Fare Thee Well, Cherry Blossoms

About a week ago, a bombshell headline shook Canadians from coast to coast. Hershey Canada confirmed that it would no longer produce Cherry Blossoms. For some, the realization set off a period of mourning, for others it led to hoarding. In the days that followed, the Cape Breton Post's cover story featured a fellow who purchased 30+ because of the personal meaning they hold for him. The power of food and memory is remarkably strong.

As for me, I probably have had one or two of these in my lifetime and primarily associate them with my mother who had them periodically (perhaps at Christmas). They aren't a deeply nostalgic item for me (unlike my beloved Maple Buds, which I pray one day will return). Still, it seemed only right that I would attempt to track down a few before they disappeared forever (or were picked up by a niche producer and showed up in retro candy shops for a premium). 

On a Friday night grocery trip, I kept my eyes peeled for for the iconic yellow box. Walmart failed me. And when I went to Sobeys, I found empty cases where they had once been displayed. Clearly, I wasn't the only person looking for them. I contemplated going to a nearby corner store that might have them, but then noticed that several of the check-out lanes were closed and blocked by displays. What if there were some saved from the hoarders by being inadvertently hidden from sight? I strolled toward the closed lanes and peered behind the racks of potato chips. There, on the bottom shelf of a display was an untouched case. I did what any self-respecting chocolate blogger would do -- I got down on the floor and retrieved four.

The box seemed smaller than I remembered. When that happens, I'm never sure if it's because the item really is smaller or if it's a trick of memory that things always seemed bigger when you were a kid.  I also remembered it being a perfect cube, but that wasn't the case (faulty memory or shrinkflation?). Either way, I had a bit of sticker shock when they rang up at $2.29 each. As the international student totalled my order, I wondered how many Cherry Blossoms he had checked in that day and whether he was confused by the sudden popularity of an unusual item. The thought passed as I completed the transaction and I left the store wearing a triumphant Cheshire grin.

A few days later, I decided it was time to crack one open. I removed the foil-wrapped confection from its box and examined its size and shape before biting in. The chocolate, which is particularly thick with peanut and coconut inclusions, was rock-solid and not easy to bite into. (I had been warned by a friend that she knew someone who broke their false teeth on one.) Carefully, I persevered, anticipating the reward of a gooey centre, but nothing happened. No liquid fondant oozing out. Just a thick, white paste-like centre. I took a second bite and found a piece of cherry, but the experience definitely wasn't as advertized on the box. Maybe it was "too fresh" and the invertase hadn't yet liquified the centre (invertase is an enzyme that, over time, breaks sugar into its component parts of glucose and fructose). Maybe the recipe for that batch had failed. Maybe the recipe had changed through the years. Whatever the issue, I had a dud. 

While I enjoyed the coconut in the milk chocolate shell, both for its flavour and textures, I wasn't particularly impressed by the Cherry Blossom's flavour overall. That's not entirely surprising, of course, given the changes to commercial chocolate as a result of the creeping costs of ingredients and spiking costs of chocolate. If you read the ingredient list, you won't see cocoa butter. It's just cheap (read: fake) chocolate. The mass-produced cousin of the cherry cordial. 

When I posted a photo of the Cherry Blossom on Facebook, one individual commented that they were sure I could make one that was better. About a year after completing my professional chocolatier program, I actually did make cherry cordials for my mother. While they are typically made with fondant containing invertase, I found an alternative production method demonstrated by Steve Andrianos of Hercules Candy. Intrigued, I had to try it. One evening, seated at my dining room table, I coated sour cherries (instead of maraschino) in powdered sugar mixed with cherry juice, rolling them in layer after layer until they had built up to the right size and texture. Then I dipped them in dark chocolate by hand. Ten days later, when I cut into one, the centre had magically liquified. 

Believe me when I say that the dark chocolate sour cherry cordial is the classic's sophisticated older sister who spent the summer in Europe. If I ever open a chocolate shop, it will be on the menu. Obviously, the Cherry Blossom doesn't hold a candle to it -- but that would be an unfair match up anyway. Mass-produced chocolate is in a different weight class than small-batch. 

Nevertheless, like any object, it can be imbued with meaning and serve as a powerful vehicle for memory. 

To read about other nostalgic confections, check out my blog on malted graham sandwich bars or the 4 Flavors bar. 

Blueberry Gummies

Over Christmas, I gave some thought to how I could continue challenging myself to work on my chocolate and candy-making skills in the new year. As the great day for resolutions approached, I was compiling my annual list of intentions when an ad popped up in my Instagram feed. It was for an online chocolate course. I scrolled past it knowing there was no way that it could compete with the professional chocolatier program I'd done about five years ago. But then every time I went on Facebook or Instagram, the same ad was there, taunting me. Finally I gave in and followed the link to see what it was about. The Now You Know course was comparatively inexpensive to begin with and at the time discounted by 50%. Ambivalent about their chocolate course, I started browsing their other offerings and stumbled upon one dedicated to candy making. Bingo! I bought the course.

Now, I purchased the course knowing there would be nothing in it that I couldn't find for free on YouTube. But that wasn't the point. The point was the structure a course would provide, with lessons to work through on a weekly basis. 

The first lesson focused on jelly and gummy candies. The lesson consisted of a few videos where techniques were demonstrated by Tony Morris of ToMo Candy. The course resources included two recipes. When I was finished reviewing the materials, I made a mental note to acquire a new candy thermometer (since I'd had difficulties with mine while making cremes in December) and added gelatin to my shopping list so that I could experiment with his recipe. 

