​First it was Fry’s Five Boys, now Caramac, what’s happening to our chocolate? - Susan Morrison

​Good lord. Only last week I was bemoaning the lack of easily accessible boiled sweets and now I discover Caramac is for the axe.
Chocolate bars we used to love and miss now they aren't made any moreChocolate bars we used to love and miss now they aren't made any more
Chocolate bars we used to love and miss now they aren't made any more

​ Sales, we are told, have been in steady decline, which I admit was partly my fault since I can’t remember the last time I actually cracked a Caramac.

Can’t help but notice the sneaky way the announcement was made. Too late for us to get up a petition, start a protest movement, have a bit of a rally and then get them to reverse the decision.

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It took one brave Scottish woman to break the news. Paula Swan is a baker. She uses Caramac to make eclairs and doughnuts.

Stuff yer fancy, shmancy American Krispy Kremes. If you want a doughnut with real added e-numbers and calories, you come to Scotland.

Not for us a light dusting of wee multi-coloured hundreds and thousands. No. We require a great lava flow of slightly gooey, mildly sticky goodness on our doughnuts.

Paula rumbled the gig was up for the Caramac and moved into protection mode, stockpiling her supply and letting the world know what the manufacturers were up to.

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This woman is a baking hero. I can only imagine the queue outside the Pastel bakery in Newtongrange.

Sadly, the press announcement also gave notice that the little Animal Bar is on the hit list, too, and hardly anyone started a stooshie to save that.

Well, it really was just a chocolate bar with a couple of animals on the front. I can’t see Paula getting too het up about that. Any old chocolate is good on a doughnut, but Caramac, now, that was a touch of the exotic.

It had the advantage of not actually being chocolate, which meant it didn’t melt quite so quickly

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It could sit at the bottom of a school bag even if it was left right next to the radiators in the cloakroom. Couldn’t do that with a bar of Dairy Milk.

I feel mildly responsible for all this. For a long time now I have suspected that I am some sort of retail curse. Virtually everything I like gets consigned to the remainder bin.

Who remembers Ice Breaker? A chocolate bar with huge great crystals of mint. Had the advantage of making your breath smell minty fresh, which I suspect conned a lot of Scots into thinking they could dodge teeth-brushing if they’d scoffed an Ice Breaker. I loved it. Binned.

My curse strikes beverages as well as food. Back in the 80s a Quatro was not just a car, but also a can of brilliantly coloured fizzy drink, although few people could tell just exactly what the flavour actually was. Passion fruit, since you ask.

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I worked in the ABC Cinema on Lothian Road when it came out and a crate of the stuff was dropped off for the staff to sample.

Well, Free Gratis is my favourite flavour, but even I had to admit it was an acquired taste. I acquired it. In fact, I think I drank the entire crate over the next few weeks. It helped that it made a funky mixer for gin, but even that discovery couldn’t save the Quatro. Binned.

Ah well, Caramac, it took longer for the curse to hit, but it got you in the end.

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