This is a fluff piece. And by that, I don’t mean a bunch of superfluous information—I mean that sticky, gooey, sweet marshmallow concoction that as New Englanders, we all hold dear in our hearts in one way or another.

Courtesy of Creative Commons

From The Fannie Farmer Cookbook to the everlasting Fluffernutter (a most harmonious matrimony between the treat in question and ever-lovable peanut butter), this mysteriously tasty pantry essential has made its way into every facet of culinary necessity. I, for one, have enjoyed a multi-decade love affair with Marshmallow Fluff, beginning as a daily feature alongside carrot sticks and a Capri Sun juice box in my Tickles Tapeworm lunchbox (christening my borderline unhealthy relationship with irony). In college, the addictive white goop was almost solely responsible for my “Freshman 15” (damn you, toasted plain bagel Fluffernutters). Alas, this Lynn, Massachusetts-born confectioners spread is celebrating its 100th-year anniversary.

The fact of the matter is that everyone has their unique preferences when it comes to Marshmallow Fluff. Take the strawberry and raspberry flavors, for example, the latter of which has been discontinued and is, in my humble opinion, a complete sacrilege to the impossible-to-improve-upon purity of good ol’ fashioned original Fluff. One thing we can say for sure is that the Durkee-Mower gentlemen, inventors of Marshmallow Fluff, were seriously onto something, and finally there has come a proper testament to their infinite confectionary brilliance.

FLUFF The Sticky Sweet Story of an American Icon | Courtesy of Union Park Press

Mimi Graney, founder of What The Fluff?, an annual festival celebrating Marshmallow Fluff in Somerville, MA, has done us all the favor of chronicling the century-long legacy of this timeless spread. FLUFF: The Sticky Sweet Story of an American Icon is her masterpiece and a tribute to Fluff in all its sinfully sweet glory.

Mimi Graney | Courtesy of Union Park Press

To Graney, Marshmallow Fluff is more than just a melting spoonful of heaven in a mug of hot chocolate. In her historical rendition, she delves into the booming New England candy industry at the turn of the twentieth century, evolving social roles for women, the onset of modern advertising, and commercial habits of how we buy our food today. Ten decades of changing trends later, the tradition of Marshmallow Fluff has survived the adversity of time with flying colors, and remains one of the primary food groups in every self-respecting New Englander’s diet.

I fully expect a distinct spike in Marshmallow Fluff sales across New England following this piece. Happy snacking, motherfluffers.

Marshmallow Fluff – confectionary
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Top photo courtesy of Creative Commons

The post Fluff Piece appeared first on Take Magazine.

This article originally appeared in our October 2015 print edition. 

There are regional liquor appetites that border on the fetishistic. Before the near ubiquity of Fernet-Branca, San Franciscans drank a lot of it, and I saw firsthand the unslakeable thirst for Grand Marnier in the Baltimore–Washington corridor. The presence of Chartreuse behind nearly every bar in New Orleans still baffles, and I’ve heard that some parts of Annapolis are fond of Cherry Heering. But nothing prepared me for Allen’s Coffee Brandy.*

For more than 20 years, Allen’s Coffee Brandy has been the top-selling spirit in the state of Maine, besting the number two competitor by a margin of two to one. And that’s just the 1.75-liter size. Annual sales reports for the state routinely place all four sizes of Allen’s among the top ten best sellers. Each year, Somerville, Massachusetts-based M.S. Walker produces 130,000 cases of the stuff, shipping 96,000 up Route 95 to Maine. It is the stuff of legend.

And why not? It’s inexpensive, it’s sweet, and it packs a buzz and a punch. Flavored with 100% Arabica coffee beans, its coffee flavor is in your face while its relatively high 60 proof will try to set you on your other end.

Allen’s earned its name from Leo Allen, who joined M.S. Walker, his father-in-law’s business, soon after it was founded and prohibition repealed in the early 1930s. Fast forward about thirty years to the late ’60s, where Allen’s is sold and distributed mostly in “Downeast” Maine.

Allen’s Coffee Brandy was a hallmark of the salt-of-the-earth working poor, who gave it nicknames like “Fat Ass in a Glass,” “Downeast Panty Remover,” “Burnt Trailer,” and “Doublewide.” “Lily of the Forest” is one of my favorites. Picture it: as the winter snows recede along the snowmobile and skidder trails, the necks of empty Allen’s bottles begin to emerge.

But we live in interesting times, and what was once a solace for the chronically down-and-out is now a prop for the tragically hip. Ask for “The Service” at tony No. 9 Park in Boston, for example, and a shot of Allen’s is part of the package. At Portland, Maine’s uber-craft cocktail bar, Portland Hunt & Alpine Club, a happy hour menu once featured nearly half a dozen Allen’s Coffee Brandy drinks.

It’s a weird time, to be sure, when irony, locavorism, and fashion meet, and it’s hard to know how to feel about it. As I watch a young, smart couple dressed in almost-matching flannel-and-Carhartt outfits climb out of an Uber taxi, Portland bartender Leah Gagne blurts out, “The first time I had Allen’s, I fell through a smelt hole,” and that just about puts everything aright.

*The official name is Allen’s Coffee Flavored Brandy. No one calls it that.

All photos courtesy M.S. Walker

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