Choi is a writer whose work for Wired, GQ, New York and The Atlantic focuses on culture. But I’ll kill a stack of Haw Flakes and chase them with Wine Gums, and the rush will remain the same. That in and of itself should inspire fondness and warmth.Īs a Korean kid who grew up in a former British colony, I might not ever be able to go home. Bodegas, newsstands, dagashiyas and tuck shops rarely require selfie sticks. And while candy may not be the chief reason I visit a country, it’s a solid tourist attraction. You’ll have to travel for the choicest morsels. It’s the shortcoming of the international candy marketplace that even Jeff Bezos can’t deliver you the deep cuts. If you think my selections are particular to Western Europe, America and East Asia, you’re right. One’s kosher, one’s Canadian, one appeared in “When Harry Met Sally” and one’s in a kilt. A Tunnock’s Tea Cake is a Mallomar is a Whippet is a Krembo - a cookie with marshmallow dipped in chocolate - except of course it’s never that simple. Despite all our differences, candy speaks to a fundamentally shared humanity we like a lot of the same stuff. But no matter your brand, it will always deliver similar things: the rose-tinted pleasure of nostalgia, a brief respite from adulthood and, well, whatever else it is that sugar does for morale. No one’s madeleine will be exactly the same. How else could you explain how Circus Peanuts are still a going concern? Or those gnarly monstrous mint-leaf gel slices, the dial-up internet of candy? Your mom loved herself a Goetze’s Cow Tales or maybe a milky White Rabbit, so you do, too. Such innate belief systems defy reasoning. As with a beloved sports team, your affinities and fealties have been ingrained since your prelinguistic days. Milk chocolate over dark white is not right, and the only correct way to eat a Kit Kat is to nibble off the enrobed edges and pry the wafer layers apart. When it comes to the United States, my opinions are more calcified. Milkita melon is a singular delight - creamy honeydew drops - while Kasugai gummies in mango, muscat grape, lychee and yuzu (in that order) are a necessary part of any convenience-store run in Tokyo. Hi-Chews lay waste to any other fruit taffy experience. But the best Haribo by my standards is the sour cola Balla Stixx (sometimes dubbed Zig Zourr) with a mallowy interior that I’ve only reliably found in Italian gas stations. The green Haribo gummy frog is peach not apple (common misconception) clear gummy bears are the best bears. Any flavor of Ritter Sport is crucial whenever you can find one (milk-chocolate cornflake in particular). (It’s called Alenka.) British Smarties beat American Smarties, because candy-coated chocolate buttons are superior to chalky pressed pills of the former, the orange taste delicious. The thumb-size rectangular one, featuring a startled-looking infant in a babushka, is my favorite. The art direction on each tiny canvas is a marvel, featuring oil-painted landscapes, shiny-eyed squirrels, polar bears and swans - even the occasional camel. Russian bulk-candy bins are feasts for the eyes, with trillions of variations on the individually wrapped chocolate bonbon. Shake your selection in the bag as if you’re crumb-coating chicken, so that you get an even citric-acid distribution. But don’t let that dissuade you from sampling the fruity stuff. In any Scandinavian country, you’ve got to watch out for salted licorice there are at least a dozen different kinds, and all of them taste to me like old spoons. And I’ve learned some tricks in my travels. Park me in front of any country’s pick ’n’ mix, penny-candy bins, Aji Ichiban, the part of the five-and-dime where jelly hamburgers live, and I will go to town. If a wan man in a toque has ever loomed over the thing with tweezers, no matter how storied its provenance, I would enjoy its bootleg cousin more. I’d sooner crush a Quality Street (except the strawberry crème ones barf) or a crumbly puck of Mexican De La Rosa than a morsel of marzipan molded by human hands to resemble a carrot on a dinky doily. So is branding that testifies to soccer hooliganism as a respectable pastime. Wrappers with cartoon mascots are promising. Shot through with a skosh of hoi polloi-ishness. In a new port of call, I like to know what sort of candy I’m dealing with.Īs with breakfast foods, I believe candy is often tastier the less expensive it is. No, the pressing calculus as I make my way to baggage claim is driven by drugstores, kiosks, supermarkets and vending machines. Not the boutiques or cosmetics counters, no duty-free sunglasses and designer perfumes for me. Whenever I land in a new country, before I’ve even left the arrivals hall, my mind turns to shopping.
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