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Candyfreak: A Journey Through the Chocolate Underbelly of America
Candyfreak: A Journey Through the Chocolate Underbelly of America
Candyfreak: A Journey Through the Chocolate Underbelly of America
Audiobook6 hours

Candyfreak: A Journey Through the Chocolate Underbelly of America

Written by Steve Almond

Narrated by Oliver Wyman

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

4/5

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About this audiobook

Part candy porn, part candy polemic, part social history, part confession, Candyfreak explores the role candy plays in our lives as both source of pleasure and escape from pain.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateMay 24, 2004
ISBN9781598871364
Candyfreak: A Journey Through the Chocolate Underbelly of America
Author

Steve Almond

Steve Almond is the author of eight books of fiction and non-fiction, including the New York Times Bestsellers Candyfreak and Against Football. His short stories have been anthologized widely, in the Best American Short Stories, The Pushcart Prize, Best American Erotica, and Best American Mysteries series. His essays and reviews have appeared in the New York Times Magazine, the Boston Globe, the Washington Post, and elsewhere. He teaches at the Nieman Fellowship for Journalism at Harvard, and hosts the New York Times podcast “Dear Sugars” with fellow writer Cheryl Strayed.

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Rating: 3.875 out of 5 stars
4/5

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  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Remarkably readable and poignant
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    If Steve Almond is a candyfreak, then I'm a candywhore. I'll take it where I can get it and I'm not half as discriminating about its origins.

    That said, you can't help but laugh outright at the sugar-fanaticism of a man who gets faint with joy witnessing the birth of chocolate bunnies and is rendered speechless at the thoughtless waste of even one piece of chocolate, recalling, "I stood there in a cloud of disillusionment...I'm someone who has been known to eat the pieces of candy found underneath my couch."

    Goaded by the disappearance of his adored Caravelle bar, Almond (yes, he talks about the name) tours independent candy companies (read: anyone other than Mars, Nestle, or Hershey) to, "chronicle their struggles for survival in this wicked age of homogeneity, and, not incidentally, to load up on free candy."

    The best laughs are all in the first five chapters. I giggled, chuckled and guffawed my way through the author's confessions of freak-like candy-hoarding, reveling in the kind of sweet self-effacing wit only a candy junkie could muster.

    From there, it's mostly an historical tour of the four candy companies he visited, fascinating and richly detailed, yet interspersed with progressively more disturbing moments of personal crisis. At one point the author himself notes, "I realize that I am over-sharing," a phrase that, in a work of humor especially, should be immediately followed by the words, "so I'll quit while I'm ahead." No such luck. From that point on, we are treated to sad reflections on how one may ineffectively attempt to use candy to fill the void created by emotionally unavailable parents, an alarming, overly personal description of penile hypochondria, and finally, how Dubya, terrorists, college hockey players and Reaganomics are to blame for everything from airport security to the author's inability to give up pot and find love. I found the experience much like seeing a house guest naked -- you don't know whether to avert your eyes and mumble an apology or pretend it's hilarious and hope he laughs along.

    The erratic emotional pitch of the book can be summed up by Almond's description of a candy-orgy during a San Francisco layover; "A brief jolt of good humor...followed by a plunge into hypoglycemic grumpiness." If this book were a candy bar, it would start with a light, crispy, sweetness, get sort of sticky and tasteless in the middle, and end heavily with an artificial, saccharine jolt, leaving the reader with a nasty aftertaste and the vague notion that he should have quit after the first bite.

    Perhaps if Almond has just stuck to candy, the last bite...er, page would have been as good as the first.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    LOVE THIS BOOK! Fun, fresh, crazy and indulgent. Very engaging, informative read.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    In Candyfreak: A Journey through the Chocolate Underbelly of America author Steve Almond tells us three important facts in the prologue:
    1. The author has eaten a piece of candy every single day of his entire life. (pg 1)
    2. The author thinks about candy at least once an hour. (pg 3)
    3. The author has between three and seven pounds of candy in his house at all times. (pg 6)
    Almond also admits he has a stash of 14 boxes of Kit Kat Limited Edition Dark in a warehouse as well as other secret stashes of candy in case of an emergency.

