The Candied Life

Candy Teeth

2011-05-18T12:28:00.000-07:00

I got the candy teeth today, readers. You know, the "tenderness" in the teeth after a night of particularly involved candy consumption?

Yeah, I went Haribos, Sour Patch and SweeTarts. Those who truly eat candy know that Haribos' tough waxy exterior alone can give you the teeth-hurt; add SweeTart crunching and the sour of the Patch Kids (also a classic hurtener, in excess), and I got me the candy teeth.

Soft dishes for dinner tonight.

Dum Dums and Mystery

2011-05-11T15:11:00.000-07:00

The Dum Dum Pop is a classic. That is not to say that it is the greatest candy of all-time, but is it a true classic. Today, in fact, while visiting family at home, I went into the bank of my childhood and got my free Dum Dum. The same has been happening for at least the last 25 years or so (since I can remember). And that's what's great about the Dum Dum-- they are small and super cheap, so places like banks and museums have no problem giving out these suckers every day they are open. Today I opted for the perplexing Mystery flavor of Dum Dum, eschewing my usual pick of root beer or lemon. By the way, before I continue, the massive variety of flavors is the other great thing about the Dum Dum. Why would I go for strawberry or any other pedestrian flavor when cotton candy or mango are in the mix? (I say that knowing full well that lemon, a standard for me, is quite common; and I say that knowing that historical flavors like buttered popcorn were nasty.)

ANYWAY, I got the mystery one today. It was colored blue, but that doesn't mean a thing. Your coloration schemes cannot fool me, Spangler Candy! You will have to do better than that. Actually, the blue coloring does seem to mean that the flavor cannot be blue raspberry or the like, as that would be too obvious; but, the first lick of the pop told me that, as well--or did it? The first taste gave me vanilla or cream. I at first kept looking at the blueness, and that held me up for a moment, but I fought through it. The problem is that there may be no one flavor one is looking for, at least according to a number of reports. Those reports say that the mystery pop is actually a mix of two flavors that results from production admixture. They argue that the mystery pop is a way to cover a potential loss due to non-pure sucker production. **I feel like that last statement implies some racial undertones, but they are not intended. Let's not bring our racial politics to the Dum Dum table, people.

While I am inclined to believe this mixed-dum-dum story-- as the marketing potential for "revealing" or holding contests to see who could identify the mystery flavor each year could be boons to the Dum Dum brand image, something the company could not do if the mystery flavor is some happy mistake--I will for the sake of this story and my sanity say that I was looking for a single unique flavor today. That said, I think what I ate was a butterscotch pop. However, having eaten a ton of butterscotch candy, and given my first impression that the pop was vanilla-y, I can see how this pop may have been a dirty hybrid pop. Maybe some cream soda in there? However, in that case, whence came the blue dye? It was a murky blue, clearly mixed with the white/cream dye, but why blue if it were a hybrid of butterscotch and cream soda? Are my taste buds so easily fooled?

All these questions vexed me for about 15 seconds, because I am a biter. I cannot sit there with so small a pop in my mouth and not crunch it very quickly. So, the mystery lasted but for a few seconds, but man what a few seconds. It took me right back to being 8 and waiting in the drive-through for the tube to bring me and Sis a sucker. Good times.

New Tootsie Pop Flavor: Banasty

2011-05-04T10:17:00.000-07:00

I have railed in the past about the horrors of artificial banana flavoring, right? If I haven't, I should have by now, cause that stuff is nasty. I know I spoke of the stupidity of meshing banana with various leper fruit flavors (kiwi-banana or banana-passion fruit) in "tropical" candy lines. But for the record, all banana-flavored candy is the worst. The worst, Jerry! The worst.

That's why I'm surprised that the Tootsie corporation has released upon the unsuspecting public a banana Tootsie Pop. Yeah, that's right: among the chocolate, cherry, grape and orange pops, there are now bright yellow-wrapped banana pops. Yuck.

Here you go: the end of the Tootsie Pop.

There are so many reasons why this is a bad idea, but chief among them is the fact that banana candy sucks. It never tastes like banana, and even if it did, why would I want that flavor in my candy? The citrus fruits are the gold standard, and all pretenders to the throne need to take a seat and let the big boys handle the business in flavor country. Sit your ass down, banana. No one wants you here.

And Tootsie, what the hell, man?

Free Gummis!

2011-03-02T08:27:00.001-08:00

A friend just gave me a bag of haribos! BOOYAH!

Valentine's Day!!

2011-01-18T11:41:00.000-08:00

I just did a quick search of this blog, and I was shocked to find no official celebration of Valentine's Day and its candies. I work to rectify that oversight here:

Valentine's Day is likely (still a little reluctant to bad-mouth other holidays) the best holiday out there with respect to candy. Perhaps this is because the holiday is so very commercial, almost certainly evolving in a boardroom somewhere, as ad execs sought to siphon off more late winter money from consumers. With an eye already to the markets and a cultural tradition of men giving chocolates to women as a sign of affection, Valentine's Day's close association with candy was a foregone conclusion from the get.

Still, faithful readers might wonder, why do I hold aloft a holiday that is so closely tied to chocolate? Haven't I argued that chocolate is best though of as 'food,' and don't I consistently trumpet the powdery, the fruity, the chewy, the gummi? Well, yes, I do, but the crucial point is this: these preferences are not mutually exclusive to this holiday.

First, as I have said at an earlier date on this blog, the SweeTart heart is the world's most perfect candy. You will remember that my love affair with SweeTarts began early in my life. The addition of the SweeTart heart was a powerful moment in my formative years, and indeed, the form continues to improve. This year, the heart has become flatter, more rounded and includes more varied and whimsical love-related expressions. The rounded, flatter shape allows for lengthier chomping sessions (as jaws and teeth are not as fatigued).

These classic, less-teeth-friendly morsels will always have a place in my heart (huh? HUH?).

In addition, the last few years have seen the SweeTart heart fold in the orange flavor one finds in the traditional SweeTart package-- a welcome reunion. Finally, the value one gets in a SweeTart hearts package is ridiculous. Until the last year or so, one could get a 7-oz bag for .99, and even now, the 1.25 cost is very reasonable. (Think of paying .79-.89 for a regular 1.8 oz roll of SweeTarts). Indeed, this candy alone makes a compelling case for Valentine's' supremacy in the holiday candy racket.

But the brilliance does not stop there! A second boon to the season comes in the form of jelly/juju hearts. Again, I have covered the greatness of jellies on this site. And, similar to SweeTart hearts, jellies are among the best candy values to be had. The jelly hearts are no exception. One often gets 10 ounces or more for .99! I say "often" because the jelly heart is difficult to nail down as a singular object. First and most notably, there are both cherry-flavored and cinnamon-flavored varieties widely available. This is a great benefit, as the cherry heart is great, and the cinnamon heart puts one in mind of the cinnamon bear, one of candy's real pleasures. Also, main-stream corporations like Brach's and Necco produce these hearts, but they are also produced in generic form by places like CVS-- this healthy competition allows for subtle variations in the form, while maintaining a relatively consistent flavor. Finally, one can find both unadorned jelly hearts and ones covered in sugar. For those (like me) who enjoy the classic chew of a plain jelly, we have plenty of choices; and for those who like a textural contrast, sugar-covered hearts exist.

These originals have that nice imperfect veneer that is so very enticing. Like Edward James Almos.

But the Valentine's candy experience is not defined alone by good values and heart-shaped goodies. There are, of course, the afore-mentioned chocolate options aplenty. The more recently produced Reese's heart is just one of the more awesome developments.

Not the item, but that this pic is on google images is kinda telling.

And let me say again for the record that I fucking love chocolate. The eating experience is different, but a good chocolate is hard to beat. Most would agree that Valentine's is most associated with the box of chocolates, a special kind of eating experience. If variety is the spice of life, then the Whitman's Sampler is the spice rack of candy. Just glad there aren't any coriander-flavored dark chocolates up in there.

Look at that. It's so classic and sleek. It makes me nostalgic for something I never experienced. Simulacra, ya'll.

I could go on and on, and I am sure I will on this blog. But it is enough to say that Valentine's is a special time of the year and should have its own Peanuts special or some shit.

Stocking Achieved!

2010-12-25T10:13:00.001-08:00

This is the actual take this year.

The tradition carries on another year! Let's keep this going till I am like 80, parents!!

Hey, Netherlands: Dit smaakt slecht

2010-12-21T10:04:00.000-08:00

My brother just got back from the Netherlands, and he brought me one of (apparently) their most popular candies. Not surprisingly, the candy is licorice-based. In my limited experience with "Old World" candies, natural flavorings are much more common that here in America. The company that produces the candy is "Oldtimers," and there are several varieties of their licorice. My brother brought me the "mildzoute" variety, which means, roughly, "mildly salted."

NOT TRUE, OLDTIMERS!!!! NOT TRUE!!!

I ate one of these candies. One. When is the last time I can say that of any candy? Possibly never. I think they must soak these things in the Dead Sea for a year or so. A herd of deer could lick on one of these for their entire lifetimes. And these are the "mildzoute."

There are, according to my brother and his Dutch friend, an extra salty variety-- for those who have just run marathons, I think. And, there are also just plain sweet ones, I think, but my brother would have gotten none of the pleasure from giving me something that just tastes good.

So, anyway, I am not trying to slam the Dutch, because I am sure that they have a rich and wonderful culture. But with the salt, Nederlanders-- back off a bit, man. You're wasting licorice here!

Thanks to Candy!

2010-11-25T12:06:00.000-08:00

On this day of giving thanks, I give a shout out to all candies. Even the nasty ones like Good & Plenty. Hey, G&P, we know that you are trying. It's not your fault that you taste like chalk and butt.

Happy Thanksgiving, faithful reader(s)!

Food or Candy? Chocolate as Hybrid Treat

2010-11-12T08:30:00.000-08:00

In my last story, I hinted at a real dilemma for me: is chocolate best categorized as candy or food? Of course, I understand that this question is rather ridiculous, because if you consider food anything that provides nourishment or (minimal)nutrients, then all candy is food. So, perhaps I should ask whether chocolate is dessert or candy... but perhaps that question does not really un-muddy the water, either. Regardless, I think that the subtext of these questions is valid: is chocolate candy? Perhaps a more direct question would help:

Is a Snickers bar more closely related to Jujy Fruit or a brownie?

For me, the answer is clear: the Snickers lives in Brownie County.

If you read my examination of whether gum is candy, "A Rose by Any Other Name," you already know that I understand that marketing is a key determinate in the cultural understanding of what constitutes candy-ness. So, let's leave that piece of the argument by the wayside for the moment. Of course, chocolate is marketed as candy.

My argument on this issue is more linked to the eating experience, the most important aspect of any discussion of candy. When I eat a handful of Reese's Cups or pound down a Mars bar in like 5 seconds flat, I equate that experience to eating a brownie or noshing a Little Debbie cake. That experience is dessert. It is a sweet treat, but it is not a part of the Candied Life.

Does this dessert look like a "candy" bar to anyone else?

I think that perhaps for me, the key is that the flavors of chocolate "candies" can very closely be replicated at home. Sure, one cannot quite get the nougat or milk chocolate exactly the same as Mars does in the Snickers bar, but really, isn't milk chocolate with peanuts and caramel pretty easily reproducible? Again, I reference the brownie, and add to the list fudge, german chocolate cake and any number of other carriers for these flavors.

