Liquorice or Licorice

A box of chocolates can sit for weeks untouched in my apartment, tubs of ice cream wither in my freezer, but liquorice calls out to me begging to be eaten. Should I feel guilty about liking liquorice? No, and I don’t, but I am ashamed of my addiction to British liquorice allsorts, full of sugar and food colouring that always gives me a headache.

Perhaps by admitting this addiction in public I can overcome it - step one in my twelve-step program. It all started started innocently enough, as child in Australia with a love of thick ropes of liquorice, liquorice black cats, liquorice straws and pipes, black and distinctly tasting of liquorice. I bought these at my local lolly shop, a corner store that sold ice cream, icy poles, (popsicles), and things that didn’t interest children, like newspapers and basic groceries.

I remember the large, glass display case with three shelves filled with boxes of all manner of sweets, that cost a penny, and some that were two or three for a penny. I don’t remember why I chose colourless liquorice over the multi-coloured chocolate frogs, the bright green mint flavoured jellies shaped like leaves, or the gumballs that changed colour as you sucked them. Maybe I got more pieces of liquorice for my penny.

So I was already predisposed to liquorice when a relative from the old country introduced me to allsorts, “crack liquorice”. Along with the familiar pieces of liquorice rope were seductively coloured squares layered with liquorice, tubes of liquorice filled with a sugary mix and bright, unnaturally coloured wheels with a faint taste of coconut and a black liquorice centre. I loved pulling the layered allsorts apart and eating the pieces separately. It was those brightly coloured non-liquorice additions sweet, sugary, and addictive that hooked me. I couldn’t get enough liquorice allsorts and now the habit is deeply ingrained.

There is only way to eat them, alternating the disassembled liquorice sandwiches, wheels and tubes with the solid pieces of black liquorice rope. However, no lolly, or should I say candy, is perfect and allsorts have a flaw. In the mix are round disks of liquorice jelly covered in coloured sprinkles, they were always the last to be eaten.

Today, to avoid temptation I rarely buy allsorts telling myself it is hard to find fresh ones, which it is, but the real reason is that I know my self-control will crumble when confronted with a bag of them. I will gobble them all down until they are none left and I make myself sick.

Before writing this piece I bought a small bag of allsorts at a bulk candy store, purely for research you understand, and I had taken the first step, to overcoming this compulsion by admitting my problem. Luckily I took photos as soon as I returned home. Why? Because even though they were not too fresh, I had trouble separating the layers, there is only one left. Yes, you guessed it - the liquorice jelly covered with the blue sprinkles. Now where did I put that bottle of aspirin?