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8/2/2019 Sweet Tooth; The Bittersweet History of Candy

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. Copyright 2012 by Kate Hopkins. All rights reserved. Printed inthe United States of America. For information, address St. Martins Press, 175

Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Hopkins, Kate.

Sweet tooth : the bittersweet history of candy / Kate Hopkins.1st ed. p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references.

ISBN 978-0-312-66810-5 (hbk.)

ISBN 978-1-250-01119-0 (e-book)

1. CandyHistory. 2. Candy industryHistory. I. Title.

TX784.H67 2012

641.85'3dc23

2012009741

First Edition: May 2012

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1


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Its odd, the memories that stay with you. I can recall beingabout four years old, and my parents had taken the family to a

diner that was tucked back in a strip mall in the blue-collar

town of Butler, Pennsylvania. I can remember one of my four

siblings creating a bit of a fuss over the lack of hot dogs on the

menu. I can remember the cup of coffee that my dad ordered,and the plain ceramic mug in which it was served. I can even

remember the pattern of the Formica that surfaced the table.

But the event that makes the day most memorable was that

this was the day I rst spit out a piece of candy.

The candy itself was a Brachs jelly nougat, a smallish piece

of candy that the waitress gave to each of us children while our

parents drank coffee and checked the validity of the bill.

The candy perplexed me. The texture of the nougat was soft

and gritty, and the jelly pieces stuck in the candy felt oddly out of

Chapter 1

The Innocence of Candy


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2 Sweet Tooth

place. The colors were new to me as well, with the pieces retain-

ing either a matted pink or a dull orange after surviving what-

ever process the folks at Brachs had inflicted upon them. Whatfruits they were supposed to represent is likely unknown to all

except the people who made these candies.

It was not as if I disliked the piece of candy. It was chock-full

of sugar, and thus had an appeal that would raise the eyebrows

of most preschoolers and test the patience of the majority of par-

ents out there. But it wasnt chocolate. Nor was it a Life Saver, a

marshmallow, or even a candy cane. It was something else.I spat it out into my hand and looked at it. I reflected for a

moment on whether it tasted good, setting aside for the time

being the fact that it tasted weird. It did pass the sweetness test,

so how bad could it be?

My father, of course, solved the situation, demanding that I

stop playing with my food, not recognizing the moment for

what it was. I was tasting nougat for the rst time, and I wasdetermining whether it was worth the effort.

It was.

What makes this scene so important in my development

was that it was the rst time I can remember having a surpris-

ing moment with a piece of candy. This was the rst time that

candy had left me intrigued.

This is what makes that moment so memorable. It wasntthat I mindlessly liked candy. It was the rst time that I had

formed an educated opinion about food, based on experience

and introspection. Not only did I like the nougat, I liked the

process that allowed me to reach that conclusion. I vowed right

then and there to repeat it as often as possible. I have since had

ample opportunity to accomplish this goal.

For the rst dozen or so years of my life, candy was the pana-

cea for every trial and tribulation that came my way. If I scraped

my knee, my mom would be there with a Tootsie Pop. When I


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The Innocence of Candy 3

learned I needed glasses, my dad stopped to buy me some Bubs

Daddy bubble gum.* After the rst day of kindergarten, Mom

marked the occasion with Smarties. (These would be the com-pressed sugar Smarties known in the United States, not the

candy-covered chocolates known to Canadians and Brits, which

were closer in design to M&Ms.) Candy was something that less-

ened pain and made life a little more tolerable.

But it was more than just that. Candy also made appear-

ances when life was to be celebrated. Easter, Christmas, and

Halloween all came with copious amounts of sugary treats.Birthday parties held in the neighborhood ensured that each

young guest received a bag of goodies. Trips to the grandpar-

ents on my mothers side promised, at the very least, rock candy,

but usually something more. My paternal grandmother was not

a fan of candy, and trips to her house meant little chance of a

candy high, though she did have a way with cakes, cookies, and

pies, so those of us who equated sugar with love were able towelcome visits to her house without fear.

In short, candy was available in good times and bad. It was

the initial mixed message that was fed to my siblings and me.

This environment set the table for the rst few years of my life.

Candy was our ambrosia. We tolerated the healthy meals of sh

sticks and broccoli but counted the days to the next holiday or

birthday party. Mrs. Paul could take a flying leap for all wecared, but Peter Paul was looked upon with an admiration that

left him just behind Jesus and Santa Claus. Along with Dolly

Madison, Peter Paul sponsored the several Charlie Brown car-

toon specials that were shown throughout the year. Only later

* For those who dont remember, Bubs Daddy bubble gum was thebubble gum to have

before Bubble Yum hit the market a few years later. Coming in flavors that included

grape, apple, as well as the classic bubble gum, it was sold in a twelve- inch long tubular

shape that was not only delicious but the perfect shape to whip trouble-seeking brothers

and sisters who wanted to swipe the gum when they thought you werent looking.


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4 Sweet Tooth

did I learn that Peter Paul was not a person, but a company, and

that the wife of President James Madison had precious little to

do with Zingers and Donut Gems.Then, when I was seven, an amazing thing happened. My

father instituted a practice that changed my candy life forever.

