I have fond memories of liquorice. Not real liquorice, the woody root of Glycyrrhiza glabra (how do you pronounce that?) that's prized both medicinally and as a flavouring. No, when I think of liquorice, I think of good old-fashioned, lip-blackening, paid-for-with-your-own-pocket-money sweets: bootlaces and allsorts and the plump coin of a Pontefract cake.
Liquorice is a love-it-or-hate-it thing. As a child, if you loved it, then you lucked out: you got to eat the rejects of all the kids who didn't. The flavour doesn't try too hard to please: although sweet, it's also dark, almost burnt, intense, a bit edgy. That spicy savour comes at least partly from liquorice root, but it's almost invariably complemented by another flavour: aniseed. And it's anise's curious, complex, sweet-tangy character that defines many liquorice confections. Even if you never could stand Black Jacks, don't dismiss aniseedy flavours. Just try them outside the realm of the sweet shop.
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