Perhaps there are Valentine’s Day candies that are more predictably tasty: for example, the Reese’s Peanut Butter Heart, whose pliant chocolate and dense, salty interior excite your taste buds just as pleasurably as they did at Christmas, when they came in the shape of a tree; at Halloween, as a pumpkin; and Easter, an egg.
There are V-Day candies that are perhaps more unidentifiable with any other day: candy conversation hearts, for example. But those marry the flavors and mouthfeel of an Edwardian spinster’s tooth powder collection with the kind of creepy suggestions you’d find in a collection of crazy and creative ways to ask someone to prom.
But the very best Valentine’s Day candy is an assortment of chocolates, each morsel an adventure, just like romantic love. And to me, the quintessential V-Day assortment is Russell Stover’s Assorted Fine Chocolates, you know, the one in the red heart-shaped box with the cellophane. Nothing says “I cherish you” like waxy American chocolate crammed with corn syrup.
Seriously, though, when I was growing up, assortments of chocolates were for Valentine’s Day only, and Valentine’s Day was for assortments of chocolates. On this day, my parents gave each other, and each child, a card. Each child also received a small boxed assortment. My mom got the big assortment and enjoyed it (with “help” from her sneaky children) over several days. Our own boxes never lasted more than a day; in fact, I remember going to play at a friend’s house one Valentine’s Day and returning home to find my hoard raided. It’s odd that kids get involved with this holiday at all — why are children expected to bring child-themed Valentines to school? — but, in retrospect, I also like that my parents defused the ridiculous adult expectations of the holiday, the ones involving expensive presents, prix fixe dinners, icky lingerie, and narcissism expressed as romantic love, by making all the family members tell one another they loved one another and then eat mass-produced chocolate.
For you, Crasstalk, I’m returning to childhood and reviewing the candies of the Russell Stover’s Valentine assortment one by one.
That’s right, this adventure cost me $4. You’re welcome.
Upon opening the package, I find this assortment smaller than I had expected. The other size available at the Rite Aid had been a super box with dozens of pieces, and that was not the one I wanted. But for the small heart, I do remember more options back in the day, including a few pieces that had been coated in white chocolate colored to give you a hint at what was inside. Those pastels seemed antique to me, and I loved them. There were also thin, butterfingeresque slabs that I didn’t care for because children have no taste.
I’m going in. First up, the one right in the middle.
I think this is supposed to be like a chocolate or nut (walnut?) cream. It’s very sweet with vaguely plastic overtones. Later, I will re-read the ingredients and wonder if it was supposed to represent pecans. It’s hard to tell, because despite having the color of caramelization, it does not have much flavor.
Next up, the round one, bottom right.
This is so intensely sweet, I start coughing. Milk chocolate surrounding cherry? strawberry? cream. The artificial red fruit flavor and chemical effluvia call to mind a teen clothing store, circa 1987. I can’t finish it.
Round, bottom left.
A Foley artist would envy the noise this makes as I bite into it. Like tearing flesh in a horror movie! This one has pronounced coconut flavor, with seeming actual coconut surrounded by dark chocolate. It’s no artisanal bonbon, but it’ll do, especially if you like coconut. Still, I’m feeling sugar overloaded already and set the rest aside for another time.
The cube at the bottom.
CARAMEL ACHIEVED. Granted, it has a whiff of the factory on it, but it has a good stiff chew and buttery flavor. Full piece consumed with pleasure.
I can feel the insulin sluice through my insides, so I commit to a glass of milk and a lie-down. I wake up the next morning. Candy for breakfast!
I can see the finish line. Next up, the oval at the top left.
Ok, I think this is actually supposed to be the walnut cream. It has a slight toffee flavor. Nice.
Next, the oval at the top right.
Well, now, what is this? It’s not purely marshmallow, though it is fluffy. Maybe an orange cream? I think it is supposed to have a flavor; it’s just hard to tell what.
Rectangle on the left side.
SNAP. Roman nougat. This is the BEST ONE. I hated it as a kid; it had too many things in it — strawberry flavor, dense, chewy nougat, little nut bits, and maybe a tiny bit of caramel. Now, as a lover of nougat even in its crappiest forms, I understand how scrumptious this candy is. It resists mastication just enough to really challenge your molars. A+ would eat again.
Rectangle on the right.
Mmmm, molasses chew! Even chewier than Roman nougat. Uniform filling with a coffeeish bitterness. I thought I might regret starting my day this way, but this last piece put the cap on nicely.
The box is gone, and my pancreas resents me so much, but as a fan of denial, I’m going to say this experiment was worth it in order to draw a conclusion about this very important candy.
FINAL VERDICT: 5/10 sugar crashes. There were a couple of bright spots, but overall, Russell Stover is off his game. Maybe next year I’ll buy the big box for variety, eat all the Roman Nougat pieces first, donate the cherry cordials to an insane person, and slowly snack my way into March.
