Skip to main content

The Jelly Bean

In this special Easter episode, the Jelly Bean . . .

Today many youngsters and the young at heart will scour their yards for Easter eggs and Jellybeans left by the Easter Bunny. Have you ever wondered just what it takes to make a jelly bean? An interesting fact from one of my morning newsfeeds, the Interesting Facts Newsletter, described by industry giant Jelly Belly explains.

The process begins by heating a sugar, cornstarch, corn syrup, and water mixture, known as a slurry, and adding fruit purée, juice concentrate, and other ingredients for flavoring. From there, the mixture is squirted into cornstarch-coated molding trays and left to solidify into the chewy jellybean centers. The following day, the bean centers are sent through a steam bath and a sugar shower to keep them from sticking. They are then loaded into a spinning machine for a process known as "panning," in which sugar and syrup are manually applied over two hours to build each bean's candied shell.

Following another settling period, the candies receive an additional syrup coating before being polished with confectioner's glaze and beeswax. Upon earning a final thumbs-up through visual inspection and spot taste-testing, the beans are stamped with the Jelly Belly logo and shipped out into the world.

It's a lot of showering, rinsing, resting, and repeating, a process that takes seven to 14 days to complete. And while that might seem like an outsized increment of time for such a tiny edible, the Americans who gobble down an average of 16 billion jelly beans every Easter seem to think it's worth it.

Well, there you have it. So, get out, dawn your new spring outfit, have your sunrise service, meet your friends, dye a few eggs, and have a Jelly Bean or two on me. Oh, don't forget to look around for that chocolate bunny.

Happy Easter!

I'm Patrick Ball; thanks for listening; see you in the next episode.

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Paris – the End of Silence

✈️  In this special episode: Paris – the End of Silence Sometimes, connection arrives in the most unexpected form—not through grand gestures, but through a quiet voice carried by technology. In a Paris apartment, I finally understood my family’s words . . . and felt my mother’s presence in every sentence. Since I was a little boy, France has been both a beautiful and frustrating paradox in my life. Every six to nine years, my mother, Mauricette, would take my brothers and me back to La Rochelle to visit our French family. The moment we arrived, the air would fill with a sound I loved but couldn’t share in—the rapid-fire, musical rhythm of French. My aunts, uncles, and cousins would warmly sweep me into hugs and kisses, their words flowing like a lovely melody I couldn’t quite catch. I’d smile brightly, trying to communicate with my eyes and hands. But as soon as we stepped off the plane, my mother and her sister-in-law, Joséan, started talking animatedly. They were gone, chatting h...

Pushing the Pause Button

In this episode, Pushing the Pause Button: Stepping Off the Treadmill Hello, friends — If you're reading this, I'm already off the grid. Today begins a much-needed vacation, and for the next few weeks, On the Fly is taking a break right along with me. For a long time, my inner voice has said, 'Keep every commitment, no matter what.' That's meant early mornings, long days, and a calendar packed with posts, podcasts, and projects I couldn't seem to say no to. I've been trying to be the tireless workhorse—but that kind of grind doesn't end well. Lately, I've noticed I'm not quite myself—shorter fuse, louder sighs, and a few too many grumbles (Lori deserves a medal). That's when you know it's time to hit pause before the spark burns out. So, I'm stepping back to rest, recharge, and remember what it feels like to not live by the next deadline: no tech, no to-do lists, just some space to breathe. Thank you, truly, for all your support and ...

Noirmoutier: An Ocean Between Us, Gone in a Moment

In this episode, Noirmoutier: An Ocean Between Us, Gone in a Moment. Sometimes love waits half a century for its moment — and when it finally arrives, time doesn’t stand still; it disappears. The moment I stepped off the train in Nantes, it felt like time froze. There she was — my cousin Michèle — waiting on the platform, arms waving desperately. When we finally embraced, the fifty years that had passed between us disappeared in an instant. The melody in her voice was the same, but softer than I remembered. We both shed tears of joy that only come from love long overdue. “I’m so happy you are here,” she whispered, her voice trembling.   Thank goodness for the translation app on my phone, because the conversation began immediately — fast, fluid, and unstoppable. The Frenzy of Catching Up As we drove for about an hour to the tiny town of L’Épine on the Island of Noirmoutier, the words kept tumbling out. Michèle and her husband, Alain, are the most gracious hosts — but my new challe...

The Friday Morning Pause

In this episode,  The Friday Morning Pause: When My Brother’s Bookshelf Called Me to Stillness We live in a world allergic to stillness. Our mornings begin mid-sprint—thumbs scrolling before our eyes even open. The impulse to jump into the digital chaos is immediate. But sometimes, stillness finds you . It was early Friday morning. We’d arrived late the night before, stepping into the cool air before the day turned hot. Half-awake, I reached for my phone—emails, headlines, social feeds waiting like a morning buffet of distraction. We were in Cuba. No Wi-Fi. No 5G. No password. Just stillness, disguised as inconvenience. Instead, I caught sight of something unexpected: a small stack of books on my brother’s TV shelf. My brother and his wife are powered by perpetual motion. They are the definition of overscheduled and overstimulated. Yet there it was: Stillness Is the Key by Ryan Holiday, quietly mocking my scrolling habit. The irony was perfect. I put my phone down—a small, delibe...