Licorice: A Bridge of Bold Tastes Between Iceland and Jerusalem

If there's one flavor that can divide a dinner table faster than politics, it might just be licorice. But in Iceland, there is no such division. Licorice - sweet, salty, or sometimes both at once – is not just a candy. It's a cultural identity.

From chocolate bars stuffed with licorice cream, to pitch-black salmiak bombs that challenge even seasoned palates, Icelanders have taken their love of licorice to epic proportions. It’s said that the average Icelander consumes more licorice per capita than almost anywhere else in the world. Walk into any Reykjavík grocery store and you’ll find entire aisles dedicated to it. But where does this love come from?

Licorice first made its way into Nordic countries centuries ago, often used for medicinal purposes. Over time, it turned into a national obsession. During the 20th century, Icelandic confectioners began blending licorice with ammonium chloride (salmiak), creating the sharp, salty flavor that has since become a national treasure. It’s bold, divisive, and unapologetically Icelandic.

Half a world away, licorice has a quieter but no less meaningful presence in Israel. In the Sephardic neighborhoods of Jerusalem, licorice was often found in the form of Anise  Candy: small, hard black candies flavored with anise and licorice root. They were simple, potent, and beloved by many.

My late grandfather, born and raised in Jerusalem, would travel once a week from the coast back to his native city. One of his small rituals was to seek out and purchase sukariot anise, a treat that reminded him of his childhood. Years later, when I would come across those same candies in markets – or on visits back to Israel – I’d always bring him some. It was more than candy; it was a way to bring back a piece of home.

And perhaps that’s where these two cultures meet: in the unlikely power of licorice to hold memory, place, and personality. Whether in Reykjavík or Jerusalem, sweet or salty, licorice reminds us that taste is more than flavor - it’s a story.

SO! What’s your licorice story?