    Obviously Almond has established his candy street creds to be the self-titled candyfreak, although he admits:
    "I am not blind to the hypocrisy of my conduct, nor to the slightly pathetic aspects of my freakdom. I am, after all, in my mid-thirties, suffering from severe balding anxiety and lowerback pain. I am not exactly the target demographic." (pg 8)
    Besides being a candyfreak, Almond began to reminisce about favorite candy bars that were no longer made, the Caravelle, or candy he had when he lived in California that is not available in Massachusetts. This lead him to investigate some of the independent candy companies that are still in business. He met the owners, toured the factories, saw the steps they took to make their candy, and, naturally, received numerous free samples. His visits include trips to: Dorchester, Massachusetts where Necco wafers and candy hearts are made; Burlington, Vermont and the Five Star Bar; Sioux City, Iowa's Palmer Candy, maker of the Twin Cherry Bing; Kansas City's Sifers' Valomilk, Boise, Idaho's Idaho Candy Company, maker of the Idaho Spud; and California's Annabelle Candy Company, maker of the Big Hunk, U-no, and Abba-Zaba.

    Almond also interviews some other interesting characters. Steve Traino, another candyfreak, buys and sells discontinued items online on the nostalgia market. Ray Broekel, who wrote two books on the history of candy bars has a collection of memorabilia and is the industry's historian. The history of the candy bar is also the history of the big three: Hershey, Mars, and Nestle. Their power has greatly endangered the local independent candy makers - that and the cost to have your product displayed on store shelves, slotting fees, which are ridiculously high.

    I found Candyfreak wildly entertaining. Almond was hilarious at times. His genuine interest in candy and how it is made as he describes the candy-making process at various factories was palpable and palatable. If there was one drawback to Candyfreak it was that the tours of the factories, while focusing on different products, also seemed to be very similar experiences.
    I very highly recommend Candyfreak

    Excerpt
    stevealmondjoy.com/candyfreak.html

    Quotes:

    Every now and again, I’ll run into someone who claims not to like chocolate or other sweets, and while we live in a country where everyone has the right to eat what they want, I want to say for the record that I don’t trust these people, that I think something is wrong with them, and that they’re probably—this must be said—total duds in bed. Page 16

    I suppose I was aware, in an abstract way, that there were men and women upon this earth who served in this capacity, as chocolate engineers. In the same way that I was aware that there are job titles out there such as bacon taster and sex surrogate, which is to say, job titles that made me want to weep over my own appointed lot in life. But I had never considered the prospect of visiting a chocolate engineer. I could think of nothing else for days. Page 103

    “What you’re eating,” Dave said, “is a dried cherry, infused with raspberry and covered in a Select Origin 75 percent dark chocolate.” He held out the bag. “Have another.”
    Here is what I wanted to say to Dave Bolton at that precise moment: Take me home and love me long time, GI.“ Page 104


    In some sense, though, this decadence is a return to the pre-Columbian days of cocoa, when the bean was viewed as a gift from the god Quetzalcoatl and considered the domain of royalty. Five hundred years later, Theobroma cacao (literally: food of the gods) remains the single most complex natural flavor in the world. Flavorists have been trying to reproduce the taste for decades—and they’re nowhere near doing so. This is because chocolate is made up of more than 1,200 chemical components, many of which give off distinct notes, of honey or roses or even spoiled fish. There’s even one chemical in chocolate that’s cyanide-based. This is to say nothing of chocolate’s oft-touted psychoactive ingredients, which include caffeine, theobromine (increases alertness), phenylalanine and phenylethylamine (both known to induce happiness), and anandamide, which is similar to THC (yes, stoners, that THC). In truth, most of the brouhaha over these chemicals is trumped up. They only occur in trace amounts. The main reason chocolate is the ultimate physiological freak is because it’s half sugar and half fat. Page 107


    I will leave it to the reader to determine just what sort of “diet” would encourage the consumption of these ingredients, though it bears mentioning that this product is but one in a tsunami of pseudo–candy bars, variously called PowerBars, Granola bars, Energy Bars, Clif Bars, Breakfast Bars, Snack Bars, Wellness Bars, and so on, all of which contain roughly the same sugar and fat as an actual candy bar—with perhaps a dash of protein sawdust thrown in—but only half the guilt, and stand as a monument both to shameless marketing and the American capacity for self-delusion, particularly in matters related to consumption (see also: frozen yogurt, fat-free chips, and low-calorie lard). Page 135

