All products are independently selected by our editors. If you buy something, we may earn an affiliate commission.
This is Highly Recommend, a column dedicated to what people in the food industry are obsessed with eating, drinking, and buying right now.
Unlike other classic sweets like candy canes, jelly beans, or candy corn, strawberry bon bons—those hard candies wrapped in crinkly red and green cellophane—aren’t associated with a special season or holiday. I, however, associate them with a single person: my grandfather. Before he passed away my grandfather and I would spend a lot of time together. He was my best friend. I know, I’m a dork. But I credit him with helping me grow into the person I am today. He gave me my first copy of Jane Eyre, sparked my yearslong love affair with foreign language films by forcing me to watch Bicycle Thieves, and showed me how to see the world through the lens of a camera. He also taught me how to be an extremely patient person.
My grandfather loved classical music, and he therefore loved our local library. And whereas a normal person goes maybe once or twice a month, he would go every other day to collect the classical CDs (remember those?) he had ordered from other library branches—he was such a regular visitor that he even painted numerous landscapes for the circulation desk employees. He would dedicate a block of time every day to listen to each CD. And, as was the trend in the early aughts, he would also burn a copy, collecting hundreds of titles in a suitcase that he would take back to Ankara to add to his vast music collection.
Because my grandfather wasn’t exactly computer-savvy (and let’s not forget the language barrier), he had me make the requests, and it was never as simple as “Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons, please.” He was extremely particular when it came to recordings. So he’d want The Four Seasons—but only if X person was conducting Y orchestra featuring Z on the cello. Scouring the library database to find these hyper-specific recordings was not how high school me wanted to spend my weekends, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He came into my room at the beginning of each week with a list, and I groaned, knowing this would take hours out of my “busy” day. But I always did it because as soon as I finished, I collected my reward: a handful of strawberry bon bons pulled from the depths of his cardigan pockets. I’d unwrap the cough drop-sized candy and pop it in my mouth, letting it melt for a few moments. Then CRUNCH. The shell would unleash a soft center with waves of artificial strawberry and just a hint of cherry. Glorious!
Let me be clear: This candy is not hard to come by. It’s not like I was being paid in strawberry Kit Kats, a true rarity in the small town of Riverhead. But they’re special to me. They always tasted sweeter coming from my grandfather. I think he knew what he was asking me to do wasn’t exactly easy, but he was so grateful. Now whenever I reach for a strawberry bon bon (I keep one or two hidden in all of my pockets), I close my eyes and imagine my grandfather approaching me with another list. It is a ritual I took for granted and miss deeply.