Now, I also know that one can, for instance, make his own gummis. Friend to the blog Seamus McGee once sent me a recipe for said. However, it is very hard to perfect the proper ratios of artificial flavors to red 40, and it is those ratios that relay the true gummi experience. Also, I don't know how one would ever reproduce the chalky brilliance of a SweeTart or the puckering sourness of a Sour Patch Kid.

In addition, eating chocolate is simply a more filling experience. There is more foody substance to these things, and when I eat them , there is a limit to the bulk I can put down. Eventually, there is a limit to how many gummis I can eat, but usually, we are talking jaw fatigue or teeth pain as the determining factor to my cessation. 7 or 8 ounces of chocolate and I am done for the day.

All this is not to bash chocolate or to give it a complex. Granted, it will never ascend to the rarefied air of the fruity candies, but it should not feel bad about that. In the world, there are people that write ridiculously entertaining candy blogs, and then there are the rest. It's the way of the world.

To be fair, Haribo ain't never had no ad as sweet as this...

Halloween's Gift: November 1st

2010-10-30T11:31:00.000-07:00

Tonight is the de facto last chance for most people's Halloween, as the holiday falls on a Sunday, and people would rather not have to get up for work after whatever debauchery they get into. Still, I would bet that the most important event surrounding All Hallows Eve-- the reduced price Halloween candy sale-- will not happen until Monday morning.

Oh, it will be a blessed day. Spooky Snickers, Booterfingers, and Whatchamakillits, all at reduced prices! At mega-stores like Walmart, they will probably start at -25% (the bastards) but at other places, one can find giant bags of 'fun size' candies at a full 50% or greater discount! This is the season when it is prudent to stock up on chocolate. Readers know that I am more of a fruity candy celebrateur, but that is not because I do not enjoy chocolate; rather, I consider chocolate more of a food product than a candy. I mean, is a brownie candy? What about fudge? Where is the line between baked good and candy? Will the world ever know?

Come here, my pretties...

Whatever the case, I am putting aside that debate for this weekend so that I can focus on the task at hand: filling the freezer with chocolaty morsels of all kinds. As I type this story, I am planning a strict regimen of squat thrusts and 'bow throws in preparation for the early Monday AM candy grab at the local department stores. It's not exactly Black Friday or anything, but if there is one bag of peanut M&Ms on the shelf, best to believe that it could get ugly. You don't want to be caught slippin when the prize can be had.

For those still handing out candy tonight and tomorrow, yours is the kingdom of heaven, my friends. Do the good work, and it will be repaid upon you threefold.

Mambas' Claim Leaves Sour Taste in Mouth?

2010-10-27T08:40:00.001-07:00

I love Mambas. They are nice counter-points to Starburst, a welcome candy competitor in the chewy fruit market. In addition, Mambas have two unique qualities: First, their flavors include raspberry, which is quite rare in the US market (of course, this owes largely to Storck's primarily European market). Second, their packaging is entirely unique. For one, it is made for portability. Within each long package, there are three separate packages, each containing 6 chews of the same flavor. Also, there is an element of mystery each time you purchase Mambas, because out of the four flavors-- Lemon, Orange, Raspberry, and Strawberry-- there are only three in each large package. Sometimes you might not even get the raspberry flavor that I just mentioned. That can be frustrating, but on the whole, I kind of like the fact that you get some Forrest Gumpery each time you get Mambas.

All this said, I have an issue with Mambas and the Storck corporation. They have recently added a "sour" line to their product, and generally, I would be celebrating this addition with glee. However, on the package, Mambas announce that their new sour candies have "long-lasting sour" flavor.This could not be farther from the truth. Personally, I can barely detect any sour flavor. When I ate the first sour Mamba, I actually looked back at the package to ensure that I had not inadvertently picked up the regular Mambas.

There is so little sour flavoring there, that one is astounded that Storck would openly advertise some notion of "long-lasting"-ness in their product. Granted, the Mambas are still solid; I enjoyed eating each one of them. However, I have come to expect way more from my sour candies, and a corporation throwing its hat into the ring should do a little more work to make sure that they do not go making outlandish claims on their packaging. Here is a list, from sourest to least sour, displaying where these sour Mambas fall on the pucker scale:

--Warheads
--Cry Babys
--Sour Skittles
--Sour Starburst
--Sour Patch Kids
--Sour Dots
--Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers
--Any sour gummi product
--My facial expression after hearing pop radio
--Sugar
--Sour Mambas

Perhaps Storck is not as familiar with the US market as it could be(?), but that is still no excuse. Get your house in order, Storck. I'll be watching.

I'm going to give you some time to fix this because you provide over two and a half ounces of candy per package, a 50% increase over most US brands. But god help you if you ever reduce your weight!

Look closely at the bottom right corner -- 2.65 oz. That is some good value, ya'll.

Tis Still Good to Receive

2010-10-26T07:26:00.000-07:00

I have to post an addendum to my last post, "Tis Better to Buy than to Receive." I am now not sure now whether that is always the case.

I say this because over the weekend, I received a package in the mail from a friend of mine. In it were 2 1/2 lbs. of candy. Yes, that much. And she has been reading the blog, so she got the candies right, too: a 2 lb bag of sour gummi zoo animals and a sack of blackberry and orange flavored Halloween gummis. I mean, damn-- what a boon!

I WASN'T saying boo-urns.

So, yes, I like to pick out my own goodies at the store, but you don't look a coupla pounds of gift hippos, lions, monkeys, and pumpkins in the mouth.

Tis better to buy than to receive

2010-10-15T09:57:00.000-07:00

I have noticed that my recent store of candy has mostly come from others: plunder from inter-state candy exchange, gifts from my step-mother and father, pilfered bits from communal candy stashes here and there.

While it is always good to get free candy, I find that I am experiencing a bit of existential angst here. I think I am missing the jouissance one gets from visiting the candy aisle and marveling at the variety-- or the ecstasy that comes with the finding of an especially good deal on this or that goodie.

Usually when I am feeling a little empty, I eat some candy. In this instance, however, I think rather than eating candy, I need to make a trip to the local drug store or gas station and fill my batteries with some good old consumerism. God bless America.

North is North and South is South, and never the twain shall meet

2010-10-03T13:58:00.000-07:00

I recently visited some friends of mine who know the value of a good candy-- and a good blog. After having read my posts on TCL about Sour Dots, they emailed me across the miles and miles between us to say that they could not find the Sour Dots in any stores. Dots, yes, but Sour, no. Similarly, I found that once my step-mother and I had exhausted our supply of Sour Skittles, I could not find replacements in the stores where I live. Therefore, as I imagine has happened in the annals of history, a mutually beneficial accord was struck: I would bring them Sour Dots, and they would get me Sour Skittles.

Over 500 miles later, I find myself short three boxes of Sour Dots, but flush with Sour Skittles.

I tell this story in part to express the frustration that candy aficionados the world over experience with seemingly inconsistent distribution and marketing. Why are Sour Skittles better suited to one region than another? Why is the Sour Dot available in no short supply in some places and entirely unknown-of in others? If we could discover the answers to mysteries such as these, perhaps there would be no need for cross-state candy bartering.

But, maybe it's not so bad; for the exchange of candy between friends is as much an affirmation of kinship and camaraderie as an exercise in necessity. So long as I have friends who are happy to see me and happy to see what candy treats I have brought to our little marketplace, I have no real complaints.

I Know Why the Bagged Bear Sings!

2010-09-15T07:53:00.000-07:00

I have discovered one of the most excellent candy combinations ever, and I am going to share it here so that you, too, can enjoy it. But first, a little set-up:

I believe that anyone who reads this blog (anyone there?) will remember that two of my favorite candies are Haribo Gold-Bears and Sour Skittles. It just so happens that due to a gift of Haribos from my family (excellent) and a sale on the giant-sized bag of Sour Skittles ($1.49-- can you believe what a great world we live in sometimes?!) I had both of these candies in my possession. Faithful readers may also remember from my post on the joys and dangers of bulk candy that I like to let my candies intermingle whenever possible so that they experience other cultures.

Well, I think you see where I am going here: I combined a bag of Haribos with a bag of Sour Skittles and took them to work with me. By the time I had arrived, a brilliant chemical reaction had occurred: the acidic powder on the Skittles seemed to be oxidizing and sapping moisture from the bears, and the bears seemed to be simultaneously attracting the now not-quite-sticky, but sort of gummy (not gummi) sour beadlets. I thought at first that I may have erred in putting these two together, because the Skittles looked wet, and the bears looked as if they had been sitting in a marina too long and had gathered salt spray. But, man, was I wrong!

When I took a random handful of this mixture to my mouth, I knew that I was in love. The combination of the crisp outer coating of the Skittle with the firm, waxy exterior of the Haribo made for a textural bonanza. Combine that with the melange of disparate, yet harmonious fruit flavors and sour acid, and you have yourself a real treat. After I discovered this brilliant accident, I had to share the excitement. I showed my stepmother, a fellow candy-hawk, and she almost reluctantly took a little sample from the bag.

The next day, I found a half-eaten bag by my computer with a note that read: "Thank you! :)"

Inventory

2010-09-09T13:30:00.000-07:00

At this moment, these are the candies within my reach: Sour Skittles, Sour Patch Kids, Swedish Fish, Haribo Gold-Bears, Hershey's Kisses, Hersey's Fun-Size Chocolate Assortment. Not bad. Could be a good night.

Sour Dots

2010-08-14T13:24:00.000-07:00

I have never hidden the fact that I love the sour candy. That citric acid is some good stuff. I generally love all the "sour" additions to candy brands. Sour Skittles are divine; sour Starburst (though impossible to find outside of the "Sweet and Sour" line, which I have already derided on this blog) are heavenly; Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers are transcendent.

But recently, I have discovered a new contender to the sour throne: Sour Dots. First, let me say that Dots are not fully appreciated to begin with. As jelly products go, I have them just ahead of Swedish Fish and just behind Sour Patch Kids. That ain't not bad, indeed. They have vibrant, wonderful flavors and colors, and each dot has a certain heft that you can really appreciate. Add to that the fact that you really get your money's worth ( a full 7 oz per dollar 'theater' box) and you have a strong holding, to be sure.

Another incentive of the Sour Dot: grape flavor. Not often enough used.

Sour Dots are even a step past the regular Dot. The sour matches exquisitely with the sweet, and the combination induces that perfect level of pucker, forcing you to slow your gobble and make the candy last even further. Granted, that slowing is a relative thing, but it is a nice bonus to the beautiful flavor.

On the whole, I give the Sour Dot an 'A' rating, and encourage all who read this to go get you some to see what I am talking about.

Kodiak Gummi

2010-07-06T21:38:00.000-07:00

Recently a friend of mine was nice enough to share the bounty of her 30th birthday-- a giant gummi bear. For a few weeks, she taunted me about the monster, telling me each time she saw me that she had forgotten the bear, but that we were bound to share it when she could remember to bring it. (I am still uncertain how one forgets for a moment about a Kodiak-sized gummi bear, much less refrains from eating it for three weeks, but to each her own, I suppose.)

This one's for you, Tall.

