New Natural Neccos Now Old News

A couple of years ago, Necco brought natural flavors into its product line, but, with sales falling, the company has decided to return to its bad old ways of tinny, Day-Glo colors


Today's Boston Globe brings tragic news: Necco's have returned to their bad old ways of tinny, Day-Glo colors and sharp, strange, unidentifiable but aggressive flavors. Oh well.

Two years ago, I wrote a column in the magazine hailing the trend of introducing natural flavors into what had long been the pleasantly lurid world of mass-produced candy -- a world entertainingly documented in my fellow Bostonian Steve Almond's Candy Freak, a tour of the old-fashioned candy makers still extant. And one of the high points of my past year was discovering in Omaha, a city that delighted me, a store devoted to just those candies: Hollywood Candy, which prominently features, opposite the shelves full of custom candy bars in various football teams' official color's, Nebraska's gift to candy making: Baker's Candies, a family-owned company in Greenwood that says it produces 20 million foil-wrapped "meltaways," lozenges of perfectly nice chocolate in various flavors.

Necco was a proud holdout in a long line of Boston candy companies: the name, New England Confectionery Company, was itself the result of consolidation of several independents that had taken place a century ago, and the antecedent opened in 1847. Today the old Candy Row of Cambridge has become a Tech Alley, thanks to its being near MIT, and though the wafer-painted water tower of the 1927 Necco building, once the largest factory devoted to candy in the country, retains its bright colors, the building is occupied by Novartis. One unmarked building, across from center-of-civilized-world Toscanini's, still does waft mysteriously alluring scents of chocolate all over the neighborhood, and makes Charleston Chews and Tootsie Rolls.

When I visited the relocated Necco factory, just outside Boston, it was just finishing a brave transition away from artificial flavors and colors to all-natural ones. This was part of a laudable trend in the candy trade, and the company substituted real peanut butter and chocolate in Clark's Bars without protest -- or, perhaps notice.

Neccos were different. You either like 'em or hate 'em. Our Nicholas Jackson: "I think they're nasty. They're so chalky!" Well, exactly. That's the texture of gum tragacanth, hallowed historic confectionery ingredient essential for wedding cakes and other elaborate pastry productions, and ancestor of today's Modernist Cuisine gums used for all manner of unexpected purposes.

I actually liked them, maybe because I'm from New England and they were always in Halloween baskets. But I knew they were an acquired taste:

I pay attention to the color of Necco wafers the way others do M&M's, which don't even change flavor by color. Necco flavors are proudly peculiar. "It's a very odd combination, fruit and spice," Jeff Green, who has been in charge of production and innovation at Necco for more than 25 years, told me. His favorite is clove: "Who makes clove?"

As it happens, clove was always my least favorite flavor, but I did like the others, and liked them considerably better with the new formulations. And I thought they were prettier.

The flavors he gave me were much, much subtler than the ones I was used to: cinnamon less like Red Hots, lemon less like paper candy dots and more like lemon-meringue-pie filling. And the colors: I was certain that Martha Stewart, who had recently featured Necco wafers on a wedding cake (historically apt; the pièces montées that made Marie-Antoine Carême perhaps the first star chef, in the early 19th century, were made of gum tragacanth, the base of Necco wafers and still the base of many wedding-cake decorations), would be designing a line of paints around them.

I was apparently alone. Sales dropped by 35 percent, and the company, embattled in recent years, couldn't take such a fall in what it calls its core product. Earlier this year it gave up an effort to sell itself, according to this article, subscription required, by Jenn Abelson, co-author of the terrific Globe series on mislabeled fish, which I wrote about yesterday and talked about with Abelson, last night on WGBH; it might try to sell again, and will need to shore up sales.

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Corby Kummer's work in The Atlantic has established him as one of the most widely read, authoritative, and creative food writers in the United States. The San Francisco Examiner pronounced him "a dean among food writers in America." More

Corby Kummer's work in The Atlantic has established him as one of the most widely read, authoritative, and creative food writers in the United States. The San Francisco Examiner pronounced him "a dean among food writers in America." Julia Child once said, "I think he's a very good food writer. He really does his homework. As a reporter and a writer he takes his work very seriously." Kummer's 1990 Atlantic series about coffee was heralded by foodies and the general public alike. The response to his recommendations about coffees and coffee-makers was typical--suppliers scrambled to meet the demand. As Giorgio Deluca, co-founder of New York's epicurean grocery Dean & Deluca, says: "I can tell when Corby's pieces hit; the phone doesn't stop ringing." His book, The Joy of Coffee, based on his Atlantic series, was heralded by The New York Times as "the most definitive and engagingly written book on the subject to date." In nominating his work for a National Magazine Award (for which he became a finalist), the editors wrote: "Kummer treats food as if its preparation were something of a life sport: an activity to be pursued regularly and healthfully by knowledgeable people who demand quality." Kummer's book The Pleasures of Slow Food celebrates local artisans who raise and prepare the foods of their regions with the love and expertise that come only with generations of practice. Kummer was restaurant critic of New York Magazine in 1995 and 1996 and since 1997 has served as restaurant critic for Boston Magazine. He is also a frequent food commentator on television and radio. He was educated at Yale, immediately after which he came to The Atlantic. He is the recipient of five James Beard Journalism Awards, including the MFK Fisher Distinguished Writing Award.

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