The ‘real’ pick ‘n’ mix
By Gabi Froden
They will never understand real pick ‘n’ mix here, not really. Do you remember that sweet (pardon the pun) feeling of walking into a shop completely dedicated to pick ‘n’ mix? I’m not talking old-fashioned sweet shops, with walls lined with out of date dolly mixture and gummy bears behind a counter – I’m talking real sweets.
Picture a whole wall of liquorice – salty, sweet, double, triple; another wall of hard, heavy sweets; a third for fruity gummy flavours; and maybe a fourth for wrapped sweets and chocolate.
A bag of carefully-selected sweets say a lot about who you are – or who you’d like to be perceived as. People will peer into your bag of pick ‘n’ mix and judge you. One of my sisters always picks old granny sweets – arrak-flavoured with muted colours. The other sister will pick the sour ones. And I do judge them, think less of them, pity them.
The British have a real understanding of other unhealthy treats. They deep fry stuff in a way Swedes will never be able to do. My teeth are grateful for the Brits’ ignorance of pick ‘n’ mix and I don’t have as many heart palpitations since I stopped eating all that salty liquorice, but on rare outings to the cinema, or on days when I’ve cleaned the flat and think I deserve of a treat, I long for the pick ‘n’ mix stores of Sweden. I long for the walls of confectionary, for the moment before you put your little shovel into a box of salty sweets and for the satisfying weight of a perfectly-balanced bag of pick ‘n’ mix.
Mum, send some, will you?
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