"Go on, Take It Away!"

Today, we continue our thrilling "voyage" through the vast world of Russian merchantry with our information partner, the creative group Art-Ledokol From previous articles, we’ve already learned about merchant passions and ambitions, their complicated love affairs, their loyalty to their word and principles. And today, we’ll talk about merchant wars—but on the most unexpected battlefield: chocolate against marmalade and pastila! Everyone against everyone! The Lenovs against the Abrikosovs, Einem against both. This fierce battle among merchant families for dominance in the sweets market gave us extraordinary Moscow candies—of exceptional, unparalleled, unforgettable quality.

The author of these lines remembers their distant childhood in a small town in the former Soviet Union, near the hot and desolate border with Afghanistan. Whenever someone they knew traveled to the capital of our vast Motherland on business or personal matters, "Moscow Candies" were always at the top of the shopping list for neighbors, relatives, and friends. Because nothing like them existed anywhere else in the country. A crystal vase filled with fragrant candies in wrappers so beautiful you wanted to eat them all at once. First came the paper wrapping—you’d carefully unfold it, trying not to tear it, so you could later paste it into an album. It was important, a treasure, a prized possession. Each wrapper was informative, beautiful, colorful. Then, just as carefully, you’d peel off the silver or gold foil beneath. From this delicate foil, you could make yourself a ring or fashion "silver" or "gold" teeth—usually the front ones. It was quite the decoration. Especially since the author grew up in Central Asia, where teeth made of precious metals were considered the height of chic and a sign of wealth.

But let’s return to the phenomenon of Moscow candies. Strangely enough, they still have no equal—not even candies from St. Petersburg can compete. Why? Let’s go back to the origins, to the first sweet productions in the Russian Empire, and meet the people who poured all their ambition, talent, and energy into these now-legendary confections.

First, candy makers clearly understood their audience. The Lenovs, with their hard candies, fondants, and caramels, allowed even the least affluent to enjoy sweets of the highest quality. The Abrikosovs, a large merchant family, adored sentimental illustrations and catered to families and the solid middle class. Einem worked for the fashionable crowd.

Pre-revolutionary sweets producers had their own formula for success: rich taste plus visual delight plus playfulness and development. They understood that candy wasn’t just food—it was a little adventure, starting with the wrapper.

The Abrikosovs and Einem attracted artists like Vasnetsov and Bilibin to create illustrations for candy wrappers, design gift boxes, and craft advertising posters. A candy factory became a patron of the arts. Some candy boxes are still sold at antique auctions as works of art.

Special attention was given to children. A young customer wasn’t just sold something "tasty"—they had to be captivated. Series of wrappers with riddles, fairy tales, geographical facts, and even recipes created a "Kinder Surprise" effect long before it became a trend in Europe (the Kinder Surprise appeared in the 1970s). There’s even a theory that the idea of candy with a surprise inside originated in Russia—something similar was produced by the Abrikosov factory for Easter.

For adults, status mattered in sweets. Expensive packaging bore the inscription: "Supplier to the Court of His Imperial Majesty." It was a mark of quality. Giving such candies was a sign of good taste.

For the fashionable clientele of Theodor Einem’s confectionery, artists created surprise sets with postcards, while composers wrote trendy foxtrots, waltzes, and gallops. Want to learn the "Cake Gallop"? Buy chocolate or monpensier, and the coveted sheet music comes with it.

Candies became items for exchange and even collecting—especially in provincial towns, where sweets remained a luxury and a symbol of metropolitan glamour.

The Lenovs, the Abrikosovs, Einem, and others. They worked so hard to attract customers, fought so fiercely for quality—both literal and figurative—that they elevated sweets to such heights that they became legends in their own right.

They weren’t just selling candy. They were creating a dream of a warm, kind world. They comforted a crying child, a broken-hearted woman, brightened a lonely evening.

A cup of tea with a delicious candy can sometimes replace a therapist. If you’re ever in Moscow, don’t forget to try those very candies that even our great-great-grandmothers received as gifts for good behavior—or just for having pretty eyes.

In future publications, we’ll continue exploring stories of Russian merchantry—worthy of becoming plots for gripping novels.