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.
