gourmet surprises!") and, at the top of the Harry and David food chain, the Gourmet Extravaganza, a treat-laden 32-inch high, two-tiered wicker magazine rack — essentially, furniture stuffed with food. Of the Gourmet Extravaganza, Harry and David boast, "We are not aware of an assortment more impressive than this." For those who prefer girth over height, there's the Grand Fruit Basket ("Packed full: 14 pounds of irresistible fruits and confections"), the Holiday Party Drum ("You could spread it all out and fill a big buffet table at your next family get-together or office party") and the grande dame of the Harry and David catalog, the gift box of buttery Royal Riviera pears: "At nearly a pound apiece, they're the most astonishing luxury fruits you or your friends will ever see or taste." "Luxury fruits" — that's the phrase that sucked me in. Who doesn't crave luxury? And who doesn't like fruit? Before I knew it, I was signing up the parents for the Fruit-of-the-Month club, and lavishing seven-pound gift boxes of "sunny, sweet and mercifully seedless" Royal Grapefruit upon unsuspecting friends, who may or may not have had the space, let alone the stomach, for them. Oh, there was that little voice in my head whispering, "Hey, idiot, you've just spent $21.95 plus shipping on grapefruit." But, what the hell, it was Christmas, and besides, the mall was crowded. And, so, you become hooked. When you've exhausted the Harry and David catalog, you move on to Wolferman's catalog of fancy English muffins, scones and jellies, which serves you well until your mother gently hints that she doesn't have room in the freezer for 12 more bags of English muffins and could you maybe not send any this year. And the Crate and Barrel catalog, where you pay $15.95 for a pound of white chocolate-covered Oreos because such is the lazy and desperate shopper you have become. And The Popcorn Factory catalog, from which you send friends with kids the 3 1/2 gallon tin drum of three-way popcorn, and which they, in turn, send you the following year — as revenge, you realize, when your kid starts pounding on the empty drum with a pair of chopsticks. Why did I do it, why did I go food catalog crazy? If I really wanted to envelope far-off friends and family in the warm comfort of food, I could have lovingly baked them cookies and fruit breads with my own hands — if I was Martha freaking Stewart. The truth? It was easy and I got many tasty snacks in return. But then the guilt set in. This gross indulging in Towers of Treats, getting fat while poor children go hungry — it all started to make me queasy. I still window shop the Harry and David catalog, although most of the goodies — the Royal Riviera pears, the chocolate truffles, the cinnamon swirls as big as your head — now leave me with only a sense of, "Sent those, received that." I'm not curious or excited about any of it anymore. Well, except maybe the petits-fours. Are you a holiday catalog abuser? What's your favorite indulgence? Confess in Table Talk.