He offered every one of his children an allowance. Into our

greedy, grimy little hands, he placed money, with a promise of

more each week. In theory, Im sure he felt he was teaching us

scal responsibility. In practice, what we learned was thrift shop-

ping. Why buy a twenty-ve-cent Milky Way bar, when for thesame price we could buy Lemonheads, Boston Baked Beans,

and a three-pack of Lik-m-Aid? Making a big purchase such as a

Snickers bar was deemed nancially irresponsible.

Economics seemed to lter throughout our familys candy

universe. At Halloween, each of us children would go off with

our circle of friends, the older children dressed in costumes of

their own creations, while we younger kids wore those prepack-aged costumes that smelled of polyvinyl and included cheap

plastic masks that chafed the face. Not that the masks mattered,

because they would fall off when the cheap rubber band broke

fteen minutes after we set off on our routes. After all ve of us

had completed our neighborhood rounds, we would compare

stashes while a parent looked on.

A currency system was soon created, and trades occurred ingreat haste. Our living room looked like an elementary school

version of the New York Stock Exchange as our entire evenings

haul littered the floor. Soon, a hierarchy of candy developed. In

the middle of the value range sat the York Peppermint Pattie.

Those above the York Peppermint Pattie were highly valued:

Snickers and Reeses Peanut Butter Cups at the top, with 3 Mus-

keteers and $100,000 bars close behind. Those below the pattie

line were trade bait, valued more for the quantity one could col-

lect than for the short-term indulgence of the quality candy


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bars that one experienced. These included Chuckles, Good &

Plenty, and the worst thing one could get during the Halloween

excursionsthe dreaded popcorn ball.

We were sure it was no coincidence that those who gave

away these lame treats were childless. When popcorn ball givers

walked the streets of our neighborhood, children would look

upon them as if they were extras from Village of the Damned.

These miscreants wouldnt escape our suspicion until the next

Kates Candy BagYORK PEPPERMINT PATTIE

A mint fondant thats encased in dark chocolate, the York

Peppermint Pattie was created in York, Pennsylvania

(hence, its name), where it was purchased by the Peter

Paul company in 1972, which became the property of Cad-

bury in 1978, which sold the confection and recipe to Her-shey in 1988. The York Peppermint Pattie was known

primarily for two things: coincidentally having the same

name as a character in Charles Schulzs comic strip Pea-

nuts; and commercials that compared the sensation of eat-

ing a York Peppermint Pattie to skiing in the alps or being

trapped on a glacier. This I thought strange, for when I bit

into a York Peppermint Pattie, I got the sensation of eating

chocolate right after brushing my teeth.

Candy Exchange Rate:

1 York Peppermint Pattie =1 York Peppermint Pattie

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6 Sweet Tooth

Halloween, when inevitably they changed from popcorn balls to

chocolates or their porch lights were no longer lit.

But really, it was the trading for candy that I remembermost. With four siblings in the house, I had to develop strate-

gies in trading. Those of us who traded quickly for Milky Ways

and Clark bars often found ourselves without candy a mere three

days later. Those of us who traded for the multitudes of Bazooka

Joes, Sugar Babies, and the odd bags of candy corn soon found

ourselves holding a monopoly over the family candy supply by

election day.Easter was the second most anticipated candy holiday on the

calendar. Various Sunday school lessons instructed us that Easter

Sunday was the day we celebrated Jesus Christs resurrection.

What my pack of friends and I believed was that Easter was the

day that Jesus, in the form of a bunny, showed up at our houses in

the middle of the night, tossed hard-boiled eggs all over the place,

and then apologized for the mess wed have to clean up by leavinga basket full of candy. We started the morning by recovering all

the eggs that Jesus had haphazardly thrown around the house. By

the end of the day, we were stuffed full of marshmallow Peeps,

jelly beans, and loads of chocolate.

It was the chocolate that resulted in the rst upgrade in the

quality of the candy we were given. When we were younger we

received chocolate rabbits, which we thought a tad cruel, andwe questioned whether we would go to hell for biting off the

rabbit ears rst. Over the course of the next few years, this

evolved into us children imitating the rabbits as their horrible

child overlords chomped into their chocolate flesh. The last

year we had chocolate rabbits, our father noticed us screaming

in sadistic glee while doing our best bunny impersonations of

these confections, pleading, Oh my god, no! No! No! Dont eat

my . . . ! and then immediately devouring the rabbits head.

The next year, each of us received a softball-sized chocolate


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creamlled egg, with fondant decorations. While he clearly

paid more money for these treats, the cost was likely offset by

enabling him to survive Easter Sunday without once thinkingwe would end up being a family of serial killers. In that light, it

seems like money well spent.

When I was a kid, my favorite days of the year could be

ranked this way:

1. Christmas

2. Halloween 3. My birthday

4. Any day that I was able to receive/discover/consume

candy

5. Easter

Two of those days are up there because of the abundance of

gifts. Four of them involved candy or sweets. When I was achild, life was merely the time that happened in between these

days. The truly memorable moments were the ones when

candy and presents abounded. When youre a child, nothing is

better than a day when people give you stuff and you are al-

lowed to eat as much candy as you want.

