Candy Blog

Sky Bar was delivered onto this mortal coil by the sure hands of Necco candysmith Joseph Cangemi in the ominous days of 1938. An agglomeration of various venerable candy makers and merchants from across New England, Necco has been known for its innovation and enterprising and the Sky Bar may just represent the zenith of both for the historic company.

With 4 different flavor chambers concealed underneath the unassuming guise of molded, milk chocolate, the Sky Bar is a kind of candy “Game of Death” (but without the life threatening possibilities typically associated with having to face down Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and a gang of Korean underworld martial arts experts with only your fists, feet and feelings). This revolutionary candy bar was introduced to the public through as series of skywriting campaigns, which proved tremendously successful once the undoubtedly jittery, war-wary folks realized the aircraft buzzing the beaches and metropolitan centers were friendlys.

Though its popularity has waned over the decades since its release, Sky Bar is still pretty ubiquitous (at least in New England) and not having tasted one in a while, I decided to dance with the old grand-daddy variety bar once again.

First Chamber: Caramel. Ok, not bad. We’re talking your garden-variety caramel here; very soft, very sticky– not the get stuck on your molars and grow hair sticky, more the stretchy-as-hell, leaves-big-strands-on-your-chin-making-you-look-like-a-loveable-moron sticky. Pass!

Second Chamber: Vanilla. Hmm. I had a hard time actually tasting the vanilla I’m afraid. Despite the assurances of the packaging, there seems to be some dispute in the surprisingly vibrant online candy discussion community about whether or not the vanilla filling is a nougat, marshmallow, or some kind of Valo-Milk rip off.  Whatever it is, it’s not bad, in fact it’s sweet and creamy, just not particularly Vanilla-ey. Thesis Statement needs revision.

Third Chamber: Peanut. GOAL! This is why the Sky Bar has survived, not peanut butter or even chopped nuts, but peanut caramel! It’s everything great about the sweetness and consistency of caramel with the added bonus of peanut flavoring.  A brilliant and wholly unique blend I’ve yet to encounter anywhere else.  A+.

Fourth Chamber: Fudge. A bit of a let down, though anything after the 3^rd chamber was bound to be anti-climactic. The problem here is that the fudge is almost indistinguishable from the chocolate coating (except in consistency). This wouldn’t be a huge demerit, except for the fact that the chocolate coating isn’t exactly a deal-maker to begin with. One reviewer has compared it to cheap Christmas candy and as a proud survivor of many a holiday advent calendar, I heartily agree. Lacks originality—now look me in the eye fudge, did you cheat on this exam?

And there you have the Sky Bar, a bit of a dinosaur, but a loveable one. I sincerely hope it survives at least another 71 years and that at some point during that time, peanut caramel gets a spin-off.  And how about another sky writing campaign Necco? Pretty please with whatever passes for vanilla around that factory on top?

Nineteen Hundred and Twelve CE; Squaw Man, the first motion picture to come out of Hollywood, California is still two solar revolutions down the road while Hollywood, Minnesota gives birth to the “Hollywood Candy Company.” By the time the “Double” Zero Bar rolls out in 1920, the left coast Hollywood has pretty much supplanted its middle-American sister as the Hollywood by blossoming the film capital of the United States, though small but loyal generations of quietly delighted Zero bar buyers may still contest which city is more significant.

Never had a Zero bar? You’re not alone. While it’s been on the shelves relatively unchanged since its 1920 release (except for dropping the second Zero in 1934) despite numerous moves between distributors, the Zero bar doesn’t seem to have made much of an impact. In a scene historically dominated by variations on the chocolate/caramel/peanut schema, its unfortunate to see a candy bar that boasts white-fudge, nougat, almond and malted milk as principal ingredients receive so little attention. The Zero bar is different, see, but variety is the spice of life.

The white fudge, while not as melty or malleable as most chocolate coating, is at once creamier and more textured. Bites are smooth, but there’s a slight resistance that (to me) is a welcome departure from the super-soft consistency of many chocolate bars.  A thin layer of caramel beneath the fudge top-coat sweetens the pot and provides perfect contrast with the almond studded, malty, vaguely amaretto-tasting nougat core. The flavors are complex (some describe them as off-putting) but if you give the Zero bar a chance, you may just find you enjoy their rich blend and the uniquely tactile experience the combination offers. The Zero bar is also particularly delicious after a few hours in the freezer— a practice which was once wide-spread during the bar’s heyday and which Hollywood Candy Company encouraged by the name they chose for it (yeah, that’s right 0 degrees C baby; freezing point) and the bar’s original mascot—a polar bear!

Tell your friends, bring Zero back to number one! 

Superficially, everything about Hershey’s Skor bar shouts “dignity!” from its sleek, streamlined shape, sexy black label, bold crimson typeface and regal, tri-corned crown logo. Inside, you find a thin, very crispy piece of toffee coated in a thinner drizzling of milk chocolate, swirled appealingly on top (where it’s laid on slightly thicker) and stamped with diamond-shaped hatching on bottom– also pretty refined. I puzzled over this strangely familiar pattern when, while looking over my notes for this review, it hit me—shoeprints! Apparently “skor” is the Swedish word for “shoes.” Cool! I’m not sure what significance shoes (or Sweden) have in the history of the candy bar, but they certainly add to the mystique of the product.

In fact, mystique may be the greatest asset Skor has going for it—all the gimmicks perhaps intended to distract from the truth that, well, Skor just ain’t that good.

Don’t get me wrong, Skor certainly has good qualities, maybe even too good.  The chocolate coating (almost a leaf) is sweet and creamy, well blended and attractively textured to both the eye and the palette, while the toffee is incredibly buttery with a nicely contrasting brittleness. The first few bites I took were marvelously flavorful and balanced; all seemed right with the world. Yet as I made my way across the bar it started to turn on me. The chocolate turned to liquid sugar in my mouth, the toffee became the kind of buttery you only usually experience accidentally or as part of a dare. By the time I was done with the tiny bar I was panting, thirsty and fairly certain that I’d injured myself somehow.

I realized what had happened.

In the early 1980s, a brain trust of zealous Hershey chocolatiers, obsessed with out-heathing then competitor “heath bar,” created a confectionery super-soldier which, like all super-soldiers, would prove too powerful and turn on its masters. I should have known… The screaming excess of sweet and creamy/salty  was so 80′s I could practically feel the blaring, neon pink assault of Cyndi Lauper’s voice as I chewed on bravely.

Above all else, a great confection must be subtle, and if you pause to reflect, I think you’ll agree that Skor may have outgrown its red eye make-up.