Love Letter: Sockerbit, NYC
by Erin Wylie
It's the little things that count. Sweet little things. Erin Wylie falls hard for a minimalist Scandinavian candy shop.
NEW YORK, NY – You had me at hej. That's hello in Swedish, as I learned from your awesomely-designed business card. How'd you know I like a little linguistics with my dessert? You've taught me so much, like how lacking in smägodis (little candies) and lördagsgodis (the tradition of stocking up on candy come Saturday) my life was before I discovered your tiny Scandinavian saccharine dispensary in the West Village.
My gateway was the marshmallows — my petites madeleines. At first they seem hard, like god-awful circus peanuts, but then they soften up and become contemplatively chewy. They morph into hallucinatorily pillows of sugar for the tongue to lounge on, like the caterpillar atop his mushroom.
There is a whole wall devoted to bins of treats (all naturally colored, by the way). It's hard not to go all Violet Beauregarde on those gummies, sours, chocolates, licorices, and hard candies. Scoop up one, two, lots of everything into the white paper sacks.
But what really makes me come back are those clever, malaprop-ish descriptions that you have for each delicacy. The heavenly Sweet Hearts are "pure love between jelly and marshmallow," kärlek gummies are "sweet jelly poetry," and kanderade häxvrål licorice apparently means "the sweetened witch's scream." Ginsberg couldn't have said it better.
I haven't made it to Sweden yet. But for now, I'm satisfied.