Anyway, for those three weeks, my friend had trumpeted the virtues of this bear-- that it was a full pound in weight and that we would need a Thanksgiving-style carving knife to enjoy it. I was eager, yet cautious in my optimism, and I patiently (not really) waited for my dear friend to live up to her word. Finally, she arrived at a social gathering with the bear, and it was not unimpressive. It had a definite heft to it, and it glistened in a large bear-shaped plastic container. It was orange, dense, glossy. However, upon inspection, I found that the bear was in fact only 12 ounces in weight (3/4 lb), and that made my heart sink just a little. In addition, the bear was a bit sweaty, as it was hot out, and it had not been refrigerated. I knew that texturally, the bear would not be much past marmalade.

There she is.

Still, when my friend took the bear inside to slice it up, I could not help but experience a rush of anticipation. Such a sizable gummi is not something to be taken lightly, and I wanted to share in this communal ritual of consumption with my friends. The gummi pieces finally arrived, and, as expected, they were sticky and glued to the platter. They stretched from the plate like gum on hot asphalt. However, all skepticism was pushed aside once I tasted the bear. It was one of the better orange candy flavorings I had ever tasted. It was sweet, citrusy, tangy, brilliant. It captured the oranginess of oranges, and it had a rich color that reflected its depth of flavor. I shall not soon forget the sacrifice made by that noble ursine creature-- it paid the ultimate price that others might taste a little slice of heaven.

Neneh Cherry and the Pink Jewelry Box

2010-06-26T09:52:00.000-07:00

My parents are divorced, and my sister and I used to visit my mother in the summer. She was remarried, and we had a half-sister a few years younger than me. My mother's husband was kind of a goober, but we was well-meaning and we got along all right. We'd stay with my mother for about a month, and the trips were always eye-opening experiences. One thing was that at home with Dad, we had a black and white TV with rabbit-ear antennae, and it was never on; we didn't even ask Dad to watch it much, because we had not grown up watching. At Mom's, there was a large color TV, cable, and it was always on. One of my most vivid memories from childhood is watching that TV the first summer we visited, mesmerized by two sets of programming: the USA Cartoon Express and MTV videos. I had never seen either of these things, and the impact, as you might imagine, was immense.

I could go on forever about the USA Cartoon Express-- Jabberjaws, Speedbuggy, Clue Club, the Laffalympics... man, I soaked up 20 years of Hanna Barbera in a month that summer. Oh, and Scooby Doo, Blue Falcon, El Kabong! The hits go on!

Clue Club was the greatest.

Simultaneously, I was fascinated by the music videos on MTV. I had never heard any music like the kind they aired, much less seen the videos that accompanied them. This was back when MTV actually showed videos practically all day-- no douchebags whining about crap on reality shows. The two videos that defined that summer were LL Cool J's "I'm the Type of Guy" and Neneh Cherry's "Buffalo Stance." I can still sing most of the lyrics to both of those songs. I waited lustily for those songs when I had control of the TV, and I reveled in their melodic genius. Neneh Cherry's song was especially wonderful, because as a kid, I was always trying to figure out what a buffalo stance must be. I imagined it to be a strong, regal stance, one like John Wayne affects in John Ford movies (I didn't know the John Ford part back then, but my granddad had always been a John Wayne fan, so I had an image.)

This was the video of a generation.

When I wasn't glued to the TV, I was riding a Huffy bike that my mother had found for me. It was one of the really old-timey ones, even back then: banana seat, large, jutting handlebars, wheel reflectors. There were a few kids in the neighborhood, and it was like a trip back to the 50s of Father Knows Best or something (again, I would not have known that reference then)-- we all raced down the street, played in yards, swam in the neighborhood pool. There weren't any kids back home, and it was great to just wander around on my bike, knocking on doors to ask if people could come out and play.

This is pretty close to the bike, as I can recall...

An added benefit of the bike was that I was often asked to ride the half-mile or so to the convenience store. Mom and her husband had only one car, so when he was at work, the bike was the mode of transportation-- because who wants to walk in the heat? So, whenever the household needed milk or bread or the like, I took a trip up to the market. It was tricky on the way back sometimes, as I had no basket and bags could be bulky, but I liked the fact that I was the go-to guy in the event of a staple shortage.

The other nice part about the trips was the fact that Mom was suffering from a decidedly guilty conscience-- and so, the world was my candy store. Practically every time I went to the little market, there was an implicit agreement that I could get a little something for myself. My step-sister started to notice this fact, and she began to accompany me to the store to get her fair share. As a result, we became candy buddies. We never got too much per trip-- just a Blow-Pop, a few Tootsie Rolls, or a small package of candy to split. Predictably, too, we became competitive about how much candy each of us had or could keep. We began not to eat the candy immediately, to save it to try to amass a great trove of it. Initially, we put each put our candy in plastic bags, but then one day, my step-sister had the idea that we should store it in an empty jewelry box. It was one of those tiered jobbies to display three rows of storage. It was pink faux velvet, and I thought it was divine.

This is about right--sweet.

Not because it was pink or girly or a jewelry box, mind you, but because the candy was put on such brilliant full display by this little pink box. Jaw breakers, Dum-dums, Tart-n-Tiny's: they all glowed as if phosphorescent against the pale pink backdrop. I am comfortable in my masculinity... why are you snickering?

Anyway, over the summer, we were able to collect quite a variety of candies, eating only the smallest tariffs and putting the rest in the box. We knew which was whose, but we liked the picture that a full jewelry box painted, so we kept the candy together. At the end of the trip, we split up our treasure and I took home quite a sac of candy. There was something satisfying about seeing it all mixed together in a plastic bag-- it seemed like the happy union of myriad sweet treats, and I had to dig through a mass of crinkling plastic wrappers to find what I wanted at any one moment. I hid my prize in my closet, and I ate on it for months thereafter. It was a sad day, indeed, when the last piece passed these lips. I have, on occasion, dreamed of finding a large bag of mixed candy in my closet, and I think I must be subconsciously remembering that summer when Neneh Cherry and a pink jewelry box defined my young life.

A Rose by Any Other Name?

2010-05-03T18:36:00.000-07:00

Today I have been Spring cleaning. It was not brought on by the fact that it has become Spring, really, but I did feel compelled to take stock of my possessions and decrease them significantly. We keep too many things. Anyway, as I did so, I came across a very old evaluation of my performance at a job. Before I tossed it, I read the evaluator's comment that my chewing gum was not so professional. A fair enough point, I guess, but the supervisor's displeasure was not what caught my attention. Rather, the comment unearthed in me a philosophical question to which I have never found a sufficient answer: Is gum candy?

The question comes naturally to me, because my studies in the humanities and social sciences demand that I seek to know how cultural objects are classified. And, my training tells me that if I do classify gum, or even better, if I find out how it has historically been classified, some epistemological questions arise of gum-cum-candy. How have we come to know candy, and how does or does not gum fit in?

Almost without thinking, one might easily conclude that gum is not candy-- for the obvious reason that candy is fully consumed (is eaten), while gum is merely chewed and then discarded. This is a useful distinction. You don't find a whole lot of chewed up Milky Ways stuck to the bottom of school desks. In a way, then, candy is food, and gum is not. Hell, gum like Extra even says right there on the packaging that gum is 'not a diet food.' It contains no sustenance for the body; and certain candies, at least, supply some nourishment. But even the most elementary consideration shows that this binary of swallowed/digested vs. not-swallowed/digested does not take into account the cultural relationship between gum and candy. There are significant social and historical linkages that suggest it is not so far-fetched to consider gum a relative, if not a kind of candy. Let's break down the arguments for and against gum-as-candy through a number of different nodes of investigation.

Ontology

Let's begin by examining what these things are. Both gum and candy are super sugary (or increasingly,[sigh] super sweetened) mouth diversions. They delight the palate and can send endorphins rushing through our brains. A possible difference between them is that candy is teleological. When you get a pack of Skittles, your purpose is clear, and there is an end in sight: once that last purple orb is eaten, there is no more rainbow. Gum, on the other hand, has a practically indefinite lifespan. One can chew and chew on it, and past a point, there is not much loss of mass and chewability remains pretty constant. One may have a reason to chew gum (bad breath, dry mouth, nerves) but I am not sure that one can always project an end to chewing. That is, unless one considers loss of flavor. In this understanding of gum, perhaps one finds its 'candiness'-- because, really, unless one is distracted or has a need for an oral fixation, gum usually is not chewed once flavor is lost. So perhaps, in that respect, gum does have a certain teleology. Of course, the makers of gums like 5 and other super-long-lasting brands are muddying the waters even further.

Actually, I wonder not if this is candy so much as if it is from this earth-- look at that explosive gum!

Marketing

Both gum and candy have traditionally been marketed as (and are) between-meal snacks or treats, and usually come in portable packaging. One need only think of the candy aisle in a gas station or the impulse area at the grocery check-out to remind yourself how the two are paired and sold together. However, gum is often marketed in disparate ways to candy, as in the case of teeth whitening/mouth cleaning functionality and long-lasting-ness. Despite these facts, though, it would seem unnatural to us to find gum, say, in the toothpaste aisle of the grocery or drug store. Gum is part of the candy aisle, and has been for as long as most of us can remember. (I do want to pause here to say that I understand that another gray area is the mint. Indeed, if one were inclined to argue that gum is not candy because of functionality, that person might also have to argue that mints aren't either--that much gum and most mints are part of a category one might call 'dental maintenance,' or 'breath freshening.')

Another marketing difference is the demographic to which candy and gum are sold. With the exception of chocolate, candy is generally sold to a younger demographic than gum. Sure, there are adults in Starburst commercials, but they are usually young adults. And a lot of candy commercials utilize cartoon and other colorful figures to sell to kids. Gum has a wider appeal-- an older one. Some kids chew gum, but I think, would mostly rather have candy (though this is debatable). And old people continue to chew gum. And they are the ones who care so much about the sugar-free craze going on in gum-land. There are a few sugarless candies, but they are not popular and are anathema to most peoples' ideas of what candy is and is meant to do for us.

Candy? Gum? What are these abominations?

Hybridization

Finally, we come to perhaps the most slippery area of this debate: hybridization. What happens when gum and candy come together? It's like the pizza bagel-- is the thing a bagel with pizza toppings, or is it a bagel-crust pizza? Two interesting examples come to mind: the Charms Blow Pop and the Razzle. The Blow Pop is immensely popular. There's something about the union of hard candy and bubble gum that appeals to us in a major way. Is it, perhaps, that the Charms corporation seeks to break down the divisions of the candy aisle, to show that gum and candy need not come in separate packaging? Do we derive a kind of pleasure in not having to choose how to spend our hard-earned money, and can have our candy and chew it, too?

Portable, crunchy, chewy... Blow Pop, I salute thee.

Possibly, I would argue, but I am not sure that the Blow Pop is actually that hybrid, depending on consumption habits. I usually end up biting into the pop before I reach the gum, and that mashes shards of candy into the gum, for a few moments blurring the lines of what it is I am chewing. Because I am biting through candy shell, my mind and mouth want to swallow the candy-gum mass; however, I know that gum is not meant to be swallowed. If my elders weren't lying to me, I already have a 5 -lb gum tumor somewhere in my intestines, and I don't need to add to it. But, most people, I think, suck the sucker part until it is gone and then chew the gum. The line on their consumption experience is not so blurry as mine. There is a distinct end to candy and a move into gum.

