I’ve never been into weird candy. It’s just not my thing. While my friends growing up would be sucking down Ooze Tubes, getting Ring Pops stuck on their fingers, or chomping on Lego Candy Blocks, I was sticking to the basics—Snickers, Twizzlers, Skittles, and my all-time favorite, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. If it wasn’t available at the concession stand or the front counter of a Blockbuster, I didn’t want anything to do with it.
In fact, I had a laundry list of candies I couldn’t stand, and a few brands with which I’d had particularly terrible experiences. Fun Dip was chalky, and the tart-flavored powder always felt like limestone in my mouth. Runts had the worst artificial taste (the banana flavor was especially awful). I have a vivid memory of this dumb boy Jacob spilling his Runts all over the floor at Thunderbird’s, the tiny candies pressing into my heel when I stepped on them, sock footed, after taking off my rollerblades. There was also the time I choked on Pop Rocks, and the other time a Gobstopper shot into the back of my throat. One summer, during a road trip to Nebraska, I got a Sugar Daddy stuck to the roof of my mouth. After several minutes of struggling, I finally dislodged it—taking the corner of my front tooth with it. Then a few years later in class, the same thing happened again except this time it was a watermelon Jolly Rancher. Broke the same tooth and everything. Imagine the look on my mom’s face when I had to explain to her that it happened again. Disbelief is an understatement.
Needless to say, my days of experimenting with candy were long behind me1, so when Virginia came into the kitchen holding a bright yellow bag with 'Let’s Chomis Gushis'2 printed on the front in a mishmash of fonts, my face contorted in disgust.
“What are those?” I asked—my eyebrows raised, lips pursed, head already shaking back and forth.
“My new favorite candy,” she smirked as her fingers inched down into the bag to extract a couple more. She held out her hand showing me the spice covered, gusher-shaped gummies.
I picked one up and examined it. “Is that tajin?”
“Yup . . . and chamoy,” she confirmed before happily popping a few into her mouth.
For the unfamiliar, chamoy is a Mexican seasoning made from tamarind. Its origins are Asian, and it’s known for its distinct, sweet and spicy flavor. Folks use it for all sorts of things: they pour it over meat and nachos and dust it onto lollipops. They ring it around cocktail rims and even dip their fruit in it. It’s not the worst condiment I’ve ever had, but it’s certainly not my favorite. Something about the thick red syrup feels chemical to me . . . like liquid poison, gloppy and deadly.
Virginia stood there in the kitchen cradling the yellow bag in her hand; the safari-hatted man in the logo beckoning me with his wide eyes and smile.
“Just try one,” she jested.
“Absolutely not,” I adamantly refused. Visions of me choking on my broken teeth surfaced.
She rolled her eyes, “Quit being a baby and just try one!”
Not wanting to fall into the trappings of adulthood—too old and too fearful to try new things—I reconsider her petition slowly turning the gushy over in my hands. I brought it up to my mouth and poked at it with my tongue.
“Oh my god.” Virginia sighed.
I cast a side eye at her and stuck it in my mouth. A powerful burst of sourness made my lips pucker, and as I bit down the gusher popped causing a sugary goo to pour out. It tasted like a Gusher, all right, but it was something more—something on the cutting edge of flavor. Initially it was sharp and peppery, but as the gummy broke apart, the filling unleashed a sweetness tinged with the tang of lime. The aromatic power of the chamoy continued to punch through with every turn of my tongue.
I looked back at Virginia as she stood there expectantly.
“What?” she asked. “You don’t like it.”
I leaned against the counter silently chewing.
Then the silence was cut by her soft giggle. “You do like it! I knew you would.”
“Give me those,” I exclaimed, snatching the bag out of her hand. My fingers slid into the open pocket, reaching in for more. I ate another and another until my sticky fingers glowed with the stain of chamoy.
I licked my fingers satisfied as Virginia took the bag away from me protesting, “Stop it! You’re going to eat them all.”
Notes
If you’re into weird snacks, NPR released a really fun Weekend Edition segment back in the summer of 2022 that you’ll probably enjoy.
Chamois Gomis was founded by Ivan Bugarin in 2020 as a small, family-owned Mexican company based in San Fernando, CA. In addition to Chomis Gushis, they offer Chomis Kids, Sandallitas, Chomis Cubes, Chomis Rim Dip, and more.