Candy-making a family Halloween tradition

Halloween is almost here, and with it comes memories of ... CANDY!

When I was a child, there was a brief sugarplum time after we moved out West and could afford an occasional treat, before war started and put an end to civilian indulgence.

In Oakland we lived in what was once a lovely old Victorian house that had become a warren of tiny apartments, in a neighborhood that had probably been pleasant long, long ago. Every day I stood at the bow window and wistfully watched herds of grubby little urchins swarm to the candy store on the corner and come out sticky and happy, but I was never allowed to join them. Several times a week, though, scrubbed, starched, hair freshly braided, I accompanied my mother to the little neighborhood grocery store.

We stopped at the candy shop, where I agonized about how to spend the one or two pennies clutched in my sweaty fist. I couldn't understand why Mama didn't let me save her some money. I'd often heard the old man hanging around outside offer candy to other kids, the ones who didn't have their mothers there to botch the opportunity, but no such luck for me. Mama marched me right past him.

I'd usually invest my pennies in a fish made out of banana-flavored, chewy, orange marshmallow cement. You got more bang for your buck ... make that penny. Not only did the stuff take all afternoon to chew, but each fish had a garish, green glass jeweled ring through its nose. If the war hadn't come along, I'd probably have had a mouthful of cavities and a shoebox full of cheap rings.

My husband has golden pre-war memories of his older siblings and their dates making fudge after a ballgame or movie. Russ specialized in hanging around and being a pest until somebody gave him the pan to scrape, just to get rid of him.

During the war there was little sugar available. However, near the end of it one of my older cousins worked at the veterans' hospital in the Vancouver barracks. Either employees had access to the commissary, or someone as cute and flirty as my cousin Nita got her tips in Hershey bars.

Whatever the reason, she sometimes had one in her purse, and she would share it with whichever little cousin took her fancy. When Nita got home, we littler ones were all so sweet, lovable and helpful that we could probably have been melted down for pure sugar ourselves. A couple of squares of chocolate bliss dissolving on your tongue tasted all the sweeter for the knowledge that everyone else wanted it.

After I had a family of my own, there were a few candies that were traditional. Marshmallow peeps and chocolate eggs at Easter, of course. We always had Swedish fish at Christmas ... I must have been still fixated on the fish of my childhood. Those garishly bright, sharply fruit-flavored gelatin fish-shaped candies could take out a filling lickety-split if they were stale, but the kids loved them.

We had a taffy-pull at a birthday party once, which made me glad that kid had a summer birthday. Something so messy needs to be done on a picnic table in the backyard.

I tried making decorative lollipops one Christmas, gave up in disgust halfway through the project, and poured the rest of the hot syrup down the drain. It took many teakettles full of boiling water to free up the candy-coated garbage disposal.

Both my mom and Russ were excellent candy-makers, so I didn't waste too much time in that effort. Grandma Scofield's English toffee was so much trouble that an attempt to make it would soon send you to the store for Heath bars. Same taste, a whole lot less work. She also made a wicked fudge frosting (probably the same recipe those teenagers used at their pre-war fudge-making parties). It set delicious, firm, and easy to peel off. When grandkids were around, enough sneak trips past the kitchen table resulted in an almost naked cake atop the fancy pedestal plate.

My mom made a wonderful candy that I never bothered getting the recipe for. Now that she's gone, I've searched the Internet and old magazines for it in vain. If anyone has the recipe for Three (something) Candy, please let me know. I remember it had three main ingredients. Or maybe it cooked for three hours. Anyhow, it was so rich that probably even the aroma was fattening. I need something that decadent like I need another hole in my head, but I'd like to try it just for nostalgia.

My favorite kind of homemade candy came long with the grandkids ... melting chocolate that somebody else has cooked, and pouring it into cute little molds. We had some fun Saturday afternoons with rain beating on the kitchen windows while we made treats. The culinary masterpiece was the giant chocolate rat Steve made for his dad one Christmas.

Ah, for the good old days. But enough nostalgia. It's time to head out to Costco. Halloween trick-or-treaters wait for no one!

*Donna Scofield is a freelance writer whose articles, columns and short fiction stories have appeared in numerous national and regional magazines. The longtime Yakima resident is retired after working as a secretary and office manager in Yakima School District elementary schools. She has raised two sons and two daughters.

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