Not so with the Razzles. Here is a self-conscious effort on behalf of the candy's producers to blur the line between candy and gum, to erase distinction and force us to deal with our preconceptions. Through a top-secret process, the Razzles people make a gum in powdered form, and they mold the gum into a SweeTart-like circular 'candy.' Indeed, when one bites into a Razzle, the brain is fooled, through sense memory, into thinking, "Hey, this is a nice fruity candy." However, as one continues to chew, the mouth's saliva reacts with the powdery candy and transforms it into gum. The powdery texture is lost, and the brain recognizes the rubbery texture of chewing gum. The urge to swallow, pretty powerful upon first bite, abates, and one settles into chewing mode. The Razzle, therefore, in a matter of seconds, makes a powerful statement about the slippery-ness of simple classification. It shows that essentialist conceptions need to be problematized and that one can never get too comfortable with binaries.

Conclusions?

So, what have we come to at this point? Is gum candy? I am not sure. And, a cursory informal survey of a number of my friends and colleagues resulted in an exactly 50/50 split on the issue. So, it seems that this question remains a pretty personal issue. However, it also clear that from a cultural perspective, at least, there are as many intersections between gum and candy as there are distinctions.

Candied Chocolate

2010-05-01T21:47:00.000-07:00

Hey, peanut M&M: I see you, Avatar-style. I'll eat you beneath the tree of souls.

Resurrected Affinity

2010-04-01T06:12:00.000-07:00

Easter is coming up again, and that means - you guessed it - Easter candy! But long gone are the days of the plain chocolate bunny, though those are available if you so desire. Now, there are a plethora of tasty Easter offerings to help Christians and non-Jesus-lovers alike celebrate the death and rising of the world's savior/the life and times of a pastel bunny and his basket.

Pretty sure this is not what God had in mind, but hey, isn't a giant rabbit obsessed with painted chicken eggs just the best?

Indeed, I was talking to my father the other day, and he was saying that it was getting about time to start constructing an Easter basket... for my mother! I am not the only one who has some hard-core nostalgia for youth or who understands the joy that a giant store of candy can bring. {However, it should be noted that I have never gotten an Easter basket per se. As a child, my family's religion did not go in for such "pagan" expressions of "serious" religious holidays.}

The point of all this is to say that there are some exciting candy options that last for only a few more days, people, so get out there and snatch some up! I will highlight here some of the better options:

Starburst jelly beans. Easter is the season of jelly beans: regular, "speckled eggs," and spiced. But with the coming of super-brands, we now have brand extension, and that brings us things like these Starburst beauts. They are available year-round, but they are especially relevant around Easter. Get you some. [By the way, shockingly, the SweeTart jelly beans are NOT good. They have too thick an outer, pre-jelly layer, and that layer poorly approximates the SweeTart flavors. I still have a bag of them from last year in my house right now. I don't know why I haven't thrown them out, but I guess I cannot make myself do it. So sad.]

I've shown you these before, but here they are again.

SweeTart Bunny Gummis and SweeTart Chicks, Ducks, and Bunnies. These new SweeTart bunny gummis are ridiculous! All flavors are represented, which is one improvement over their other holiday lines {for instance, the SweeTart Valentine hearts, which I have called perhaps the best candy ever made, inexplicably do not include the orange or lemon flavors in the line.} Additionally, the SweeTart gummi seems to have been perfected for the Season, as the bunnies have the stiff, brilliant texture and sour of a Trolli Sour Bright Crawler and the flavor of the SweeTart. Too good. Also, shout out to the classic SweeTart Easter offering-- the regular, powder-based SweeTart chicks, ducks, and bunnies. They are not all-flavored, either, but they are whimsically fun.

Cadbury Caramel Eggs. The regular Cadbury eggs, with disgusting, cloying "yolk" are too sweet, too difficult, literally, to swallow. Not so the caramel egg. It is the one of the more perfect milk chocolate productions out there. The caramel has more heft than in, say, a Caramello, but it it is not so stiff as to not ooze a bit out of the shell when you bite in.

Yes! The three-pack, standard size! Salivations are imminent!

Reese's Eggs. Everyone knows these. Do I need to go into a spiel here? The extra peanut butter to chocolate ratio makes these a classic unlike any other. Sure, Reese's has expanded into Xmas trees and Halloween pumpkins as well, but let's be serious-- these eggs are the bomb, unparalleled-ly so.

Boom.

There are also other options out there. Some other solid examples off the top of my head: Whoppers' Robin Eggs and Snickers eggs. Therefore, get out there people, and do not be afriad to make an Easter pig of yourself!

A Girl Named Kandy

2010-02-18T11:49:00.000-08:00

I met her walking on the Las Vegas Strip. I know what you're thinking, but she wasn't that kind of girl. As I approached the cross-walk on Flamingo Avenue, on my way to the Mirage, she emerged from Bally's. I gave her a sideways look; she was cute, in that man-she-could-be-from-my-hometown kind of way. She wore a fleece vest over a long-sleeve tee, jeans and sensible flats. A cobalt scarf hung languidly over her left shoulder, and she was digging through a shoulder purse. I smiled slightly to myself and turned away my gaze so as not to be rude.

But no sooner had I done so than she stumbled directly into my path. I instinctively thrust out my arms and caught her before she hit the sidewalk.

"I'm so sorry," she said. She was genuinely embarrassed, not angry that some stranger had grabbed her out of the air. I realized I was still clutching her, and I released her awkwardly.

"Are you OK?" I managed.

"Aside from the embarrassment, you mean?"

"This is Vegas," I said. "No worries."

"Well," she continued, "if I hadn't just lost 300 at the blackjack table, I'd feel better." She smiled and stared at me. Funny how people in Vegas so easily tell you about their finances.

"I try to stay away from that game as much as possible, but it is difficult isn't it? Was on my way to the Mirage to play some poker," I said. "Maybe turn my luck around there."

"Really? I thought about playing some cards, but maybe I should just cut my losses and go to bed. I'm here for 3 more days. It's a tough call..."

"Come over to the Mirage with me," I said, emboldened. "I promise not to take that much from you. They call me Ground Possum, by the way."

She squinted an eye at me. "Kandy," she said, extending her hand.

"You're kidding," I said.

"Haha-- laugh it up. A gift from my parents. And anyway, how do I know you're not some creep who trolls the Strip for young lovelies to come falling into your arms?"

"Do you watch a lot of romantic comedies?" I asked.

"Shut up," she said, and we began to walk toward the Mirage.

The jewel of the Strip.

That night we played side-by-side for hours at a 2-4 limit poker table. We talked about where we were from and what we liked to do on weekends (when not in Vegas). Turns out a couple of friends were coming in the next night to meet up with her, but they weren't much on gambling, so she had come out a day early. My kind of girl.

At the end of the night, I walked her back to Bally's and she kissed me on the cheek. "Give me your phone," she said.

I handed it to her, and she entered her number in my contacts. "Vegas Kandy," it said.

"Is that really your name?" I asked.

"Are you calling me a liar, Ground Possum? Call me tomorrow night. You can meet my friends." She threw her scarf playfully around her neck and turned dramatically away from me.

I walked back smiling to my room at the MGM. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a Certs, (with retzin). I wondered if I should text her to meet me at the top of the Stratosphere at midnight, but decided against it.

A Gamble That Didn't Pay

2010-02-07T11:35:00.000-08:00

So last week or so, I was in Vegas for a few days. Mostly I was there for a conference, but of course, I succumbed to the urge to throw a few dollars down on a table here and there. One night, after leaving said dollars on said tables, I went up to the room to rest. Upon settling in, I found that I craved a little of the sweetness. Knowing that any candy found in the gift shop would be ridiculously expensive, I wandered into the vending area with a few dollar bills.

Upon inspection, I found that the machine offered mostly chocolate candy bars. That is all well and good, but I wanted something fruity. The only non-chocolate option was Twizzlers. Now, faithful readers know my take on the Twiz-- I have not hidden my relative disliking of the waxy ropes. However, I was in a bind: I did not want to go back down to the gift shop, and I did not want chocolate. Also, the package of Twizzlers was one of those giant, like 7 ounce bags, so it looked better to me than it normally would. A lot of crap is better than a little, I guess? So, I reluctantly put my 2 bucks into the machine and hit the proper letter and number... and the little metal ring rotated around... and the damn thing did not drop.

You've gotten me for the last time, Twizzy...

I thought about shaking the machine, but there are cameras every five steps in a Vegas hotel hallway. So, what did I do? I put in two more dollars, assuming that another rotation of the ring would give me my prize. No dice, as it were. The ring did free itself of the bottom of the Twizzler package, but it was so long that it fell backwards on top of the set of rings. Only tipping the machine forward would have given me the candy, and I was not willing to risk the sure security beating I would take in some Vegas back room. I'm not losing my fingers for some stupid Twizzlers.

The usual suspects that I could have had were it not for my hubris.

The moral of the story, I guess, is that one should never abandon his principles. Fructor sees all, and He must have been laughing at me that night. The irony is that no matter how bad the gift shop might have been, I could definitely have gotten the candy I wanted for the 4 dollars I wasted. Instead, I wet the cheap hotel pillowcase with my tears.

I was totally like Dawson here.

Bulk Candy II: Irksome Pricing

2010-01-12T20:36:00.000-08:00

I have written here on my ambivalence toward bulk candy. On the one hand, bulk displays are impressive, and the variety of choices is undeniably enticing; on the other hand, there are issues of germs, staleness, and overall expense per pound. To add to this latter point, I will tell you about my latest experience with the local candy store:

I went there today to purchase some candies that are simply not available elsewhere. While there, I expected to be gouged by boutique-store prices (and I was) but I was not fully prepared for the ridiculous amount of stratification among the prices of different 'levels' of candy. There were, in fact, 5 different color-coated price levels assigned to the myriad candies in the store, ranging from about $7/lb to $11 per. While I can understand a little difference in price between powdery, chalky offerings like bleeps or "sweetart" (not SweeTart, but in that ilk) bears and chocolate-covered cashews and the like, I do not see how Jellies are a dollar more per pound than the sweetart items or how gummis are a dollar more expensive still. In fact, generally, in standard .79-.99 pre-packaged candy price rates, one can get almost twice the weight of gummis compared to SweeTarts, and twice that of gummis in jelly form. That is, one can get over three ounces of gummis and over 5 ounces of jellies for the same price of a 1.8 ounce roll of SweeTarts. However, in boutique land, these prices are flip-flopped, as soft chewables are given prime status.

Do these kinds of things make you want to buy lots of candy?

But this pricing per se is not what bugs me most. The real pain in the ass is that if you want to buy candies across the 'classes,' you have to get like five different bags and carefully manage not to put different 'colors' on top of one another. The added expense of different levels is one thing, but not being able to add all candies together into one, glorious sac and have them intermingle from the moment you turn the scoop into the bag is untenable. I want my cinnamon bears chilling with the sour patch kids, getting to know each other while I peruse the rest of the offerings. I want the Smarties to say "hi" to the licorice and the sour balls.

These chewy Sprees were appropriately priced at the lowest level.

Has our society not learned from our past mistakes? Haven't we moved past the need to segregate candies into categories based more on some idea of cachet than taste or consumer desires? As for me, I'd be happy if the store averaged out the candies to 9.50/lb and just let me pile it all in one bag. Since I could not do so, I conscientiously objected to the system and left the store without all the candies I went to buy. Oh, I got a small bag (I'm not crazy) but they were all of one class, one price level.