    Most of our escape routes are also powerful reminders; and whatever our conscious motives might be, in our secret hearts we wish to be led back into our grief. Page 250

  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This book was extremely interesting. Steve Almond basically visits several factories that are owned and run by regional candy makers. The descriptions of the candy's themselves and the people he meets are extremely honest and captivating. Many of the stories regarding his childhood and candy disputes between him and his brothers are very amusing. Unfortunately towards the end of the book when Almond starts to theorize on his reasons for taking this trip, he goes into a depressed state discussing his own depression in a way that makes the reader (or me at least) get annoyed with his whininess. I didn't read this book to listen to someone whine about miserable they are. Fortunately it really doesn't last long and it's only towards the very end.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Of course, since I like candy and all sorts of sweet things, I thought that this would be a good book to read. And, it does start out interesting as the author details various interesting facts about candy--and mostly chocolate--in the United States. He travels around the country, talking with various people who are candy freaks like himself and have actually done something with their love of chocolate besides just enjoy the taste silently--whether it's collecting candy bar wrappers from a variety of different sources or open up candy websites. And he tours small candy factories around the country. However, as he visits more and more places, it seems as if he has nothing new to say about some of these things, and it shows in the writing that he has to really stretch his thoughts and adventures out in order to make the subject into a book. You can easily find all the candy mentioned in the book, if you're willing to look for it, and look for it in places other than the big box stores such as grocery stores or department stores.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This book was a lot of fun, mostly for the interesting history and nostalgia of various candies. The author's self-depreciating (and sophmoric) humor was kind of funny at first, but near the end it got to me. I felt like saying, c'mon, get to the part about the candy. Ultimately, he always did. His love for candy burns brightly and it's a joy to read about a subject wherein someone has so much passion. The author's junket to four "little guy" candy producers is great and the pride in their creations was awesome. I also thought the information on marketing was very interesting, and really quite sad. I sure felt like an American consumer lemming. You won't look at candy shelving, marketing, production etc. ever quite the same way again. When I put the book down, I immediately spread the word on some of the smaller candy/chocolate makers who use quality ingredients and really care about both the producers of the ingredients, their workers and the ultimate candy consumer. I recommend this highly if you have any interest in candy (and its production) and don't mind a bit of crude humor.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    This book is a little gem. And I don't think I want to meet the author.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    This little book is guaranteed to bring out the candyfreak in anyone who has ever wondered whatever happened to their favorite childhood confection. However much you have thought about it since the age of 10, Steve Almond (who must surely have won an award for "name best suited to book title" by now) has most assuredly thought about it more. And if you want to spend some more time thinking about it, the author has established a web site for exchanging your innermost thoughts on the subject. Great fun and (surprisingly) an education in candy manufacture as well.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    It's not going to change the world, but it's a fun book, entertainingly written, and made me crave a Snickers bar like never before in my life.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Steve Almond opens his new book Candyfreak: a Journey Through the Chocolate Underbelly of America with a section called "Some Things You Should Know About the Author." Item #1: The author has eaten a piece of candy every single day of his entire life. He then asks us to say a little prayer on behalf of his molars. In truth, it's our teeth we should be worried about because, if you're anything like me (and if you aren't, then why the hell not?), after reading Candyfreak, you'll go out and binge-gorge on chocolate bars. And not just any candy bars, mind you—the candy that's lovingly produced in small factories like Marty Palmer's in Sioux City, Iowa where conveyor belts carry a daily parade of Twin Bings ("Imagine, if you will, two brown lumps, about the size of golf balls, roughly textured, and stuck to one another like Siamese twins. The lumps are composed of crushed peanuts and a chocolate compound. Inside each of the lumps is a bright pink, cherry-flavored filling."). Even before turning the last page of Almond's mouth-watering love letter to American candy, I was at the local Gas-n-Go snatching crinkly-wrapped bars off the racks. Unfortunately, all my local store had to offer