Oh, how my belly got jellied

West Hartford has been frozen and quiet of late, so today I reminisced about my journey to one of the tastiest places on the planet, the Jelly Belly jelly bean factory in Fairfield, California. I visited it while out west, and it was a pretty sweet experience. Get it? Sweet! You know? Sweet? Oh, never mind . . .

To begin, I should state that I was not alone on this confectioner's conquest. I was accompanied by my cousin and her 6-month-old daughter. It was the child's first visit to the old JB, but her mom had been many a-time. Our trio was also surrounded by an entire class of what I could only guess were third graders. They were small. They were loud. And they were itching for a sweet fix.

But to be fair, so was I.

The Jelly Belly factory is in the middle of a long stretch of industrial buildings in Fairfield. You know you're at the right place when you see the subtle vehicles parked in the lot:

 

Oh, and then there's this guy next to the autos:

Of course, I'm referring to the inflatable jelly bean, not me (in my fancy Jelly Belly paper hat) or the baby. We aren't usually standing next to the jelly bean bus. Well, she is on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but I've only made the one visit.

The smell of sugar hits you from the moment you step into the building. It gets even more intense as you make your way onto the catwalks high above the factory floor. Our guide, let's call her Bedelia, was pleasant enough, but was the type of person I can only describe as civil and tired. Something told me she could have done the tour in her sleep. She was also wearing a fanny pack, which was a bit of an odd choice.

Here I am at the beginning of the tour, pointing at a flight of stairs. I'm so excited because I had a hunch that the Oompa-Loompas were kept at the top:

Unfortunately, they were not there. In fact, I did not see any Oompa-Loompas working the floor. Mostly just average folks in hair nets. I learned that it takes up to a week to make a single jelly bean, which seemed crazy until they showed us the massive amount of steps that go into making the sweets. I also learned that a special jelly bean holder was created for Air Force One because Reagan was such a jelly bean enthusiast. There were a ton of facts thrown at the third graders and I by Bedelia. I have to be honest, though, at about the halfway point, I kind of zoned out. My stomach took over and all I wanted was for the lady to stop talking and just hand out the free bags of candy.

Thankfully, she finally did. She even gave one to the baby, which seemed wholly inappropriate to me, unless, of course, she had recently seen Benjamin Button and is now convinced that every baby is really an old person, just tiny.

The tour, like all smartly planned amusements, dropped us in the Jelly Belly store, where I took my time hounding the workers at the sample bar. Hmmm . . . how about a caramel apple. Hmmmm . . . how about a chocolate devotion. Hmmmm . . . you get the point. Giant bags of bean rejects, known in the biz as Belly Flops, were available. There were so many colors! I was like a grown man in a candy store! However, one thing that brought me back to Earth was the "must-only-be-bought-by-nine-year-old-boys" Bean Boozled line, in which my precious jelly beans were molded into flavors like Vomit, Skunk Spray, and Dirt. Who would want to eat vomit in bean form (besides the aforementioned 9-year-old boys)? And who was the poor sucker that had to be the taste tech on such a project? This vomit is just not vomity enough. Add more artificial bile!  

I ended up with a box of Coldstone Creamery beans and a bag of Soda Pop Shoppe. Oh, and I kept the nifty paper hat. In fact, I haven't taken it off since my visit. So, if you're around town and see a man with a paper hat on, hopped up on jelly beans, stop by and say hello.