And I feel kind of dirty eating them.

Xmas Candy

2010-01-08T20:52:00.000-08:00

I still get a Christmas stocking. Yeah, that's right. If I get home for Xmas, there is a stocking full of candy goodies there for me. It's one of the joys of the season. Turns out you can go home again.

The thing I love about Xmas candy is the themed packaging, especially of chocolate morsels. Sure, it is good to get some good chocolate-- Dove's, Cadbury, Lindt, etc. -- but it is also nice to get some of the absurdly foil-wrapped chocolates made for the holidays. Oh, it's not very tasty-- usually chalky and stale-- but there is something about it that screams "Christmas." To cite a couple of Marxists, there is a "ruthless unity" to it all, in aesthetics and flavor... but not in the pernicious sense. Of course, there's the standard Santa and reindeer types, and there are always Hershey's and Reese's bells. But I especially like the other themed candies that are not really Xmas related, but that also appear around Christmas time.

This is the standard Santa fare. We've all had it.

For instance, this year, I got a golf ball. It was not particularly flavorful (though the white cream in the middle was pretty solid) but it was the exact size of a golf ball, and it even had a standard set of dimples. I have also in the past gotten footballs and tennis rackets. Such gendered candy theming makes me wonder if there is a set of feminine candies and what they would be? Do girls get little chocolates that reflect what marketers think they like? My Little Chocolate Ponies? Barbie Bittersweets? It's not a burning question in my mind, but something to think about.

The golf ball I got was not this fancy and had the ubiquitous foil wrapper on it-- and on the wrapper was a landscape of someone playing golf. Brilliant.

I am just happy that my step-mom still thinks of little things like how I play golf and makes the stocking reflect that. It sure helps me keep up the whimsy. I'll be expecting that stocking every year until I die, and I hope my expectations are not dashed.

A Pox on Tropical Candy

2009-11-27T22:24:00.000-08:00

I have never been one to stand in the way of candy-related innovations. If anything, I welcome newcomers to the pantheon of sweet treats. However, in the rush to expand their brands, candy corporations often go down a dark path and develop the worst of all possible lines of candy: tropical flavors. Starburst, Skittles, Mike and Ike: these are among the brands that force their ill-conceived flavors upon us.

The problem is not necessarily that these expanded tastes do not live up to the original; indeed, as is generally the case, established candy brands become successful because their original incantations are so good. It is only natural that their sequels will pale by comparison. The Godfather IIs, Empire Strikes Backs and Wrath of Khans are the exception rather than the rule. (In the candy realm, examples of candies that have improved upon the original: the peanut M&M, the addition of the fruit punch Sweetart, and the gummi worm--worms are somehow better than bears.) Yes, the originals are almost always the pinnacle.

However, the tropical flavored candies do not even approach the appeal of the original brand products. Let's take Starburst Tropicals as an example. Was there a group of people out there clamoring for "Mango Melon," "Pina Colada," or "Strawberry Banana" chews? Or, in Skittles, was there a call for "Banana Berry," "Kiwi Lime," or "Pineapple Passion Fruit?" Or, in Mike and Ikes, a grass roots movement for the similarly-flavored "Kiwi Lime," "Strawberry Banana," and "Pineapple Banana?" I would think an answer of "no" to all of these questions is logical. However, all of these brands are pushing these inferior products into the market.

Yuck.

There are a number of reasons that I object to these creations. First, only the vaguest notion of "tropicality" ties the flavors together. Second, the American market is most likely not able to identify some of these flavors-- do we eat a whole lot of passion fruit or kiwi on a daily basis, to the point that we want a candy of those flavors? Third, because these flavors are largely foreign to most, candy producers have no real incentive to get the flavors right; and, since the formulations for these new candy flavors are not widely developed (as are orange or cherry, for instance), even those corporations trying to get them right often fail. Fourth, it seems that corporations do not trust the ability of any "tropical" flavor to stand on its own. Perhaps owing to their inability to develop "kiwi" or "passion fruit" just right, or rightly understanding that no one really wants those flavors in the first place, candy brands force together nasty duos of flavors - one flavor we know and one we don't know or like as well. Every tropical flavor is some haphazard hybridization of often incompatible tastes. Why spoil strawberry with the worst candy flavor possible- banana? Why force kiwi upon lime? Why mask pineapple, a flavor that Americans might know and like, with passion fruit?

Pass.

In the end, tropical flavors are an unfortunate result of the move toward brand expansion. Sure, the gummi Starburst is a solid product, and the Sour Skittle is a triumph; all expansion is not bad expansion. However, some arenas should not be populated, and tropical is one of them. Perhaps candy companies should have tried to expand into that market, but the fact that they persist is unconscionable.

Jelly: Peanut Butter Be Damned!

2009-10-24T08:26:00.000-07:00

This one goes out to Spinner.

I remember the first time I got some jelly fish. It was completely by mistake, and I was actually quite pissed about the whole thing. You see, once again, I was in the candy aisle with my cousin – this time at Wal-Mart. As we often were, we were standing with eyes aglow, attempting to determine our maximum candy purchasing power. At this time, I was relatively new to candy, and I was especially enamored of gummi bears. How could I not be? For years, a whole world of confection had been closed to me, and then one day I got that silky, syrupy gummi in my mouth: the explosion of citric acid, the play of soft and taut, the tiny pieces breaking on the palate, bouncing against the inside of my teeth. But I digress…

The point of the story is this: I saw that a package of gummi bears weighing about 3 ounces went for one sum, while a 6-ounze package of what I thought were gummi fish went for the same price. “Two for one,” I said, to myself. “How could an error like this have slipped through the cracks? Do people find the fish form somehow less appetizing than the bear?” Perhaps in reaction to my lording of well, a lot over him in the past or maybe because he, too, was fooled, my cousin said nothing as I grabbed the generic package of jelly fish, and he grabbed a sac of gummi bears.

My disappointment registered almost immediately when I opened the package in the car. There was no play of soft and taut on the teeth, only the even texture of a pallet knife cutting through sheetrock mud. I had gotten the wrong product, and as I feverishly turned the package over and again, looking for some explanation, I saw the word “Jelly” where “Gummi” should have been. One cannot fully understand the dismay of a young boy who has spent his last pennies on a bag of candy, only to realize that he has made a bad purchase. I attempted to make some unbalanced trades at the rate of 3, even 4 jellies per gummi, but my cousin was no fool. He knew after my free taste test offer that he had the superior good.

Do these even look like gummis? Man, I was a neophyte...

I look back on that experience with a wry smile, because I am just as apt now to intentionally buy a jelly product as I am a gummi one. Perhaps I over-consumed gummis in a decade-long binge and now appreciate the variety of jelly; or, more likely, I simply understand that jellies are not trying to disguise themselves as gummis in some clandestine attempt to disappoint young boys. No, they are their own medium, with their own set of qualities to be cherished. Jujy Fruit, Dots, Fruit Slices, Swedish Fish, Cinnamon Bears… where would the candy spectrum be without these options? Well, I’ll tell you: nowhere.

While Spinner and I disagree on the relative benefits of various flavors in Swedish Fish, their appeal cannot be argued.

These may be the best of them all; and, notice how cinnamon bears dress up to meet their maker. That's class.

Indeed, the jelly is not the ugly step-child of the gummi, but perhaps, fittingly, a cousin, who only wants to be recognized in his own way, in his own place. “The world is too much with us,” Wordsworth once wrote; on that day some 20 or more years ago, I should have settled down, tasted the jellies I had, accepted them for what they were and become a better man for it.

It's Been a While...

2009-10-08T20:30:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I have purchased any candy. I cannot identify a reason, really, except that I haven't been in the mood. I always want a little of the sweets around the house, but recently, I have been stuck on donuts, brownies, ice cream-- no candy. Sure, there is some residual candy laying around, and every day or so, I eat a bear or a few beans. I have not gone cold turkey or anything. But I also have not bought any new candy in at least a couple of weeks, I think.

Granted, I have been super busy, so I have not had a lot of time to waste; however, as anyone with a crutch knows, the stressful times are the best times to relax with a nice baggy of the good stuff-- whether it be nose candy or the regular kind. But come to think of it, recently I guess I have been hyper-aware of the lack of variety in the candy aisle. Whereas in the past, a seeming plethora of options dazzled the eye and teased the imagination, now, most candy displays are all the same: plain, boring iterations of how some marketing model says that a limited number of candies will sell best. There is no variety, no style, no panache, and as a result, nothing jumps out at me and into my basket. Oh, I could pound down a box of Jujys, or I could force feed a score or two of Junior Mints, but where is the romance? Where is the narrative?

There could be an image here; however, I think I will allow you to project your ideal candy aisle in the space. Doesn't it look incredible?

I declare right now that this malaise shall not stand. I will find the passion again, if I have to search hill and dale. Somewhere out there, outside of the Krogers and CVSes of the world, there is a display of the kind fabled in my memory. I will find such a place, and I will plunder it. And the world will make sense again.

Looking Back: A Self-Reflexive Project

2009-09-13T07:47:00.000-07:00

Anthony Giddens, a noted cultural scholar, argues that our ontological security is defined by how we define our own narratives. He says that we constantly amend, alter, shift how we think of ourselves and present ourselves to others, that all of our machinations are parts of a self-reflexive project of personal identity formation.

Anthony Giddens.

A friend of mine last night noted that this blog seemed to have a wistful theme, a pining for youthful days. This is undoubtedly true. First, the majority of my most poignant candy experiences happened as a wide-eyed youngster, and so, it makes sense that a blog about my-life-in-candy would highlight those formative moments. Also, though, I'd like to write myself back to a time when I was less cynical, more apt to be truly happy, unlikely to get, as I put it often, into "fuck it mode." As such, I'd like my narrative to drift back to happy times, when a fistful of candy and a lake swim or a tree seat meant nirvana.

However, just to show that this blog need not be all rainbows and lollipops, I will tell you a tale of my youth that I do not look back on through rose-colored lenses.

Once I became a bit older (I don't remember exactly how old), I got an allowance of 5 dollars per week for performing weekly chores-- dusting, vacuuming, washing the dishes, mowing the lawn. It wasn't a lot of money, but it allowed me to fuel my two young passions: baseball cards and candy. I was a huge Darryl Strawberry fan, and in a few short years, I had collected over 200 of his cards, over 100 of them distinct. Each week, my cousin and I would get our grandparents to take us up to the local flea market where a baseball card collector had a booth. Once he noticed that each week I would come in looking for Strawberrys, he would have any new or obscure cards he could find waiting for me. I was able to amass an impressive collection, indeed.

The Fleer rookie: once worth $30! The gold standard (excepting the Topps 1983 "extra rookie card," which I never could afford.)

Usually, too, if we had not spent all of our money on cards, we would ask our grandparents to stop at the local grocery store/drug store so that we could pick up some of the sweet stuff. When we went to the grocery store, we would go to the by-the-pound display of individually wrapped candies. You could buy samples for a nickel a piece (on the honors system, too--you just put a nickel in a box on the display!) or you could fill a bag and pay by weight. This was a Brach's display, and the candies available were unique to the display-- most could not be purchased in packaged form. Two varieties I remember distinctly were gumballs surrounded by a cherry candy coating (a blow-pop without the stick, but flavored differently) and a selection of caramel-like chews of all flavors. They were caramel-like in the texture, and some were actually caramel. But there were also maple flavors, chocolate flavors, fruit flavors within caramel, maple, or chocolate flavors, etc. Man, those things were so f*&$%ing good! Of course, you can no longer find them, and the world is worse for it. (Uh oh, there goes the wistfulness again.)