Thirty-odd years later, those types of days seem long gone. I

now see Christmas as a cynical marketing enterprise that usesreligion as a rationalization for maxing out ones credit card.

Halloween has evolved from a night when I dressed in costume

in order to beg for candy from neighbors, to a night when I

dressed in costume in order to share whiskey, vodka, and kegs of

beer with like-minded college friends, to a night I have to re-

mind myself that the holiday still exists. Nowadays, I end up

forgetting about Halloween until the last possible moment, at

which point my only options are to either make a dash to the

drugstore to buy a bag or two of Hersheys Miniatures or make


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8 Sweet Tooth

sure I leave my porch light off. Im not sure theres anything

more pathetic than a woman in her forties trying to avoid seven-

year-olds dressed as hobos and princesses.As for my birthday, the less said about it the better.

And Easter? Easter went by the wayside when I could not nd

anything in the Bible about chocolate rabbits and jelly beans. If

Christianity wanted to retain my interest in the day celebrating

the resurrection of Christ, it could have at least explained how

marshmallow Peeps entered into the equation. If they had found

a stain mark on the shroud of Turin that came from the llingof a Cadbury Creme Egg, its possible that I would still be cele-

brating Christs ascension with ham and spiced gumdrops.

In other words, I grew up into a cynical adult. No longer

does bliss seem like an attainable goal. Instead I have settled for

comfort. Ive compromised the joys of my childhood in order

to have a better understanding of the world around me.

Candy falls squarely into this worldview. No longer is it repre-sentative of the happiness that life can bring you. Now it

represents the unhealthy, the immature, and the gluttonous. So

I have set candy aside in order to pursue the American dream

a two-and-a-half-bedroom house with a white picket fence, a

thirty-year mortgage, and ready access to the local grocery store.

But in middle age, with the brute force of a watermelon

dropped from a fth-floor balcony to the sidewalk below, I hada startling revelation: I was miserable chasing that dream. I

didnt want my life to be dened by a house that was smack in

the middle of suburbia. I didnt want to have political discus-

sions based on whether I could get a better tax rate on my mort-

gage. I didnt want to be associated with people who defended

wars that allowed us to have cheaper gas.

Every day, the media presents me with things that are go-

ing wrong. My country is ghting two wars. Several banks

nearly brought down the worlds economy. Institutional reli-


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gions are either advocating hate or covering up the sins of their

priests.

This is adulthood? The joys of our childhood never preparedus for this. I didnt want any of this. Ever. What I wanted was to

enjoy life, not to feel constricted by it.

One night, at a coffee shop, I told my partner Tara about

these feelings that my midlife crisis had unleashed.

So? she replied. Nothing is stopping you from acting like

a child.

Nothing except social etiquette. No one wants to see aforty-three-year-old skip down the street in a jumper embla-

zoned with a Sesame Street logo.

No, no. You misunderstand, she said. Take the best as-

pects of both worlds. Take the best aspect of your childhood

and combine it with the best aspect of adulthood.

I mulled her statement over a bit. I looked around the room

and watched other customers of the coffee shop. I watched themdrink their lattes. I watched them take advantage of the free

wi-. And I watched them eat the cupcakes that had become the

recent trend here in Seattlea little piece of childhood that was

now being sold to adults for a mere two dollars.

A thought hit me. I needed a cure for this midlife crisis. And

I knew exactly what I needed to do.

Candy! I said to Tara.Bweh? she countered, confused by my non sequitur.

Whats the one thing that denes adulthood? I asked.

I dont know. . . . Responsibility? she said, reaching for the

rst idea that entered her mind.

Exactly! With that comes the need to make money in order

to fulll those responsibilities. It pays for the roof over your

head, the food in your stomach, the car that allows you to com-

mute to your job. Now, what denes childhood?

Tara blinked.


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10 Sweet Tooth

Candy? she said.

Yes! And adulthood is the stage in your life when you can

afford all the candy you want, but you dont. Instead you usemoney to buy a car, pay the rent, go to the doctor.

Tara looked at me, clearly unsure on what I was about to

propose.

So what if I spent my money on all the candy I wanted? On

all the candy I could? And not just the stuff I can get at the Rite

Aid, or out of vending machines. What if I went out and searched

for weird candy?Tara put her latte down. So, your idea for a cure for a

midlife crisis is to binge on candy?

I paused and thought about it more. What if I used this

bingeing as a means to another end? If I were in academia, I

could say I was studying the history of candy.

So youre going to travel the world, claiming youre study-

ing the history of candy, but instead youre using it as an excuseto do a yearlong Halloween? All to solve your midlife crisis?

I mulled her last statement for a bit before realizing she had

crystallized the idea perfectly.

This was how I found myself, a few months later, thousands of

miles away, chasing down the meaning of life and the history of

candy and indulging in the ultimate childhood fantasy. That I was

doing it at the age of forty-three was unfortunate but necessary.After all, adulthood does afford some measure of luxury over

childhood, with nancial resources being chief among them.

My cure for my midlife crisis? I was going to do what I had

to. I was going to Italy.

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