were the bland products of the Big Three chocolate companies—Nestle, Hershey's and Mars—and I had to satisfy my craving with boring brown planks of chocolate-nuts-nougat like Snickers, Baby Ruth and Milky Way. I was sorely disappointed in the mild, crumbling chocolate, the mealy, deflated crisped rice and the varnish-colored caramel (to paraphrase Almond). What I really wanted was an Idaho Spud. Those of you who didn't grow up in the immediate neighborhood of the "Famous Potatoes" State probably haven't heard of the Idaho Spud. Your loss. And I weep for you. I live in Alaska now, miles and years from my childhood home in Wyoming, but I can still taste the Spud on my tongue. Shaped like a Twinkie, it's a chocolate-and-coconut-covered lump made of marshmallow filling flavored with maple, vanilla and dried cocoa. Until I read Almond's book, I hadn't realized that the ingredients also included ager ager, a seaweed derivative. That's not enough to dampen my lust for Spud and reading about Almond's trip through the Boise candy plant made me teary-eyed with nostalgia for the days as a teenager when I'd smuggle Idaho Spuds into my bedroom, carefully, quietly tearing open the brown wrappers so as not to trigger parental radar. Then I'd sprawl across my bed, sink my teeth into the slightly-firm chocolate shell and feel something akin to a prepubescent orgasm when that spongy marshmallow-maple-vanilla-cocoa-seaweed filling slid through my mouth. I'd read my Hardy Boys books or think about all the wonderful things I'd do with Tracey Albrecht if by some freak miracle I ever got her alone in my bedroom, savoring with masturbatory pleasure those bites of Spud which were always gone too soon. Then I'd carefully brush the flaky crumbs of coconut from the front of my shirt onto the floor where I ground them into the carpet with my shoe in the vain hope that my parents wouldn't notice the detritus of my pleasure. So, yes, Spuds filled my veins for many years, as did the sugar of Charleston Chews, BB-Bats, Big Hunks, Wacky Wafers, Cup of Golds, and Mallo Cups. I mention this because we all have stories about candy that was an intimate staple of our youth. Reading Candyfreak is bound to bring those memories to the surface. Indeed, the book came about because of Almond's own longing for candy which seems to have inexplicably disappeared from stores over the years. Oh where are you now, you brave stupid bars of yore? Where Oompahs, those delectable doomed pods of chocolate and peanut butter? Where the molar-ripping Bit-O-Choc? And where Caravelle, a bar so dear to my heart that I remain, two decades after its extinction, in an active state of mourning? Candyfreak is the funniest, most endearing book I've read in a long time. Almond, whose previous book was the short-story collection My Life in Heavy Metal, is spot-on in his evocative descriptions of not only the Candy of Our Youth, but in the way we lived back in the 70s. He rhapsodizes about how candy triggers nostalgic secretions in our brains then goes on to describe how he burned heads off Gummy Bears in his ninth-grade science class ("I loved the way the little gummy bear heads would sizzle and smoke, and the syrupy consistency of the resulting mess."). He talks about Halloween with the kind of reverence some folks reserve for Christmas ("There's something incredibly liberating about a holiday that encourages children to take candy from strangers."). This is candy porn for the undiscriminating palate. Speaking of palates, did anyone else besides Almond and me suck on Jolly Rancher Stix until they softened and you could mold them with your tongue to the roof of your mouth in retainer-like fashion? ("At a certain point, this habit morphed into an ardent belief that I could use candy to straighten my teeth," he writes.) This is just one of many moments of personal connection I felt while reading Candyfreak. I should add that I don't always agree with his opinion of certain candies. He has unkind words for marshmallow Peeps and coconut. But I immediately forgive him when he also trashes Jujubes: The young and fortunate reader may not have heard of Jujubes, and this candy will be hard to describe in a fashion that makes it sound suitable for human consumption. They were basically hard pellets the size and shape of pencil erasers. Indeed, if one were to set Jujubes beside pencil erasers in a blind taste test, it would be tough to make a distinction, except that pencil erasers have more natural fruit flavor. In these pages, we learn that Oliver R. Chase invented the lozenge cutter which began producing Necco wafers in 1847—later a staple of Union soldiers in the Civil War; that there was once—briefly—a pineapple-flavored Mars bar; and that people used to buy something called the Vegetable Sandwich (dehydrated vegetables covered in chocolate). We also learn about "slotting fees," the book's most unforgettable villain. Some of the nation's larger retail chains and supermarkets charge tens of thousands of dollars to stock a particular candy bar in the racks near the register, squeezing out the smaller companies who cannot possibly compete with the big-budget Big Three. Slotting fees are partly responsible for the extinction of the beloved Candy of Our Youth. Almond's fascination with candy initially leads him to send letters to manufacturers asking for factory tours. When he's rebuffed by the big