You see, I've tried making gummies a few times before. There are several recipes floating around online that have you add plain gelatin to flavoured Jell-O. There's even an episode of Pioneer Woman where she makes homemade gumdrops to give as part of a Christmas cookie platter.  Do these recipes work? Yes. Do the have the consistency of a gummy? Sort of? It's more like really firm jello (maybe I'm splitting hairs). They also have no shelf life whatsoever. They begin weeping the same way pâte de fruits do and quickly spoil (within 2-3 days at room temperature). Don't get me wrong -- it's a fun activity on a snow day, to be sure -- but that's about it. 

And so this week, armed with a new candy thermometer, some blueberry flavouring, and the largest box of gelatin I've ever seen (and gave me sticker shock at the cash when I bought it), I set about my task. I measured and prepared ingredients. Then, I boiled the sugar mixture 265F, the hardball stage. After adding my flavouring, I stirred in a few drops of food colouring. Next, I heated the bloomed gelatin in the microwave until it melted before adding it to the sugar. I transferred the mixture into a measuring cup to make it easier to pour and worked as quickly as I could to fill my molds. 

This is where I encountered a minor snag. I hadn't taken out and prepared enough silicone molds, and had to go back to my stash to grab another (twice!). There can be a great deal of variation in terms of the yield of a recipe as a result of many factors, including how big the cavities of a mold are. For this recipe, which was supposed to make 50 gummies, I prepared four molds totaling 68 cavities. When done, I had 81 pieces. I left them to set overnight and cleaned up the incredibly sticky mess left behind by utensils. 

The next morning, I unmolded the blueberry gummies and dropped them into a sour sugar mixture. It started out ok, but as sticky residue built on my fingers, it became more and more difficult to remove the gummies and drop them into the sugar. I washed my hands several times before finishing the task. I arranged the majority of them in an airtight container and popped a few into bags to share with product testers (friends who enjoy sour gummies). I also couldn't resist trying one myself. 

The result? The texture is much more like that of a commercially produced gummy and I'm hoping that they will have a longer shelf life as a result (since I believe there is less water activity in them). The sour sugar coating creates the perfect pucker and as that subsides, the blueberry flavour emerges as a second wave. It could be stronger, but it is definitely present. All in all, I'd say this was a successful experiment. I can see the wisdom, however, in pouring a slab and cutting it into pieces. I suspect it would save time compared to peeling 81 jellies out of their molds.

I can't wait to see what's next in my 2025 candy-making adventure. 

Viral Chocolate

As someone who doesn't use TikTok (simply because I already have too many social media platforms to follow), I often find myself late to the party when it comes to viral food and beverages. The Dalgona coffee of the pandemic, the baked feta pasta that followed, the devilled egg flights more recently -- I eventually heard about them (and tried a few), but sometimes more than a year after the trend peaked. So, it shouldn't be surprising that it took a few months for the viral "Dubai chocolate bar" to come onto my radar. 

Actually called "Can’t Get Knafeh Of It," this thick bar filled with pistachio cream, tahini, and toasted kataifi originated at FIX Dessert Chocolatier in Dubai. Why it went viral over thousands of other bars in the world is anyone's guess. Yes, it was beautifully produced. It was also expensive. And the exclusivity factor -- at the time they were only available in Dubai and Abu Dhabi -- had its own exotic allure. Content creators who couldn't get their hands on one turned to making their own versions. One blogger noted that the DIY version became so popular that it caused a "nationwide pistachio cream shortage" (but didn't offer any proof of that claim). Curiosity sparked! 

No, I didn't make one myself. That would be too much of a commitment, even for me. I'd have to track down a Middle Eastern ingredient called kataifi that is similar to shredded phyllo pastry. I also didn't buy the original "Can't Get Knafeh Of It." It has been imported by shops in the United States (and perhaps in Canada), but it's still not particularly easy or quick to get. So, instead I bought a copycat bar that was imported from Istanbul, not Constantinople (if you know, you know). 

The bar arrived in a rather posh black box with gold foiling. Surprisingly, the chocolate was in perfect temper, with no evidence of bloom, despite its journey. Inside, as anticipated, was the crunchy kataifi filling with its characteristic green colour from the pistachio. Unlike many of the content creators online, I did not break the bar in half with my hands or crush it to make the filling ooze out. Instead, I used a hot knife to slice through it. Hopefully you appreciate the clean cut as much as I do. 

The flavour, I'm sorry to say, was unremarkable. The milk chocolate was smooth and not overly sweet. The filling had little flavour, which was unexpected. It would have benefitted from some something -- anything! -- that would have enhanced the flavour (more salt or sugar or tahini). The real appeal, however, was in the texture and the sound of the bar while biting through the layers. (Sorry, no ASMR video to share.) The crunch factor was off the charts and was the perfect foil to the smooth chocolate -- and that rather than the flavour is what made it moreish. Perhaps that is also why it went viral.   

Was it worth trying this bar? I suppose so. Would I go out of my way (or pocketbook) to have one again? Probably not. But if I'm out and about and happen to stumble upon kataifi, then perhaps I'll purchase it and try to make my own version in an effort to make a better bar. 

Until then, I hope your new year is off to a sweet start!