Candy Bars I Have Known

And I've known a few.

May 12, 2025

I don’t buy anywhere near as many candy bars as I used to before I realized they can hasten my inexorable journey toward non-existence, but I still get the craving for one on occasion.

I just like them, and in New York, candy’s siren call beckons from every corner (in New York, everything beckons from every corner; years ago, I saw in the Yellow Pages that you could get a leopard pelt delivered to your apartment in less than an hour).

Plus, as you surely know by now, New Yorkers are socio-communist-atheist-anarchists who still recognize immigrants to be actual human beings. Thus, we understand that people originally hailing from a country other than the United States might want to periodically indulge themselves in the same manner that a glorious homegrown asshole does. So it’s also easy to be tempted by mysterious foreign bars in this neck of the woods. Sometimes I’ll grab something new even if it hasn't got a word of English printed on the wrapper.

My dad, God rest his soul, always went for wacky candy bars. I can remember him sending me to the 7-11 with a couple bucks in my hand to pick up either a Zagnut (burnt coconut, hard as a rock, and it crumbles in your lap when you bite into it) or a Zero bar (looks like an albino turd, but tastes a little better than that).

Dad served time in a Catholic orphanage during the Depression, so I guess he developed a predisposition toward eating whatever he could get his hands on. Still, it seems like by 1975 he could have grasped that you can get your hands on something a lot more appealing than a Zero bar at a fully stocked 7-11.

Mom, on the other hand, is a toffee person. She’s the one who turned me on to Skor bars, which are so good I can just about ignore that they seem to be named after a Danish death metal band.

Here’s a little story we should all take to heart, though. Mom once inhaled a Werther's toffee disc while she and Dad were driving up to Cleveland to visit relatives and, after several moments of what could accurately be called great stress, managed to cough it out. I’m guessing she then threw it out the window of the Honda, because that’s the kind of chick she is.

Technically speaking, Werthers are hard candies, not candy bars. But let that be a lesson— unless you’re looking to go pro, stick to the bars. You’ll live longer. Mom turns 90 in June. I’ll have to ask her if she’s fully weaned herself from Werther's candies.

My personal candy bar tastes have changed a little bit over the years, for reasons that I can’t precisely put my finger on.

For instance, I never went for Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups until a few years ago. Then, all of a sudden, I got into them in a big way. Reese’s Cups, I’ve found, are great for iconoclastic, eater-specific eating. I like to bite off all the pure chocolate around the edge first, then go for the chocolate-covered peanut butter in the middle. Eating it any other way, frankly, is for Philistines.

A Hershey’s Chocolate Bar, on the other hand, and I’ll definitely eat one in a bind, is still just a stinking Hershey Bar, no matter how you chew it. There’s no romance in it at all, and I’ve always felt the way the logo is printed on the wrapper is pointlessly imposing.

There’s no need to threaten me. And Hershey doesn’t make very good chocolate anyway. In fact, it kinda sucks.

Americans, of course, don’t give a damn about anything except Internet memes, reality TV shows, sports, beer, and mammary glands, so I guess it doesn’t surprise me that we basically consider this to be our national candy bar. But it’s a solid rule of thumb that if you get to choose between candy made in Switzerland and candy made in Pennsylvania, you should opt for Switzerland.

Not so kielbasa, which, in its purest form, is manufactured by a guy wearing a knit Steelers ski cap with a big bobble on top. That, however, is for a different post.

In case you’re wondering—and I’ll just pretend you are—here’s a list of my all-time favorite candy bars (minus the Reese’s Cup, which I’ve already discussed) in no particular order:

Mars Bar: I used to love Mars bars, but, for God knows what stupid fucking reason, they quit making them in the U.S. in 2002, brought them back a few years later, then dumped them again for some new and improved stupid fucking reason. But I can still easily find the overseas model in New York. They’re not quite the same as the ones I ate as a kid, but close enough. Although these babies are way too sugary, I still love biting through the almond on the top, then gliding my poor teeth into the creamy-gooey-sticky part.

If you’re almost out of energy during a busy day and don't have access to methamphetamine, this is the answer. Eat two of these, and you’ll be jogging in place while you’re in line at the bank.

Mallo Cup: Not real easy to find, but well worth the search. They’re more or less Reese’s Cups with a marshmallow-like substance in place of the peanut butter. Thus the name. Unfortunately, they tend to leave a string of stretched-out “mallo” on your chin after you’ve eaten one, so you need to find a mirror before you re-enter the real world, lest you look like an even bigger idiot when your boss comes to yell at you about that so-called "report" you handed in yesterday.

$100,000 Bar: I know, I know. They now call them 100 Grand bars, apparently because people no longer have the time to say “one hundred thousand dollar.” I think it’s pretty safe to say I’ve eaten more $100,000 Bars than any other type of candy bar. The crispy rice imbedded in the chocolate is the key. I just love that crunch. It kills me, though, that they insist on making them in two pieces, as if you’re looking to share it with someone.

Screw “someone.” I bought it; I’m eating it. Get married if you want to hand somebody half your candy bar, and even then you don’t have to if you don’t want to.

Snickers: A hearty slab of chocolate, peanuts, and goo. Once, in college, I was sitting in the back of the class eating a Snickers bar during a lecture. Somebody whispered something funny to me while the professor was talking, and I laughed a little too loud. When the professor asked me why I was laughing, I told him it was because I was eating a Snickers bar.

I guess I’ve always been clever.

Kinder Bueno White: BOINGGGGG!

Behold the best candy bar I’ve ever crammed into my slobbering candy hole. The Kinder Bueno White is a surprisingly subtle confection of white chocolate and a light hazelnut “crust” that quickly melts into your mouth and gullet. One day as I walked down 8th Ave., I took my first bite of a Kinder, gasped, and paused in the fluorescent glare of a McDonald's to read the wrapper.

This candy literally stopped me in my tracks on the sidewalk. I usually stop only if somebody starts screaming. Or gets nailed by a car and starts screaming.

Kinder (they’re German, but are somehow an offshoot of an Italian company) also makes an extremely popular dark chocolate version. But dark chocolate, I’m sorry to say, can kiss my ass. At this point in my candy bar-eating life, give me a Kinder Bueno White or give me...well, if not death, then maybe a Reese’s Cup.