Since I was very young, there has always been a clear plastic canister of Jelly Belly jelly beans in the same spot on the bottom shelf of my pantry at home. When one canister runs out, we buy another. It’s the one you can find somewhere deep within Cotsco with the red lid and 49 different flavors. As a child, I’d look forward to Friday nights when my parents would allow me to pick out one dessert: for me, always jelly beans.

To this day, I still find myself enjoying the occasional handful of jelly beans every once in a while; each time I place one of those tiny, vividly colored beans into my mouth, I am instantly transported back to my childhood when I would sit in my dining room on Friday nights and purposefully enjoy an entire little glass bowl of jelly beans, one-by-one, savoring each uniquely sophisticated flavor. 

I’d start with my least favorites—black licorice, mixed berry smoothie, and crushed pineapple—so that the best ones were saved for last. Since they weren’t my favorite flavors, I strived to ensure that the last few beans stuck to the bottom of the canister at the end were not just the same three flavors no one likes, so I ate all of the jelly beans in my little glass bowl. Then I’d make my way through the rest of the flavors by color. First, I ate the pinks, then the purples, blues, and reds, until just the best ones remained. These, I savored: the juicy pear, mango, toasted marshmallow, root beer, and lemon drop. I held them on my tongue until the hard sugary coating melted, and then I ate the soft, gummy center gradually. I always ate through the flavors in precisely the same order, and I still do to this day. This sequence is something constant in my life that I can control even as I have grown up and it seemed like everything else was changing. Jelly beans have always been there with me, through all the ups and downs of life. 

They were truly an integral part of my youth. At the same time I was memorizing all 50 states and capitals, I was memorizing the names and flavors of all 49 jelly beans in that red-capped canister. With each jelly bean I held in my palm, I used its color and various speckles to determine precisely which flavor it was.

The range of flavors available for just one type of candy has always amazed me. There’s everything from buttered popcorn to Dr. Pepper, watermelon, and strawberry jam. I’ve tried the little packets of Jelly Belly that come with just 15 or 20 different flavors, but it’s not the same. There’s something so thrilling about closing my eyes, reaching into the canister, and picking out a jelly bean at random. I love the mystery of variety, and knowing that there’s always that one in 49 chance that I pull out a delectable toasted marshmallow-flavored one. In life, I strive to have the confidence to dive into new experiences, despite not knowing what to expect, just like I did–and occasionally still do–with the canister of jelly beans. 

My memories are so deeply connected to this candy that they follow me each time I take another handful of jelly beans,  letting the dye stain my hands in little splotches. They make me feel young again, and I feel the safety of childhood holding me in a warm embrace. 

I remember struggling to carry the canister, as big as my tiny 5-year-old head, from the pantry to the table. I remember sifting through my glass bowl with my pointer finger, counting each bean to make sure I had the exact same number as my sister. I remember sitting cross-legged at the dining room table every Friday night, eating jelly bean after jelly bean and letting the 49 different flavors linger on my taste buds. And, I remember now that sometimes life’s tastiest moments come in the simple quiet of a Friday evening dinner table.