If we didn't go to the grocery store, we headed next door to the Rev-Co (later bought by Rite-Aid). There, of course, you could find all of the normal candies, pre-packaged and glowing in their brilliance. On one occasion I can remember, I steered away from my usual fruit-and-sour pick of candies and bought some chocolate: a Snickers bar and a Zero bar. {I have a great Zero bar story to tell later, so someone remind me of that if you don't see it soon...}

The Zero bar: the only time white chocolate is OK- and, the perfect combo of nougat and almonds.

Anyway, of course my cousin and I were steady woofing down some of our candy in the car. I went for the Zero bar, and my cousin (the misguided soul) went for some Twizzlers. Though the store is only about 3 or so miles from our house, we had each finished our first candies by the time we got half-way home. To my credit, though, I was trying to be good. I restrained myself from eating the snickers, opting to save it for later. If I could bring it out the next day, after my cousin had already eaten his candy, well, I could throw it in his face, couldn't I, moaning and closing my eyes in ecstasy as I slowly ate the chocolaty goodness.

So, once I got home, I put the Snickers under my bed, smiling about my plan for the next day. However, I awoke to a horrific experience. Immediately upon waking, I reached for the candy bar. It was there, where I left it, but something wasn't right. As my hand emerged from beneath the comforter, the issue became clear: the Snickers, and my arm, were covered in ants. Apparently, they, too, were candy lovers and had found their way into my room and had cut a small hole into the wrapper. They were all over the package AND pouring out from the hole. This was straight out of Hellraiser, ya'll.

A life cut short...

Indeed, I cannot fully explain to you the horror of this event. First, I absolutely HATE insects, especially ones that come en masse. Swarming or hording bugs make me ill. And second, of course, the ants had taken my prize. I danced around, shaking ants off me, throwing the candy out the door, itching all over. The rest of the next two hours or so was me on my hands and knees, my face down near the blue carpet, crushing ants. I am scratching myself all over as I write this. So nasty.

The moral of the story, I guess, is that when you plan to use candy for ill, fate has a way of punishing you for your hubris. Let that be a lesson to you all... and an example that not all of my young candy memories are happy ones.

So Eden sank to grief

2009-09-07T19:57:00.000-07:00

We moved to that house in the middle of my third grade year. When we first visited the house the summer before, it was a mess. The neighbor spoke about how the previous owner had stood naked on the front porch and peed into the yard. I remember picturing the man relieving himself through the faded trellis that surrounded the porch. I also remember the wallpaper in the kitchen-- white with a blue, naked woman print. There was trash everywhere, and the yard was overgrown and wild. I wondered how we were going to live there, amidst all the filth. But once my Dad had worked on it for just a few months, it was the best of homes. He was a superman with a tool belt, and I could not worship him anymore. The neighborhood also loved him for recuperating the property, and we loved the relative serenity and isolation of our home.

Even though we were in a pretty populated neighborhood, ours was the only road off the highway for miles. We were at the base of the Appalachian Mountains. The summers were mild and the winters wintry enough to please a young boy who loved snow. Just behind the house, a massive hill rose up to what seemed to me a thousand feet. It was so steep that I could not even fully climb it. All along the hill were brambly bushes, prickly berry plants and thick undergrowth.

I sometimes traded cut up legs and arms to eat a few berries.

I liked to imagine what was on top of the hill, but I never dispelled my fantasies by getting up there. A lot of my time was spent in a young maple tree that grew about ten feet up the base of the hill. It hung over the tool shed that abutted the hill. By climbing up to the top of the shed and standing on the roof, I could climb into the tree and onto a branch that hung out over the shed and yard. I was so small and the branch so shaped that it made a perfect seat for me. I sat with my back against the trunk and my legs stretched across that limb for hours a day. If I looked straight out or to the side and not down to the roof of the shed, I was up about 15 feet, on top of the world.

When I wasn't in the tree, I was biding my time until Daddy sent me and my sister to the convenience store at the intersection of our road and the highway. It was the only store for miles. It had all the basics and a deli that made killer sandwiches. Usually we were just sent to pick up some bread or milk, but occasionally it was steak sandwich night. I still remember the smell of the meat on the flattop: a warm, garlicky cloud, with that milky, fecund smell of cheese melting on the grill. We never had that much excess money, so getting these sandwiches was a treat unparalleled. As a result, when we were sent to fetch these sandwiches, we simply hurried down, ordered them, ran home and ate hearty.

However, when we were sent to pick up various sundries, occasionally my sister and I would ask if we could pick up a treat for ourselves. At that time, you could still get Bazooka Joe's for a penny, Atomic Fireballs and Jaw Breakers for two pennies, and small boxes of Lemon Heads or Red Hots for a dime. We never asked what candy we could get- only if we could get some - but we durst not ever get more than those single or small packages. The $0.30 candy bars were way out of our range, and we knew it. We never got candy, and we were used to watermelon and cantaloupe for dessert. Only this convenience store even made us bold enough to ask for candy. We were there so much, and the aisle was so alluring, that there was an unspoken agreement between father and children that if we asked rarely enough, and if we showed proper restraint, we could all be happy.

My favorite of the small wonders was the box of Alexander the Grapes. Made by Ferrara Pan, they were the grape-flavored equivalent of the more famous Lemon Heads. A crumbly, sweet purple grape casing surrounded a chewier, sour center. The combination was heavenly, and there were a good 15 or so candies, even in that small box.

Just looking at this box makes me want to cry for lost youth.

The candies now go under the name "Grape Heads," and the formulation has changed. They can never approximate the joy they brought me all those years ago. Many a day, I sat on my branch, looking out over the street to the mountains in the distance, sucking on Alexander the Grapes until I could not stand it any longer, and bit into the center. So powerful, in fact, was my experience with candy from that store that I once let greed overtake my judgment.

On one of those special days when my sister and I were sent to pick up some sandwiches, I felt I could reach up and touch the sky. I had not asked my Dad if I could get any candy, and I had no reason to-- we were getting the sandwiches, an occasion not to be taken lightly. However, as my sister went to the counter to order the sandwiches, I wandered over to the candy aisle. I poured up and down, looking at all the options, wondering what so many of them tasted like. I wanted the total package-- sandwich, family, candy. I knew my sister, who had the money, would not give me even a penny for a piece. She had been instructed to bring home the change, and we would not steal from our father. Really, I would never even have asked her to. But as an 8-yr old, the pull was too strong. I was a slave to the call of the sugar. So, thinking to myself that I could palm a small piece of candy (a box was too big and would make too much noise), I reached down and grabbed a tootsie roll. Even as I turned and reached to put it in my pocket, I saw the cashier staring at me. "Did you pay for that, honey?" she said. There was no malice on her voice; it even seemed sympathetic. She was giving me the benefit of the doubt. How many times had I been in there, after all?

I Imagine me on the left side of this aisle, attempting to will the candy deftly into my pocket.

But I could not be concerned with her tone. My ears were burning, my father's disappointment was on me, and I felt the shame of a thousand criminals. I threw the candy back, ran over to my sister at the counter, and begged her to go. We did not have the sandwiches yet, and I tried to hide behind her until they came out. When they did, I let her go to the counter as I shrank by the front door. The cashier never said a word to my sister, and nothing ever came of that incident, but it must have been months before I would go back to that store. Ironically, the attempt to grab one morsel of candy probably stopped me from getting twenty times as much over the next few months.

A couple years after the incident, we moved away from that house, and I haven't been back since. Still, despite my shame, I have never really felt as comfortable as I did in our small little house, at the bottom of the hill, with a store full of candies and sandwiches at the end of the road.

You Are What You Eat...

2009-08-31T13:32:00.000-07:00

I wrote a "poem" for a final project in high school about a man describing his love for a woman in candy terms. One especially compelling couplet was, "Your glowing eyes and flowing hair / Could rival even gummi bears." Also, if you remember, one of the early posts on this blog has me describing "Fructor," the god of candy-- he has licorice hair and jolly rancher fingers. These facts put me in mind of the axiom, "you are what you eat," and how I seem to keep returning to that theme in my thoughts.

It makes me wonder what candies I would ideally construct myself from, if such an awesome thing were possible. I would want to maintain a certain level of functionality as a candy man, but I also think that a flight of fancy requires some jouissance, throwing caution and impracticality to the wind. Additionally, I think that I would want to be able to enjoy eating myself if ever I was stranded without food, or when I felt my life had reached its proper end.

Not the Candy Man I am talking about...

All these things considered, I would want to have a variety of different tastes and textures for the big end-it-all. A completely sour or fruit-flavored body would make my last supper a bit monotonous and blase. Additionally, all hard candy or all soft candy parts would be texturally unsatisfying. Aside from these aesthetic concerns, however, the biggest thing to consider is the material from which the teeth would be constructed. One must be able to chew himself, in all his textures, in order to eat himself. My initial idea on that note is that the teeth should be made of a specially dense variety of Jolly Rancher. As candy eaters know, a normal Jolly Rancher might not be ideal, because the candy tends to shatter into shards when bitten. One would not want his teeth to splinter in such ways. However, if a denser JR could be constructed, that candy would make perfect teeth, because JRs are great to just leave in your mouth for a long time for flavor, and they tend to stick to your teeth when bitten. If one's teeth were made of JRs, not other parts, one would not have to worry about the JR parts of the body sticking to the teeth. I hope that makes sense.

Still not right...

Past that pragmatic concern, though, I am uncertain how I would construct myself per se. I have some basic ideas of what kinds of candies would HAVE to be a part of my candy-Voltron-type body (readers of the blog can guess what a number of those are) but the difficulty, I think, comes in the subtle details. When eating oneself, for instance, what surprises would one like to find? Would fingernails and toenails be of the same substance? If hair were made of licorice, say, would it be of one flavor or multiple? Would sets, like legs and arms, be matching, or would they be disparate? These and many other questions linger and make me think that the candied body is something that will continue to occupy my thoughts. Such a wondrous possibility must not be fired off in a matter of minutes for some high school poem. It must be more carefully considered.

Nope.

Birthday Candy

2009-08-30T14:35:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, it was my birthday, and I celebrated by having dinner with some friends. I was already seated at the restaurant with a couple friends as two more entered with a gift for me: birthday candy. How did they know? Is it possible that I have spoken about candy in their presence? I must have, because the choice of candied gift was sublime-- Starburst Jelly Beans.

These little beans are the perfect blend of Starburst flavors and jelly bean texture.

The best part about the gift (aside from the fact that I got me some candy) is that my friends got me good candy, in a large bag. Those details mean they have been paying attention. Sometimes I prattle on, and it might be pretty easy to tune me out. However, my diatribes about hybrid candies and generous portions must have sunk in, as they avoided the surprisingly inferior Sweetart jelly beans and went with a proven, "family-sized" product. Though I wonder at the additions of Green Apple and Grape flavors (as these are not flavors of regular Starbursts) I find the Starburst Jelly Beans to be the perfect size-- small enough that you get more flavor than neutral jelly center-- and having vibrant and non-cloying sweetness.

