24 Hours at Le Mans
April 1, 2007 | permalink

I've been reading a book called Candy Freak: A Journey Through the Chocolate Underbelly of America. It was written by the suitably named Steve Almond (who, it becomes clear, is the Candy Freak of the title), and weaves the story of his obsession with chocolate and candy with the history of the candy industry in the United States and the state of the industry today.

It is fascinating stuff, and well written- I have laughed out loud more than once. But I can only read it in very small chunks, so it is taking me a while to get through. The chief problem is that nearly everything the man talks about is something tasty to eat. If he is not writing about something edible, then it is about some machine or process that makes something edible. I have more than once found myself literally salivating while I read, and all I want when I put the book down is something sweet and chocolaty. The longer I read, the worse the urges become. I think if I tried to read too much all at once I would send myself into some kind of hyper-glycemic fit.

The other thing that keeps me reading in small doses is a little embarrassing, but for you, Gentle Readers, I will bare all. I feel a little dirty, reading it, and don't want anyone to see the expressions that are surely playing across my face as I read. You see, when Mr. Almond describes himself as a candy freak, he's not kidding. The descriptions of the candies and chocolates are almost pornographic. And I am surely his target audience- he is, if you will pardon the expression, hitting all the right spots- I am sure anyone watching me read would agree. Here is a passage, so that you can judge for yourself:

My friend had no such compunction [about opening them]. She unwrapped the [Five Star] Caramel Bar and took a bite. It was clear, simply from the way her mouth addressed the bar, that we were dealing with a different grade of freak. Her bite was smooth and concerted- there was obvious density at play here- though interrupted by two muted snaps, both of which caused her a quarter-moment of anguish, followed by a twinge of delight, registered as a flushing on her cheeks. She moaned. It was a lovely thing to hear.

Or this one, about a Caravelle candy bar:

More so, there was a sense of the piece yielding to the mouth. By which I mean, one had to work the teeth through the sturdy chocolate shell, which gave way with a distinct , moist snap, though the crisped rice (thus releasing a second, grainy bouquet), and only then into the soft caramel core. O, that initimable combination of textures! That symphony of flavors! And how they offered themselves to the heat and wetness of the mouth- the sensation of the crisped rice drenched in melted chocolate, chomped my the molars into the creamy swirl of caramel. Woe and pity unto thee who never tasted this bar!

You see? The whole book is like that. If that's not mouth-porn, then I don't know what is.

Posted in Food and Drink
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