We’re a liquorice-loving nation, and one of the most popular ways to consume it is in an Allsort. We’ve all got our favourites, and sometimes — just like loyal liquorice fan Graham — we don’t get enough of the colour we covet. They’re called Licorice Allsorts, but are they created equal? Hilary Barry investigates.
Yellow Licorice Allsorts are the best.
They’re a smiley face emoji in a bite, and they taste like bananas without all the annoying things that bananas have, like skins, brown mushy bits, and vitamins.
If I could get a whole bag of just the yellow ones, I’d up my dental insurance and fill my face with them.
Unfortunately, I can’t just buy a bag of my favourites. I have to dig through all the other colours and hope someone else in the family eats the green, pink and orange ones.
But what if you bought a packet of Allsorts and there were only a few of the colours you loved or, heaven forbid, none?
It’s an often-asked question of RJ’s, the country’s foremost crafters of Licorice Allsorts.
One of those liquorice lovers was Graham, who contacted us at TVNZ asking whether a staff member might be available to investigate how RJ’s loads its packets of Allsorts and how the colours are distributed.
They’re called Licorice Allsorts, but are they created equal? Hilary Barry goes on a mission to find out the secret behind the spread of colours in each bag of the lolly. (Source: Seven Sharp)
Graham started researching after buying a bag of the colourful treats and finding far too many of his least favourite colour (green) inside.
Over 14 months, Graham purchased 10 packets of Licorice Allsorts from RJ’s. He went through each packet and counted how many of the four colour varieties were in a packet. He put the results on a spreadsheet, which revealed the mix of the four colours varied quite a bit.
Graham then wrote to RJ’s.
I felt for Graham because green is also my least favourite Allsort. I needed some answers for Graham, so I packed my toothbrush and drove to RJ’s HQ in Levin.
Colourful business
It is without doubt the most colourful and biggest business in Levin. Its lolly livery covers the building, home to about 120 employees who work 24 hours a day, five days a week, pumping out millions of liquorice and other liquorice-adjacent treats.
Jimmy Halliwell guided me through the factory. He and his father, Roger, started RJ’s in 1994, but the family’s connection to Levin and liquorice began in the early 1980s.
“I guess it started when I was 11,” he said. “With my father buying a company called Grannies Licorice. It got so big he had to move premises, so he moved here to what we’ve got now. And then he sold that to Arnotts.”
It seemed like the end of Halliwell’s association with Allsorts, but after the expiry of the seven-year restraint of trade, Roger was keen to start up another business. By then, Halliwell was in Europe on his OE.
“He gave me a ring and said, ‘Hey boy, would you like to come home and start a business together?'”
Halliwell headed home, and the pair created RJ’s. Roger suggested the name after his son, Regan James.
RJ’s was sold to an Australian company in 2015, but Halliwell is still on hand to ensure that production runs smoothly.
It’s quite an operation.
Bags of icing sugar were piled high in the factory like sacks of flour in a bakery and poured into a massive mixer with other secret ingredients to mix the colourful dough that makes the Allsort part of the sugary bricks.
On another machine were layers of liquorice that looked like black car mats, the kind you’d find in Repco. These were ordinary components that would soon transform into something extraordinary. The air was filled with sweet dust and a hint of citrus. They were busy making the orange ones.
Green, pink, orange, and yellow
But I was there to answer Graham’s question. How do they mix up the colours?
First, they make each colour one at a time: green, pink, orange, and yellow.
When the guillotine cuts them all up into squares, 7kg of Allsorts of each colour are loaded into trays, like the ones you put your handbag and laptop into to go through airport security.
Then, the first mix of colours. A tray of each colour is loaded on top of each other and then folded together by hand.
That jumbled assortment of Allsorts then heads down a conveyor belt, where it’s dropped into small metal buckets. These buckets are transferred into a machine several metres high and dropped over a metal cone to rustle the colours again. Let’s call that the second colour mix.
Those re-mixed Allsorts are then distributed into other smaller metal buckets, and then random buckets are poured into a packet to the prescribed weight. This is the third colour mix.
From my observations in the factory, I could ascertain that the four colours of Allsorts were mixed at least three times: manually by a staff member, then on the conehead machine, and again when they went into the packet from the small metal buckets.
The rest is chance.
When you see the process, you can understand how much it would cost to employ people to count the number of yellow, green, pink, and orange Allsorts going into each bag. It’d be bonkers.
The company recognises that there is not always an even mix of colours and has a disclaimer on each bag that reads: “No guarantee that all variants are in this pack.”
The mix is generally fair, but there are disparities, so RJ’s sometimes get complaints like Graham’s.
If a customer is really miffed, RJ’s will send them a voucher to buy another packet. They don’t want the Grahams of New Zealand to have their day ruined by too many greens.
“It’s really important to acknowledge all the feedback that we get because we appreciate all of our customers, and the one thing about liquorice consumers is that they’re very, very loyal, so we want to keep them happy,” said RJ’s sales director Amy Law.
Law suggests buying a couple of packets at a time to ensure you get enough of your favourites.
Or maybe find some friends who like eating the colours you don’t.
I’ve got some green ones on my desk if you want them.
