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. 

Chocolate Memories

When I started my professional chocolatier program several years ago, there was a great deal of discussion about fine chocolate in contrast to commercial chocolate, as well as the development of taste and preferences. As I planned to host a chocolate tasting, I remember posting on Facebook and inviting my friends to tell me their favourite chocolate of all time. Not surprisingly, the vast majority of posts were about commercial chocolate. Interestingly, though, many were memories of discontinued candy bars from childhood. It was a fascinating discussion. 

While I recognized some of the candy bars referenced, there were several that were new to me, so I searched for pictures and descriptions of many of them online. One that stood out was a comment about a 4 Flavours bar. 

My research revealed that it was a Neilson creation, sort of like a Caramilk bar, but with four different fillings -- vanilla, caramel, chocolate, and bordeaux. Having no idea what "bordeaux" referred to, I researched that as well and discovered it was a butterscotch flavour. Fascinated by this, I ordered a chocolate bar mold and began planning how to recreate the experience for my friend for Christmas. I was thrilled with the results (but it will probably be a very long time before I do it again, given the work associated with making all of those fillings and keeping them at the right working temperature). 

More recently I've had discussions about a particular chocolate-coated graham cracker candy bar -- first with a friend at work and then again with a cousin on Facebook (completely unrelated and in a time span of about 2 months). 

What was this mysterious treat? Described as two graham squares with a mocha-coloured, cream-type filling in the centre, covered in chocolate, and sold two pieces in one package, it was reportedly delicious. But try as I might, my googling didn't lead to any images of such a bar. And, frankly, this seemed strange to me. Until we figured out the actual name of the bar.

Graham Bar? Graham Square? Graham Sandwich? Graham Sandwich!

Malted Graham Sandwich Bar to be exact. They were manufactured at the Moirs chocolate factory in Dartmouth, which closed in 2007. I found the full product name in the appendix of a master's thesis on Moirs advertising (Thank you Holly Hanes!). Sadly, the thesis didn't have any images associated with this bar and, given that it seems to have been a regional product, it isn't all that surprising that none of us have yet found photographs of one or its packaging online. 

Now, as someone who never saw or tasted a Graham Sandwich, there are a lot of unknowns. I don't have a good sense of how big they were or how thick the cream between the two graham crackers was.  I'm not sure if they were perfect squares or rectangles. And I certainly don't know how malty the malted filling was or what sort of texture and consistency it had (beyond the description that it was a cream). Nevertheless, the flavour combination sounds divine and my interest has been piqued! 

The truth is, I can't help but wonder if this should be my next retro candy bar re-creation.

What do you think? Should I make a modern, hand-crafted version of the Malted Graham Sandwich Bar? 

Leave a comment below! And if you remember this sweet treat, then please share your memories of it. 

Unbearably Delicious?

When I was home for Christmas, my mother pulled an old recipe book out of the cupboard and suggested I take it back to Cape Breton with me. Now that I had my own place and was amassing my own library of cook books, she reasoned, that's where it should be. I hadn't seen it in decades. Literally. It was The Best Cookie Book Ever! -- self-proclaimed, of course -- that she had bought me at a Scholastic book fair when I was nine years old. I'm guessing it was my first cook book ever.

As I flipped through it, I remembered how much I loved it. The illustrations of the bears and a little grey cat were appealing to me back then -- and the truth is, they still are. They are incredibly cute. As I flipped through the book, I saw my signature from back then. (Not quite as smooth or flowing as it is now.) It seems I enjoyed the puzzles and did them all. At the back of the book, there was a certificate of achievement. I had awarded it to myself and seemingly forged a friend's signature as the person who presented it to me. As the memories of the book came back, I quickly flipped to the only recipe from it that I actually remembered making -- Chocolate Bars. I don't recall how they turned out or if we liked them. I just know that I really wanted to make them. And my mother, as always, indulged me (after a little convincing, as I recall).

What I remember about making these Chocolate Bars was how confused we were by the measurement for the butter. A stick of butter. Sure, that seems silly now -- hundreds, if not thousands, of episodes of Martha Stewart, Anna Olson, Ina Garten, and Nigella Lawson later -- but back then we really didn't know that meant a half cup or a quarter pound. Butter didn't come in sticks and, actually, we didn't even have butter. Back then, margarine was all the rage. And, of course, those were the days when you couldn't just jump onto the internet and google the conversion. How times have changed. I don't remember how much we decided was the right amount of butter/margarine. And I don't remember if we liked the final result. I just remember the great butter debate. Funny how memory works, no?

Since Christmas, I've looked at the recipe book a few times and thought that I should make some of the recipes from it again. And so this week I decided it was the right time to visit the past.

Of course, thirty years later, I now realize how misleading the name of the Chocolate Bars recipe actually is. A kid would read that and expect a chocolate bar. Well, okay, most kids would. The ones who compete on Kid's Baking Championship probably are way more savvy. Anyhoo... The reality is, this is a brownie recipe, which is sort of strange because there is already a brownie recipe in the book. Whatever you call it, it's a chocolate square recipe that claims to be "unbearably delicious" -- so I decided to put it to the test.

Yes, indeed. I opened up the recipe book and followed the kid-oriented instructions (with helpful tips, like turn off the stove/oven as the last step). One of the things that immediately struck me as strange was the suggestion to melt the butter and chocolate on the stove top in a pot. Why wouldn't you just melt it in the microwave, I wondered. Much safer, no? More kid-friendly? Oh yeah. Because thirty years ago, microwaves weren't standard issue the way they are now. So, okay, I deviated from the recipe a little bit and melted my butter and chocolate in a bowl in the microwave. Otherwise, though, I followed along, step by step. And after baking them for 20 minutes, as directed, I pulled them out without testing whether they were done (because the recipe didn't suggest a toothpick test).

I sprinkled the chocolate chips on top, let them sit for five minutes as instructed, and then smoothed the chocolate over the top. Then, sadly, I had to set them aside for an hour or so to cool.

So, the verdict? Are they unbearably delicious?

To my surprise, they are really, really delicious brownies. They have a great dark chocolate flavour and they aren't overly sweet. And the nuts give them a great texture. Best of all, the bake time seems to be spot on. I'm impressed!

Did you have a recipe book as a kid? What do you remember making back in the day?