While this gift reminded me of the importance of knowing your friends, it also puts me in mind of the joy of occasion candy. Already this year, I have received a ton of candy attached to special occasions. At the year's beginning, I was still munching on a few pounds of Xmas goodies. In February, I was home to visit the family, and I got a Valentine's assortment that included one of the strongest candies of all-time: Sweetart Hearts. The family was paying attention, too.

The gold standard.

Later, at Easter, friends and I gathered to share a tremendous meal and ate a couple of sleeves of caramel Cadbury eggs. Then there was my birthday. And coming up is Halloween and Xmas again. It is nice to think about what a place candy has assumed in American culture. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of diabetes. The candied life.

There's Something about Airport Candy

2009-07-29T20:13:00.000-07:00

Not so long ago, I wrote about getting a bad package of Starburst candies-- that was in an airport. However, despite that experience, I still believe that eating candy at the airport is one of life's pleasures. Maybe it is not surprising that my general loves of the airport and candy make their pairing attractive, but I think it is more than that.

This has nothing to do with this post.

And, even the tremendous delays that accompany air travel these days has not soured my love of the airport binge; I mean, has anyone tried to get somewhere on a schedule recently? Good freaking luck. The lack of flights and workers has led, seemingly, to a ton of delays, maintenance issues and unhappy travelers. All the more reason, perhaps, to visit the little news stand in the E terminal to purchase a 5 dollar bag of gummi worms or a three dollar Baby Ruth. Of course, there are always those larger bags of sweets that you can get cheaper if you buy two, but only just barely. But none of that matters... because as you sit there on an "aisle" seat in the terminal, watching the parade of humanity walk, run, and ride by, you cannot think of the last time you had such a tasty chocolate covered cashew or orange slice.

Who shops at these airport stores? See, that is something I can think about over a few hundred Skittles.

Indeed, if I am not faced with the promise of an imposed 6-hour delay, I could sit happily for hours in an airport, chomping on over-priced candy, thinking not at all of the world I am escaping. Whether headed to an exciting vacation or home to a pile of work, I never let myself forget to stop and quietly, methodically eat some candy and watch the people go by. If only all the world were so...

Australia: Land of Licorice

2009-07-11T08:43:00.000-07:00

If you have ever eaten a Twizzler, you know what a bland, dull experience "licorice" can be. Granted, I have eaten a ton of Twizzlers in my day, but I have rarely bought them myself to eat. Usually, the giant bag of Twizzlers shows up at a gathering, and of course, it is better to eat candy than to not. However, every time I partake of Twizzlers, I am struck by the relative lack of flavor and irksome waxiness of the product.

These things are OK, I guess, but not really "good."

This is not so of licorice produced in Australia. First, the licorice has no hole in the middle to fudge the actual weight of the candy; this allows for a dense, full bite of licorice. Second, the licorice tastes like the flavor it announces, not a ghostly hint of that flavor amidst a mouthful of wax. The licorice is the star, not the medium. I'm telling you, if you ever get your hands on some licorice produced in Australia, you will never return to Twizzlers. It is a divine, wondrous product that, yes, you will pay a bit more for, but which will be well worth the cost. And, actually, once you factor in the relative lack of weight you get with the ridged, holey Twizzler, I am not that sure you are paying that much more for the good stuff. Convert over, people. You will not be disappointed.
A couple of added bonuses are evident from this photo: there are better flavors (like Raspberry-- and I've had strawberry, green apple, and back licorice flavors, too) and the candy either comes in convenient resealable plastic tubs or this satisfying wax paper bag pictured here. **NOTE: I understand that Twizzlers comes in a bunch of "flavors," but really, they are all just wax with food coloring.

Paul Harvey en Bruxelles

2009-06-21T20:53:00.000-07:00

...the rest of the story is that I saw Stella again eight months later in a petit cafe in Bruxelles. I was in a corner table when she walked in. The gray wool pea-coat and the silk pashmina fit the weather, but the maroon camisole was purely for style. As she unwrapped the scarf, she threw her hair back over her shoulder, and her face was ruddy and glowing. She walked to the counter, ordered a cup of black coffee, as was her tradition, and took her tasse to the patio outside. Normally, I'd be out there, but I had wanted to read without the wind interfering. Neither of us had ever minded the cold; still, as she sat, she flipped the scarf back around her neck. It was a brisk March morning.

From where I sat, I could watch her with little chance of her seeing me. She sipped the cafe and sat back in her seat as if she were queen. She just sat there; she watched people walk by; she looked up at the clouds and rubbed her cheeks with mittened hands. For about half an hour I sat, transfixed by this simple scene. It was as if I was in the bedroom and she in the salon, drinking her morning coffee. She always used to get up earlier than I. I would usually wake and watch her for a few minutes before I went to meet her. I've never known if she knew she were being observed, but if she did, she never let on.

So here we were again, a few blocks from the Broodhuis, in the middle of Belgium, sharing this intimate, quiet coffee. When the moment had passed, Stella picked up the cup, took it back inside to the counter, mumbled a "Merci," and was gone into the streets. I sat staring at the the corner she turned, on her way north to who knows where. After a few minutes, I stood, put on my coat, nodded to the woman at the register and walked outside. I turned south and meandered past the square. Renaissance and Baroque edifices gave way to small shop fronts and fecund smells. I wasn't paying much attention to the shops until I spied a quaint little confiserie. If you have ever been to a chocolatier in Europe, you know what a sensory paradox it is. The smells are muted-- rich, but not sweet. They tantalize with the subtlety of a stockinged ankle jutting from beneath a calf-length skirt. Simultaneously, the deep, rich colors of the chocolates warm the body as you gaze upon them. The bright, shining glazes of raspberry and mint and orange jump at you from the mini chocolates, daring you to taste them.

I stood for a moment, trying to think of the French word for caramel, my eyes pouring over the hundreds of choices. Eventually, I stepped to the counter, pointed to three sets of chocolates and said, "Deux, trois, deux." I didn't really know what flavors they were, but they were works of art. Equipped with a wax paper full of bonbons, I stepped back into the street. I bit into the first candy and found a strawberry jelly. The dark chocolate off-set the sweetness of the preserves.

Looking down too much at my prizes, I bumped into a passing Frau with sensible, padded shoes. "Pardonnez-moi," I said, pretty sure she understood me. She looked shortly at me and pushed past. "Ah--" I said. "'Caramel' is caramel in French," and I walked on.

Sweet and Sour

2009-06-15T23:08:00.000-07:00

I went to the candy aisle today to get some Sour Starburst, and I thought they were out for a minute, but as if left there just for me, a package with the word "sour" sat to the side of a large shelf hole where its compatriots used to be... or so I thought. For I found later, upon eating the first blue-wrappered candy, that this was not my sour blue raspberry tasty. No, as I came to realize after fulling reading the package, this was a "new" flavor, no-marketing ploy, no, flavor, I guess: the "sweet raspberry." And the name was perfectly descriptive. The chew was sickly sweet, a treacly abomination, especially for one expecting the satisfying bite and teeth clinch of a sour Starburst.

The Offender.

You see, Mars Corporation, to try to expand its already diluted line of over-stretched brand- I mean candies- has added this new half sweet, half sour package where you get 3 "sweet blue raspberry" candies, three "sweet strawberry" ones and 3 each of the sour watermelon and green apple Starbursts. The package says "Starburst Sour," but to the side of that, it says "Sour 6 chews / Sweet 6 chews." I did not read this part.

Now, I am all for brand development if quality is not sacrificed. A diversified candy world is a great world. However, Starburst mostly has two great fruit chew packages and a slew of trash. There are the original, which are top ten in the candy pantheon, and there are the sours, also very strong. And, granted, their Gummy Bursts and Starburst Easter jellybeans (Joosters) are very nice. Solid additions to the brand. The rest of the fruit chew line, however, is for dilettantes dabbling in the sweet science. Berries and Creme chews? I think not. Am I eating yogurt or candy here? Icy Bursts? What the hell is a Kiwi Snowberry? Where is that grown? In the Arctic Tropical regions? Soda Slammers? Yeah, that's what we've been waiting for: chewable soda.Like I say, these are quite solid. This kind of expansion is fine: take the original flavor and change the vehicle.

Listen, Starburst (Mars), you guys are great-- nobody's saying that you aren't great. But all these perversions of a great product are diluting your brand, not enhancing it. Also, can I have my dollar back? You clearly are marking these packages abstrusely so that people like me will accidentally try these nasty bits you are marketing now.

A Shortcut to Mushrooms

2009-06-09T01:23:00.000-07:00

We were in the car for a long time that day. Or, at least, so it seemed. When you're young, you don't like any rides more than twenty minutes or so. You've all seen it in the movies. Hollywood really nailed that whole "are we there yet" bit. Spot on.

But eventually, I started to recognize some familiar sites. The dizzying turns on those mountain roads began to straighten out, and my nausea subsided slightly. When Dad pulled into that convenience station, I eagerly jumped out to feel the solid ground beneath my feet. The station was one of those small, old-time places, with Coke in 12-ounce glass bottles, off-brand pork rinds and individual beef sticks. But my sister and I weren't interested in any of that; we headed straight for the candy aisle.

We rarely asked if we could get anything, because we had been trained to know that the unasked question often got the desired answer. Sure enough, just looking down at the Bazooka Joe gums, the Atomic Fireballs and the Fun Dips did the job. Dad came up to us and told us to grab something so that we could go. My sister quickly grabbed a roll of SweeTarts, as if she was sure of her choice, but I was more hesitant. I had not had most of these candies before, and I did not even know what a SweeTart was. The one thing I did know was that I did not want to miss out on what my sister seemed so keen on; well, that, and that the SweeTart roll gave the impression of containing the most candy in its class. That roll was way longer than the Rollo one, for instance. So, I, too, grabbed some SweeTarts, and away we went.

Simple. Classic. Elegant.

When I tore open the end of that roll in the car, I noted the color and asked my sister what color hers was. I don't remember her being interested in comparing. But before I could eat the first one, I had to count the candies so that I could ration them. Through the taut paper wrapper, I marked the end of each candy with my thumb and counted 26 lines. That made 27 pieces. Astounding. I could not believe that my Dad had let us each get so much candy. Usually, it was watermelon and yogurt for us. Occasionally, an individual tootsie roll or the like, but nothing like this. I wanted to clutch the roll to my stomach and double over so that it would be impossible for anyone to get at my stash. 27 candies. Sunshine brand became a god to me that day.

I ate the first SweeTart and was even more enamored of my treasure. It was a pink one, and man, was it sweet. I quickly ate the green one that was next, and had to stop myself from scarfing through half the pack. By the time we got to the lake, I had stopped at 3, leaving 24 candies to go. The lake was one of our favorite places, because someone had put up a water-slide that went out into the deeper water. It was just a regular slide that had water running down it. None of these crazy whirli-gigs that are all the rage these days. Just a lake and a slide. I was a little afraid of heights, so climbing up that slide was a bit terrifying, but the ride down was awesome.

The view from below.

That day was a blur of climbing up the slide, shooting down into the luke warm water, running to the car to eat a candy and repeating the whole process. I splashed my Dad and sister in the water and ranked the SweeTarts flavors. I rushed about with the energy of the sugar and felt the sun on my face. I laughed with my sister and wished she was always like this.