mega-corporations—who, as it turns out, are paranoid about industry spies stealing recipes and techniques—Almond turns to the little guys, the barely-struggling companies spread across the nation. The account of his journey through the sweet, chewy center of America is fresh, funny and, at times, heartbreaking as we witness the hanging-by-a-fingernail survival of these small, independent candy companies. Most of them can't afford the slotting fees to be placed on the checkout-stand impulse racks at Wal-Mart, chain supermarkets, or even the grocery stores in their own home town. So, even though Almond writes rapturously about velvety chocolate commingling with satiny marshmallow filling, we're left with the taste of bittersweet chocolate on the tongue. When it comes down to it, the book's really about the David and Goliath battles being fought every day in the candy industry. One factory's aging machinery is literally patched together with Band-aids and duct tape. As Almond says in the closing pages of Candyfreak: "In the end, the laws of the candy world were the laws of the broader world: the strong survived, the weak struggled, people sought pleasure to endure their pain." Almond does a marvelous job of turning a candy memoir into a broader statement on cutthroat economics which threaten to homogenize society, turning it into one big, bland nougat. Candyfreak will make you laugh, cheer and cry—but mostly it will make you hungry. Now if you'll excuse me, I must go inject some marshmallow filling directly into my veins.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This contains the ramblings of somebody who loves candy, and who figures out that he can actually tour candy factories if he's writing a book about them. Despite the fact that Almond doesn't seem to know the meaning of "TMI" (or, for that matter, "relevance"), it's not a bad read, and it gives me hope that I might actually get a book published someday.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Every person in America has something they freak about. For some it's model airplanes; for others it's war re-enactment. Steve Almond's freak focus is candy, and he succeeds at getting the reader just as hyped about it as he is. He professes to have eaten a piece of candy every single day of his life--and he can recall the subtle flavors, textures, and emotions associated with each one. Almond goes around the country, visiting local candy makers, and reveling in both the stories and the free samples that he given by the owners and candy makers he visits. At times, he displays a childish giddiness about his factory visits, but he does manage to parlay his adventures into an outlook on both his past and our future. An excellent read.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Very Funny. If you're ever feeling down, pick this one up, and you'll feel better (though it might make you binge on chocolate). The only thing is that he can't keep up the humor in the middle, when he gets into the nitty gritty of the candy industry; when he's working on being informative and not so much nostalgic (for his personal connections to candy) like he does in the beginning. (4)
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This contains the ramblings of somebody who loves candy, and who figures out that he can actually tour candy factories if he's writing a book about them. Despite the fact that Almond doesn't seem to know the meaning of "TMI" (or, for that matter, "relevance"), it's not a bad read, and it gives me hope that I might actually get a book published someday.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I read this book while I drove with Erin and my in-laws to Memphis.It was a pretty fun book.I tried eating some candy while reading but it gave me a stomach-ache.Things I liked from this book:* the term 'Radioactive Cute'* The fascination the author had with the candy manufacturersThings that could have been better:* The author's breezy style was good, but there were parts where it seemed out of place.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Steve Almond is a guy who loves candy. And he also happens to be a writer. So why not put the two together and write a book that explores his obsession with candy as well as visiting small local candy factories throughout the USA.Being Irish, I didn't recognise a lot of the candy bars mentioned in this book (with the exception of dark Kit Kats), but what I did understand was this author's passion and humour when it came to the subject of candy. Parts of this book will have you laughing out loud. He is never afraid to be open and honest, and you will finish this book with a sense of connection to the author.As part of his research, Almond arranged to visit several small regional manufacturers throughout the states, including Philadelphia (Peanut Chews), Sioux City (Twin Bing), Nashville (Goo Goo Cluster), and Boise (Idaho Spud). The character portraits drawn of the factory owners and employees are endearing, but the author's fascination with the machinery used to create candy and his obsessional thieving fresh bars from the production line when not being watched are hilarious. Also amusing are his efforts to avoid candies containing coconut.This is one sweet treat of a book.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Entertaining trek through the candy world. Playful and lighthearted. Comic.