Juju Hearts: True Love

Like your first kiss, Juju Hearts are unrepentantly mediocre. They are two-bite brownies of condensed high-fructose corn syrup, dyed with enough Red 40 to make you think you had beets for dinner last night. But these humble hearts (sometimes called JubeJels or some other misspelling of that bird from Jabberwocky) are also the world’s best Valentine’s Day candy.

The confection king of Valentine’s Day, by balance sheet, is of course the Necco Sweetheart, the sugary pebble that once begged you to FAX ME. Now dial-up is dead, and like an estranged godmother with a phablet, these faux-hip hearts implore you to FRIEND ME, to TWEET ME. Romance, Sweethearts argue, is updated and downloaded.

Juju Hearts, however, have never tried to modernize love. They haven’t changed since you took your middle school girlfriend out to a weeknight screening of Dante’s Peak: they are candy’s clumsy, earnest hand-holding, the awkwardness that we all pretend we’ve outgrown.

When you, O patron of the candy aisle, feel the annual hankering for chewy carnauba wax, don’t hesitate to pick up a bag of sticky Jujus. Their half-bland honesty reminds us that love isn’t a tweet and that everyone is still an aspiring amateur. And this occasional reminder is all we need. Like the saccharine sentimentalism of Valentine’s Day, Juju Hearts are perfect because we only have to stomach them once a year.