Food and Footage

These were very salty to me the first time I tried them but now they are much more tolerable. I am starting to crave the potency of salty licorice. I like the way it fills your mouth so completely, sort of like wines that are big and tannic. I can understand how that fullness of flavor, once you get used to it, would make other licorice seem weak in comparison. The other thing that is nice about sweet/salty licorice, is that you can’t sit there and eat a whole bag. They pretty much defy gorging. In my case, that’s a good thing. I used to polish off a box of Panda licorice like it was no big deal and pay for it with a stomach ache an hour later. I am starting to think of Salmiak as an apetite suppressant, or more accurately, an amuse bouche. Something that has a lot of flavor, awakens taste buds, but can’t be overindulged in.

The leaves are made with bay-leaf and licorice. They were sweet and mild and the bay-leaf flavor gave them a lovely brightness. The fish were traditional licorice but slightly more salty than you’d be able to find in the US. The phallic guy to the right is based on a famous stone landmark in Amsterdam and the flavor was mild with slight root-beer and chocolate tones. The little coffee mug, (or is it a milk pail?) was my favorite! It was slightly sweet and had an amazing cherry-cola flavor. The branches connecting the leaves were rich and molasses-y with a hint of eucalyptus. And the houses were slightly salty cola flavored delights!

Looks-wise, this is NOT the most exciting piece of candy I’ve ever come across. I mean, I guess it’s really beautiful in a way that appeals to somber, lonely, graphic designers but for the rest of us, it resembles a piece of coal and is in no way obviously edible.

When I was first presented with this little coal brick, I had to make the cheeky cultural observation that, if communism could be personified as candy, this would be it. Capitalism would never yield a product like this unless it was meant to tap into the niche market that superficially glorifies communist aesthetics.

Looking at this weird licorice treat, I imagined a scene like this:

EXT: Courtyard Winter, depressing communist country…

Man in weather-beaten gray coat approaches child in identical weather-beaten gray coat. He pulls a black brick out of his pocket and says, ‘Hey kid, want some candy.’

FADE OUT…

Of course the child in this film would be thrilled by the unexpected sweet surprise, but to an audience of capitalists, it would be a bleak tear-jerker of a scene.

So, with great trepidation, I approached my black block and gnawed the edge. To my surprised delight,  the cube quickly revealed a soft texture and a very pleasant flavor began to form in my mouth. The communist block dissolved into a mild licorice-caramel. Rather than the usual ’stick to your teeth’ chewy texture of caramels, this surprising little sweet was soft and supple, like a nougat. A trip to the kadó website revealed that this treat was known as lakritzfudge (licorice fudge) and that it was a Swedish import. Fudge is a perfect description  for the balance of sweet caramelized sugars and rich licorice flavors. The result is not too sweet and not too strong. I must admit, I really liked the crumbly gray center it revealed. Just goes to show….you can’t judge a candy by its appearance.

Kadó is a shop dedicated to black licorice in Berlin. Lucky for me, this shop is in my neighborhood of Kreuzberg. It is located on the Graefestrasse (a very cute shopping street), tucked within various cafes and second hand furniture shops. Of course in Berlin, and most of Europe, there is only black licorice, so it is known merely as a licorice shop. The first time I went in, I was so overwhelmed by the sheer variety, I ended up buying the only thing that looked familiar to me–black licorice pipes I used to love as a child. They made me feel like Popeye.

Black licorice incites deep passion or disgust in people. I am one of the passionate ones. I always felt a little bit like black licorice, you know; sharp, unyielding, cast aside in favor of sweet and popular flavors. I loved to get, ironically enough, the Red Vines brand black licorice rope and savor the tabaccoey flavor while I did my dreaded math homework. The flavor always struck me as masculine and scholarly (though I know that’s not usually an adjective used to describe comestibles).

Over the years, I’ve had many different licorice loves. I was a Panda girl for awhile because I liked the molasses sweetness and the grainy chewy texture. I liked licorice tea and drank it to try to curb my need for higher caloric licorice treats but inevitably I found myself breaking down and buying a box of Chuckles just so I could savor the sugar-crystal coated licorice square at the back of the pack.

When I finally broke down and bought an assortment of licorice from kadó, I did so with no assistance. I bought based on looks alone. When I popped an innocent looking brown-black gumdrop coated with crystals in my mouth, I was very alarmed to find that it tasted like a salty piece of chewing tobacco. I think I may have spit it out on the street. It was so strong and shocking and sour!

I realized that there were a number of scary salt-bombs in my little paper bag and I ended up hiding them in the back of my cabinet like one might hide a hastily and unwisely purchased pair of shoes in the back of a closet.

The truth is, this salty stuff takes stamina and endurance to get used to. I am not a Finnish child. I didn’t grow up surrounded by this stuff. I grew up with the most sugar-saturated candy in the world! But, I know that I love this stuff and I am determined to build my tolerance so that I may truly enjoy it and never fear a licorice purchase again.

On my third trip to kadó, I explained my predicament to the kind Swedish shop assistant and she was happy to help me build my licorice muscles. She explained that the flavor that seemed so intense to me is known as Salmiak, and that it’s actually ammonium chloride. So, in addition to the licorice root, gum, and sometimes sugar, Salmiak is the main ingredient in most Northern European licorice varieties with percentages varying from less than one to a strong 8%.

My Swedish clerk helped me chose 3 Euro worth of licorice varieties ranging from sweet and mild with no Salmiak, to lower level Salmiak varieties. Over the next few days, I will go on a licorice tasting journey, fastidiously photographing and detailing my reactions to each variety. If you want to play along, I would be happy to hear about your licorice adventures. And if you’re in Berlin, you can check out the kadó website. If you don’t like or care about black licorice, this would be a good time to tune out.

Otherwise:

Happy Licoricing!