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Attention, those of you with a sweettooth: check out Candyfreak. Almond, a self-described candyfreak, writes an entertaining part memoir/part tour guide of small, American candy factories. You’ll root for the little guys in their battle against candy giants. You’ll remember the solace that chocolate has provided to you. And you’ll undoubtably want to taste-test some GooGoo Clusters and Valomilks.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    An interesting story built around the author's life long obsession with candy. There are some good human interest stories featuring the owners of the small candy companies that Almond visits and there are quite a few humorous moments in his experiences with these people.However, the descriptions of the manufacturing process of each candy are tedious and tend to drag the flow of the book down. Not a bad book, but it is a little uneven.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This book was ok. I'm not much into non-fiction but it was recommended to me by a friend so I thought I'd give it a try. I enjoyed the memories that this book brought up in mentioning some of the candies that I grew up with. But honestly, I couldn't have made it through the whole book if Steve Almond didn't have such a funny sense of humor in his writing.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    If Steve Almond is a candyfreak, then I'm a candywhore. I'll take it where I can get it and I'm not half as discriminating about its origins.That said, you can't help but laugh outright at the sugar-fanaticism of a man who gets faint with joy witnessing the birth of chocolate bunnies and is rendered speechless at the thoughtless waste of even one piece of chocolate, recalling, "I stood there in a cloud of disillusionment...I'm someone who has been known to eat the pieces of candy found underneath my couch."Goaded by the disappearance of his adored Caravelle bar, Almond (yes, he talks about the name) tours independent candy companies (read: anyone other than Mars, Nestle, or Hershey) to, "chronicle their struggles for survival in this wicked age of homogeneity, and, not incidentally, to load up on free candy."The best laughs are all in the first five chapters. I giggled, chuckled and guffawed my way through the author’s confessions of freak-like candy-hoarding, reveling in the kind of sweet self-effacing wit only a candy junkie could muster. From there, it’s mostly an historical tour of the four candy companies he visited, fascinating and richly detailed, yet interspersed with progressively more disturbing moments of personal crisis. At one point the author himself notes, “I realize that I am oversharing,â€? a phrase that, in a work of humor especially, should be immediately followed by the words, “so I’ll quit while I’m ahead.â€? No such luck. From that point on, we are treated to sad reflections on how one may ineffectively attempt to use candy to fill the void created by emotionally unavailable parents, an alarming, overly personal description of penile hypochondria, and finally, how Dubya, terrorists, college hockey players, and Reaganomics are to blame for everything from airport security to the author's inability to give up pot and find love. I found the experience much like seeing a houseguest naked -- you don't know whether to avert your eyes and mumble an apology or pretend it's hilarious and hope he laughs along. The erratic emotional pitch of the book can be summed up by Almond’s description of a candy-orgy during a San Francisco layover; “A brief jolt of good humor…followed by a plunge into hypoglycemic grumpiness.â€? If this book were a candy bar, it would start with a light, crispy, sweetness, get sort of sticky and tasteless in the middle, and end heavily with an artificial, saccharine jolt, leaving the reader with a nasty aftertaste and the vague notion that he should have quit after the first bite.Perhaps if Almond has just stuck to candy, the last bite…er, page would have been as good as the first.[A word or two of warning: don't open this book in the middle of the night when there's no chocolate in the house and the nearest all-night drugstore is more than an hour's drive away. Because while Almond is funny, irreverent and occasionally morose, he's also sadistically sensual in describing his lifelong torrid affair with chocolate. Consuming this book without at least a bag of M & Ms on hand would not be advised.]
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A delectable look at sweets. Interesting facts and a very conversational, engaging writing style.