Equality Street

Steph Gray
I love opening a tin of Equality Street. When I prise off the lid and see the myriad of hues: purple and green, red and yellow, blue and brown; all hiding a variety of flavours.

It never ceases to amaze me how, together, they fill the tin. The wrappers are always bright and each one shines in their own particular way. But they never overwhelm those around them, demanding recognition that they are somehow better than their neighbours, that the other’s colour or flavour clashes with their own. Because it’s the diversity and contrasts between the contents that makes the tin so special.

And it’s never a pick ’n’ mix affair, either, filled only with the ones that we like: safe, familiar. The pink strawberry creams are happy to sit next to the caramels, and the darker toffees easily nestle up to the fudges. Even the ones with a hard centre have a place and are comfortable next to those with a softer core.

Just because others say they don’t like the coffee creams doesn’t mean that we mustn’t either; who are they to say what we should or shouldn’t like, because when we try something novel, we just might find a richness that we enjoy and take delight in.

I love opening my tin of Equality Street and sharing with my friends and neighbours. I just wish others would not be so worried about dipping their hand in and trying something unfamiliar, something foreign, something that might just bring a smile to their faces. Because, at their heart, they’re all the same, so is there anything to fear?