Eventually, we tired ourselves out and started the ride back as the sun set. I climbed over the backseat into that station wagon place where a trunk would be and I slept the sleep of the just: with half a pack of SweeTarts clutched in my hand and the sweetest of dreams dancing through my head.

Bulk Candy: The Gourmand's Dilemma

2009-05-24T06:21:00.000-07:00

If you have ever been in a modern candy store-- and I mean a real candy store, a place that ONLY sells candy -- you know that almost all candy there is sold in bulk. In fact, many grocery stores, following the example of these fancier 'boutiques,' now often feature a bulk candy aisle alongside the traditional packaged candy section.

A typical stand-alone bulk candy display.

The sight/site of so much candy can, indeed, make one feel like a kid in a candy store. The sheer scope of these displays of candy is astounding. Pounds and pounds of all sorts of confection dazzle the eye and delight the nose. Especially when one enters a candy shoppe, the sensory assault can be overwhelming. Chocolates, hard candies, sours, gummis, jelly beans, bit'o'honeys, gumballs... the list goes on and on. For anyone wanting volume, variety and a sugar-induced coma, bulk candy is the way to go. And in fact, there are many varieties of candy that it it very hard to find in any other form than bulk (in stores or in quarter candy machines in supermarkets). I admit to having many times gotten a hodge-podge bag of goodness and eaten until I could stomach no more.

These Blox candies and Tangy Tarts are notoriously hard to find in packaged quantities.

However, there are a number of negatives when it comes to bulk candy. First, the cost. These days, one can find very few, if any, bulk candy prices that are less than $5.99/lb (and usually, $7.49 is more the norm). This is against the very nature of the pricing of goods. If generic cereals and green beans have taught us anything, it's that we spend more buying the brand, the packaging, the distribution, and the advertising that come with goods, than the actual goods. None of that applies to these bulk candy suppliers, so why is the candy so much more expensive? When I get some malted milk balls in bulk, am I paying for Whoppers? I think not! I am getting Bill's Candy Warehouse's finest. A further example: I can get a 5-lb bag of gummi bears in pretty much any store for like $10 or so, but I am supposed to pay $6-8/lb in bulk because I can get gummi dinosaurs and gummi penguins? Newsflash! Shape is not equal to flavor! Everyone knows that buying things in bulk is cheaper, yet you, bulk candy people, are selling some ideal of "boutique" to me (I guess) with these outrageous prices. Shame. Shame.

Another draw-back of the bulk candy is freshness/cleanliness. There has been many an occasion where I have tried to dig into a mound of Swedish Fish or Juji Fruit, only to find that the mound is, in fact, a clump. You have to be really careful to verify the freshness of the candy in these things. Also, though there are marked signs that indicate that only scoops should be used to get the candies out of the bins, you know that a TON of grimy rugrats have had their greasy little paws all over a bunch of that candy. And, those bins are not air-tight, so all air-borne bacteria are making quite a home in the bins. You may sacrifice your health by eschewing factory sealed packaging. It's like a bacterial Club Med in there.

Here are the green apple, grape, strawberry, orange and lime strains of staphylococcus.

Finally, you rarely get the premium brands of candy in bulk. As I already alluded to, Whoppers will not be Whoppers, gummis will not be Haribo, and Swedish Fish will be "Scandinavian Water Creatures." So even if you find some relatively cheap, fresh-looking candy in bulk bins, often you are getting inferior candy stock. And that means no packaging, which is a big lack. I like to know about the candy I am eating and in what proportion the maltodextrin is to the citric acid. These things sooth me.

All in all, though, I cannot say that all these things have kept me wholly away from the bulk bins. There is something about seeing all that candy in such variety. Their siren song will no doubt pull my ship onto the crags again.

J'Accuse!

2009-05-19T11:57:00.000-07:00

So apparently, these things have been around for about a decade:

While I cannot claim to keep up with the kiddie vitamin market, it surprises me to find that there are gummi vitamins out there. Gummi bears, worms, dinosaurs? Check. Gummi rats, skeletons, body parts? OK. I can accept that. But gummi vitamins? I must object.

But wait, you may be saying: 'Aren't you a proponent of gummis so much so that you cannot go home without your step-mother throwing a bag of bears at you at some point?' Well, yes, and God bless her. And, you might add, 'You support all those other varieties of gummi, so why not vitamins?' Well, I'll tell you.

First, all those other things are just shapes-- molds. Adding vitamins to gummi is an altering of the substance. It is making vitamin what was once gummi. Gummi is not a medium that can take on all additions and remain gummi. Can you add cookies to tacos and still have tacos? No. Stop making gummis taste all strange with your B12s and Niacins, Flinstone vitamin products. The authenticity of gumminess must be preserved.

Second, kids who need to get vitamins through a vitamin product do not need to be eating candy. Sure, I love candy and eat a lot of it; however, know what else I eat a lot of? Food. Turns out there are tens, if not hundreds of different kinds of food out there in the world, a lot of which are not all processed corn by-products and oils. Many of these foods contain vitamins-- plenty, in fact, to support human life. Look into it, parents.

These are products being developed in Dole's new Froots 'N' Vegg-ease vitamin line, expected to drop in Spring 2010.

Finally, parents need to sac up here: stop babying your kids. If for some reason they need to take their vitamins, make them take the vitamins. It should be a relatively unpleasant experience. When young Skippy has an iron deficiency because he won't eat his broccoli, and you won't force him to eat that, he doesn't get a handful of gummis, too! WTF, stupid parents? A big part of life is that there are a lot of unpleasant things that one must go through on a daily basis. Get some object lessons in while the kids are impressionable.

And stop messing with my candy, vitamin people.

Serving Size

2009-05-10T22:29:00.000-07:00

One point eight ounces.
Memories of my first love:
SweeTarts, ShockTarts, Sprees.

These were renamed "Shockers," one of the more spineless moves in modern candy nomenclature.

School Days

2009-04-30T13:24:00.000-07:00

As a junior in high school, I was known as the "candy god." Not because all candies counted me as a deity, but because I seemed to produce the stuff in this jacket I used to wear all the time. I didn't tell anyone, but the only creation story that happened with me was the one where I would stop at the drug store each day before school. They had a lot of candy there. I am uncertain whether some higher power produced it, or whether it was large, faceless corporations. I suspect the latter, but it is exciting to try to envision a candy god. I call him Fructor, and his body is composed of every sugary sweetness imaginable. Created in his own image and all.

Imagine this guy, but with jolly ranchers for fingers and licorice for hair.

To come to the moral, I was the de facto supplier of candy for most of the student population my junior year- at least for those in the know. I was like the corner dealer-- everybody gets a taste, but the second time's a dime. Tell a friend.

One day I was chomping on some of the individual SweeTart rolls modeled after Smarties. At around a dollar per sack and 27 rolls per sack, we are talking a 100% profit with 7 rolls for personal consumption. Individual packaging: one of the gifts that Fructor has bestowed upon us. Smarties ain't got shit on these.

Anyway, being a gracious dealer, I was also sharing a bag of gummi bears with some of my best clients. Keeps em coming back. As if by divine intervention, I threw a handful of gummis into my mouth while still working on a full roll of mini-SweeTarts. Maybe it was like the moment when someone dropped their Hershey into a vat o' peanut butter, or maybe it was like the synergy achieved when good timing meets good planning - whatever. Point is, at that moment, I pre-saged the coming of a gummi* SweeTart. Long had I considered the two entities to be at the apex of candy production (despite the fact that at that point I was eating Brach's gummis-- ah, youth!). Their union would represent, I thought, one of the greatest moments in the history of sweetkind. Those in attendance that day can tell you that I even drew sketches of the new product; it was as if the very hand of the Creator reached into my brain and implanted the image of what would, just weeks later, emerge on the market.

The irony , of course, is that though the Gummy SweeTart is a fine product, and the world is better for them, they do not live up to the sum of their parts. A good gummi or SweeTart far outstrips the combination of the two. I often bemoan the fact that I had not the foresight or resources to research the development of the Gummy SweeTart myself; perhaps then the product would be the transcendent experience I envisioned lo those many years ago. As it is, each time I eat a Gummy SweeTart now, a little pang shoots through my body. "If only," I say to myself. "If only." This is what lost dreams look like.

*NOTE: You may note the inconsistencies in the spelling of "gummi/gummy" in this post. While SweeTarts and most American candies prefer the "y" spelling - "gummy" - I, except when referring to branded products, prefer the more whimsical, European "i" spelling - "gummi."

Eroica: A Stroll through Bonn

2009-04-27T19:45:00.000-07:00

I gazed up at the parapet at Sterntor, and I felt I could hear a thousand Roman footsteps advancing on my position. It was comforting to think of a time in history when things were so black and white. Though they sacked, pillaged, and raped their way across Europe, the Romans represented the sincerest form of order: absolute power. For centuries, none could oppose the strength of Italy, and none dared even think it. Now, all that remains of so massive a force is a set of ruins here or there, or reproductions like this "Star Gate" spotting the modern cities of Europe. I guess Robert Frost was right: nothing gold can stay.

I walked for miles, lost in reveries of Rome. I remember thinking that Napoleon would have been a Roman were he born to an earlier era. He brought the spirit of Rome back to Bonn and inspired the best of men to stratospheric heights. I walked without direction as I imagined Napoleon as a legionnaire. I never once looked at a map or a road sign. I had no true sense of where I was going, but I knew I was going somewhere. It was as if I could hear the distant strains of some melody, and I ambled toward it until it became palpable. When the sounds became discernible instruments, I looked up to see the the facade of Beethovenhaus.

Beethovenhaus seemed stately and austere on its facade, but once I stepped inside, the warmth of the home, even preserved as a museum, hit my chest like a closed fist. The only sounds were the steps of our shoes on the hardwood floors, but as I wandered through this monument, I sensed the C minor of Pathetique build from a melancholy musing to a hurried jaunt.

By the time I walked back out the front door, the horn of Eroica's first movement blared in my ears. It had always reminded me of the first, unsteady steps of a new relationship. Stella and I had stumbled our way through those first few months, swept away by the novelty of each other. We listened intently to the details of each others' days, of family histories, of childhood traumas, sure that we were building something unique. But it turns out that the horn blasts were only a theme, one that would play out over and again, sometimes with variations, but always recognizable. For a time, there was comfort in the regularity. We drifted through Europe, living the carefree lives of two ex-pats with money in our pockets and romantic ideals in our heads. But somewhere along the way, our footfalls fell too easily into unison. Our playful skipping became a metered funeral march. Horn gave way to orchestra, and we couldn't hear each other through the din. She looked one day at me and turned to walk into a little patisserie in Aix. I did not follow.

After that, I traveled by train, a velo, taxen fliegen, na stopie. It was freeing to flit away the weeks, touring others' histories, ignoring my own, but, eventually, I began to crave a return to order. I needed a standard, a place to fit in, something that would never let me down or bore me, whose repetitive rhythm was not droning or commonplace. As I turned to look once more on Ludwig's birthplace, I grabbed a handful of Haribo Gold-Bears from the pocket of my backpack. The waxy, firm texture felt at home on my teeth. The gelatin squeaked on the enamel and fell apart into manageable chunks on my tongue. "Apres moi, le deluge," I thought to myself, a broad smile on my face as I skipped back to the hotel.