My Strange (Easter) Addiction

Every year, I become obsessed with seasonal jelly beans to the point that I stash bags throughout the apartment

I stumbled upon this Easter Bunny head when I was a groomsmaid in my friend Kelly’s wedding. I did not wear it during the service, much to our communal regret.

Every year, about three days after Easter, I follow a specific ritual. I pick up an unopened package of Brach’s Jelly Bird Eggs and cradle it in my arms for a moment before I turn to my wife and, with a tear in my eye, whisper, “You know what to do.”

Let’s run with the biblical theme here as I explain my idiocy. I consider myself to be a bearded and bespectacled Jochebed, taking one last look at baby Moses (the jelly beans) before setting him afloat on the Nile (my wife? I’m not as good at biblical allusions as I had hoped…) where he will be whisked far away (to an undisclosed location only my wife knows).

Why go through all of this trouble? Because I’m addicted to Easter candy. And I know I’ll stumble across this bag in a few months, which will allow me to enjoy Easter jelly beans in August, which will be the highlight of my year.

I love all Easter candy. Cadbury Eggs (in creme, caramel, and mini forms), chocolate bunnies, Reese’s eggs, chocolate carrots, those marshmallow eggs with the wicked hard candy shell, hell, I even like Peeps. They’re nothing special, but I’ll down a sleeve or two just because they’re there.

But there’s an enormous gap between all of these delights and the Brach’s Jelly Bird Eggs. They aren’t just my favorite candy associated with both a mythical candy-giving rabbit and the son of God’s resurrection (Easter is weird), they are one of my favorite foods. Period.

My other job is as an editor at a food site, so I feel a legal obligation to point out that Brach’s Jelly Bird Eggs are definitely not the world’s best-tasting jelly beans. Jelly Belly, to name one brand, has over a dozen more intriguing flavors they’ve developed through research, creativity, and science, but that’s not the point, is it? The Brach’s tick off a trifecta of boxes that make them essential:

1. They’re seasonal — their rarity makes me crave them for 10 months before they come back from the dead (oooh, another biblical allusion!) and appear in the candy aisle

2. They’re insanely sweet — it only takes a couple of beans to get a sugar jolt, which means I don’t need to eat a ton at a time to get my fill

3. Nostalgia — I’m a complete sap; this is clearly the driving force for me

Every year, my parents (or possibly the Easter Bunny, who am I to say?) would line my basket with that fake grass made out of cellophane, and then pour a bag of Brach’s jelly beans out into the grass. So each time I dug my little paw into the hopefully not too carcinogenic plastic grass, I could find a bean or two to pop into my mouth before opening the Reese’s or Cadbury egg that I was focused on. The jelly beans were never the main attraction, they were a garnish.

This picture is the entire reason I wrote this article. I needed to prove to AJPT readers that I wasn’t always a grizzled, old curmudgeon. Minutes later, I’d have my first taste of jelly beans (and probably a strand of fake grass).

Yet through the magical powers of nostalgia, it was the jelly beans that affixed themselves onto every memory I have of Easter morning. They were there the year the Easter Bunny brought me a handheld talking baseball video game my family still makes fun of (the robot voice put “the” in front of every action, so it would say “it’s the home run” and “it’s the out”), and they were there the year I was the biggest spoiled brat in the universe and I BIT OFF the Lacoste logo on the fancy new pink polo my mom bought me for Easter brunch (I’m still sorry, mom). Some years the bunny would bring a lot of chocolate, while other years I’d get an Atari game, but without fail, those jelly beans would be nestled into the faux-grass. As I got too old for an Easter basket, the beans were what I craved, and I made sure to buy a bag or two each season.

It’s been 30-something years since I’ve woken up to an Easter basket filled with jelly beans, and I adore them more than ever. Seeing a fellow commuter with ash on their face causes a Pavlovian response in me — Ash Wednesday means the beans are back. Without fail, I rush to CVS and grab a bag. Hours later, I’ll have my first stomach ache (a tradition!) and my annual Brach’s binge is under way.

This year I’ve been through quite a few bags, probably more than usual, because it’s nice to have an outlet that is so pure. No, I’m not talking about the strength of the jelly beans, although the sugar does hit hard. I’m talking about how every bean I bite into takes me back to childhood with a brief punch of endorphins. It feels nice. Not a lot about life feels that nice right now, so we’re taking the wins when we get them. Brach’s Jelly Bird Eggs have done a lot of emotional lifting for me over the years, that’s for sure. Here’s where I should make the joke about how men will pour bags of candy down their throats instead of going to therapy…

By tomorrow morning, the world will have moved on from Brach’s Jelly Bird Eggs. Bags will be priced at a steep discount (yes, I will buy some), and by the end of the week, they will be out of sight and out of mind for the vast majority of the population. And this is assuming they even thought about them in the first place. But I’ll miss them. I’ll long for them, eagerly counting the days until they return. Easter is three weeks earlier next year, so it won’t even be that long until I have a line of beans in front of me, ready to be consumed in order, from worst to best — white, pink, purple, orange, yellow, green, red. I can’t wait.

Happy Easter, everybody! What’s the seasonal candy you look forward to all year? I know I’m not alone here…