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Characters: The stars of this book are the Twin Bing, the Idaho Spud, the Goo Goo cluster, the Valomilk, the Kit Kat Dark, the Caravelle bar, the Abba Zabba, the Peanut Chew, the Haviland Thin Mint, Chocolites, Ooompahs, Marathons, etc. Plot : When I read the first paragraph of the Prologue of this book, I knew I was home. Under “Some things you should know about the author,” Almond has listed first, “The author has eaten a piece of candy every single day of his entire life.” While I cannot make that claim, I can say with certainty that I have wanted to eat a piece of candy every single day of my life. From that self-revelatory beginning, Almond turns to such topics as candy as a replacement for love—a no-brainer; candy as a treatment for depression—another no-brainer; candy as the essence of living in the Now—a stretch, but I like it; candy as a reflection of the entrepreneurial spirit of America; candy as family; candy as the embodiment of the innocence of childhood; candy as All. Hey, he’s a candy freak! He treks through the United States, visiting the endangered species of candy manufacturing—the regional candy makers, i.e. not Mars, Nestle, or Hershey. These candy factories are rapidly disappearing because they cannot compete with the conglomerates. An astounding fact which many of you may know but I did not, and which still strikes me as just plain wrong, is that grocery stores charge food manufacturers “slotting fees”, i.e. fees to shelve their products. For candy, it’s about $20,000 a year. So grocery stores are paid from both ends—manufacturers pay to get their products in the store and then customers pay to take their products out of the store. Most regional candy makers cannot afford the slotting fee and that is why our candy aisles are dominated by the big three candy companies. This is a hugely entertaining book. Listening to Almond expound on the virtues of a particularly candy bar is like listening to a wine connoisseur talk about wine, only funnier.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    If you liked Fast Food Nation and Supersize Me, you'll love to devour this one. Steve Almond goes behind the scenes of candy-making: who the big firms are and what they're REALLY like. He also makes you pine for the days where monopolists didn't run the candy market by exploring smaller firms. He describes each confection in such delicious detail I guarantee you'll be craving some candy. I absolutely loved this book. Not only was it an incredibly interesting read, Almond is a fantastic writer and keeps you engaged and laughing along with him the whole journey. Look this one up.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A candy junkie goes on a quest to find the snacks of his childhood. My close connection to his addiction helped me love this book, but the reporting was lazy (should have been more about evil Big Chocolate) and the memoir was too thin to carry the book.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This was a fun, lighthearted read written by a guy who is, yes, a candy freak. He grew up being obsessed with candy & apparently still is today. In it, he talks a little about his own history, as well as some history about candy in general in America, focusing more on the smaller, lesser-known candy companies who struggle to maintain a name in a country dominated by the "big 3" candy companies. While I wouldn't consider myself anything near a candy freak, I was drooling specifically over his descriptions of the 5 Star Bars. And like Steve, I have to also wonder why there aren't more coffee-flavored chocolate bars. I'd definitely become a fan of those.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Steve Almond brings you along on a delicious journey through candy factories of America. As a chocolate lover, I really enjoyed this book. It was very well written, very funny, and very interesting. You could taste the candy through his descriptions. I highly recommend this book, it is definitely worth the read, even if you do not like candy.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    How writer Steve Almond has stayed trim and avoided becoming a diabetic is a complete mystery. He's been living on a steady diet of candy since childhood. This is his candy eating memoir and an exploration of the history and business of candy making in America. This book caused me to mail order a box of butter rum rolled life savers from Canada since I can't find them in the states anymore. Bring your sweet tooth and enjoy.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I found this book fascinating from start to finish. While I have not eaten candy every single day of my life, it is not for a lack of trying. I am a true chocoholic, but I have my preferences and personal methods of taste-testing, just as Steve Almond does. He goes into great detail as to his personal candy-sampling habits, and his life-long history with candy all the while traveling the country and exploring some of the many small and struggling candy-making companies. It is easily any kid's dream to be able to walk into and eat so many of these delicious creations with the blessing of the company owners, but it was Steve Almond's genius that propelled him to turn it into a book almost good enough to eat.While the descriptions of the variety of concoctions was delectable enough to keep me enthralled, Almond's tours through the different kinds of factories were both educating and enlightening. Some companies went through great trouble to get every detail exactly right, while others used out-dated methods and equipment, depending on the whim of the people operating it. Some owners cared passionately about their products, while others were ready to give in to the big candy companies and sell out. Still others found a comfortable compromise in sharing their beloved factory with other companies for the sake of continued production.In an economy that can not truly afford the luxury of a non-essential product like candy, Steve Almond shows how such confections still provide the creature comforts that the struggling masses look for to fill the void.