Candy Blog

Famously dropped from aircraft across American cities in the early 1920s in the kind of highly ironic, “devil-take-the-hindmost” marketing misanthropy for which these United States have become deservedly notorious, Butterfinger hawkers have always sought to cultivate an “edgy” image.  “A confection named for oafishness? How droll!” While Curtiss Candy Company of Chicago never got the obvious choices of Moe, Larry or Curly to endorse their bar, everyone’s favorite heartless multi-national Nestle had the good sense (and greens) to enlist The Simpsons as spokescartoons when they purchased the brand in 1990. Through 2001, phrases like “Nobody better lay a finger on my Butterfinger!” and “Bite my Butterfinger!” could be heard shrilling from the infallible gold lips of Bart through televisions sets across America and beyond, making the bar at least a bit hipper by association.

Now, it’s the time of year when society urges us to be introspective—to take a moment and consider what we’re thankful for.  Sure, I could give the Butterfinger the proverbial “Indian” rub, really take its “stuffing” out, but that’s not what this season is all about.  Instead, I’m going to list the reasons why I’m thankful the Butterfinger exists.

1. They’re not as bad as Skor. Seriously! Although similar, the Butterfinger is not as paryltically cloying as Skor, which is reason enough to rejoice.

2. They won’t burn! According to the Simpsons, (who were slightly bitter after having been dumped) even fire won’t eat butterfinger.

3. The pieces that fall out of your mouth (which is always, making a huge mess) usually melt swiftly and can be easily wiped up with a moist towel or towelette.

4. They remind you of the wealth of other foods that exist! No, Butterfinger is not the dominant food paradigm on planet earth.  Pa won’t be slicing no Butterfingerball Turkey this Thursday, no one will be passing the ButterfingerBeans, and lord, there will be no boat of drawn Butterfinger to pour over the mashed potatoes, hallelujah!

Enjoy the feast, Leave the sweets ‘til dessert and Happy Thanksgiving from Candy.com!

Peter Paul Candy Manufacturing Company set up shop in New Haven Connecticut in 1919, with the goal of striking it big peddling exotic, coconut-based confections to an eager, coconut-hungry public.

Their first offering was the “Kona Bar,” a blend of coconut, dried fruits and nuts covered in chocolate. The confections were made in the dead of night when the air was coolest (to avoid then ubiquitous refrigeration issues with chocolate), and sold fresh the next morning door-to-door. Ah the golden days of solicitation, when the next knock could mean a complete Encyclopaedia Britannica, a delicious, fresh Kona Bar, or even an orgone accumulator.

As Peter Paul’s business grew so did its product line, with Mounds and Almond Joy joining the happy chocolate-coconut family to the delight of Connecticuticans and beyond.

If you don’t have a coconut allergy, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be enjoying a Mounds or Almond Joy right now because these tiny bars (two per pack) are the cat’s pajamas. “Enrobed” in rich, dark chocolate, Mounds are a smooth double shot of creamy, shredded coconut, while Almond Joy caters to those who prefer to chew their food with sweet and mild milk-chocolate coated coconut with almonds.

While both Mounds and Almond Joy are extremely satisfying, I don’t think I’m alone in supporting a revival of the Kona Bar and fresh daily-to-your-door delivery.

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!