Some of my fondest childhood memories are of family road trips down to the US. Once or twice a year, we’d wake up before the sun fully rose and drive the long, flat route from Winnipeg to North Dakota. We’d do some sightseeing if there were things to see (Grand Forks does not have much in the way of tourist attractions). Spend time in malls and hotel pools. But the thing we looked forward to most was going to grocery stores. Not to stock up on staples that were cheaper south of the border—but to buy snacks in flavours that we didn’t have back home.
For a long time, it felt like Canada was the land that snack companies forgot. Do you know how many flavours of Pop-Tarts are available here? Nine. Pathetic. (On the brand’s official US website, there are twenty listed right now, including Hot Fudge Sundae and Banana Bread.) Such a small selection makes shopping and snacking feel utterly boring. But in the past few years, I’ve noticed specialty candy stores popping up in Toronto and across the country, some with “exotic” in their names, selling imported treats from the US and overseas. And while the prices in those stores can feel outrageously high, the sheer variety of what’s on offer—colourful shelves full of chips, cookies, and chocolate bars the likes of which this country has never seen—makes up for blowing your budget on junk.
Most times, I go shopping anticipating what I’ll find. I follow accounts online, with names like “Candy Hunting” and “The Impulsive Buy,” that post news and reviews of upcoming releases. But I’ll sometimes be surprised and delighted at what America hath wrought. I know what key lime pie and M&M’s taste like separately—but together? Excellent. Coconut and Dr. Pepper? Perfection. Sometimes the results of these flavour experiments taste a little too artificial and I wouldn’t buy them a second time but, overall, the willingness to innovate is inspiring.
When I come home with new things to try, I feel like a kid on Halloween again. Back then, I’d rip off my costume (and the winter jacket underneath) after trick-or-treating and dump bags of candy into a mountain on the living room floor. I would spend the rest of the night sorting it all into smaller piles, either by brand or by kind—caramels, lollipops, and so on. Now, the haul after a shopping expedition is smaller, because the candy isn’t free, but the magic is still there. I don’t know why a Snickers bar dyed “ghoulish green” is more of a treat to eat than a regular Snickers—they taste exactly the same—but it is.
When I see the seasonal aisles this time of year at Loblaws or Shoppers, I despair at the monotony. Plain red 100-count boxes of chocolate bars that are “fun size” but otherwise indistinguishable from what’s available any other day of the year. Give me a gimmick, even if it’s only marketing. In the seasonal section of an American store, if the candy itself isn’t changed, then at least the packaging is covered in jack-o’-lantern faces and ghosts to appeal to the discerning shopper (me). When Coffee Crisps are renamed Coffin Crisps and sold with themed wrappers, it might be the only time I’m excited to buy Canadian candy. Novelty sugar lights my brain up in a way that adult things like homeownership and parenthood probably should at this stage in my life, but here we are—when houses are out of reach, grabbing an orange bag of Nerds Gummy Clusters at the import store is achievable and delicious.
This country needs to get out of its candy comfort zone. People bond over sharing new experiences. I do that with snacks the way others might over TV or movies. Instead of asking my brother if he saw the Beetlejuice sequel (he doesn’t watch a lot of movies), I’ll email him about cheeseburger Doritos (he said he “wasn’t a fan” of them but was looking forward to trying Coca-Cola Oreos). During a recent trip to Japan, I sat down with my husband and a friend at the end of a long day, and we broke KitKats like bread at a communal table. Sake, cherry blossom, wasabi—we compared each specialty flavour after our first bites and took the rest home as souvenirs to share with others.
As fall turns into winter, pumpkin spice will give way to peppermint. And scores of people will ignore both in favour of no added flavours at all. Is “classic” better? There is a dependability in knowing what you’re going to get. But would I choose that over a limited-edition or seasonal flavour—so new, so intriguing? Never. There is still a 2021 vintage can of Gingerbread Snap’d Mountain Dew in my fridge that I can’t bear to drink because, after I do, I will never be able to taste it again. Its time on shelves was fleeting, much like our time on Earth. Carpe diem.
