Twist and Shout

A corporate chain is altering Philadelphia's pretzel profile.

Philadelphia may be the home of the original soft pretzel, but the competition is getting stiff. Or greasy and sugary, depending on your perspective.

A new Auntie Anne's Pretzel Shop will open soon at 411 South St., raising the number of these franchises in the Philadelphia market to about 50. Unlike traditional Philadelphia pretzels—which are made only with flour, water, yeast and a dab of soybean shortening to enhance color—Auntie Anne's recipe contains brown sugar and a butter coating. Customers can also get their pretzels sprinkled with a variety of toppings, including almond, cinnamon and garlic.

Traditional soft pretzels may be tasteless and coarse, but they are fat-free and sell for about 35 cents. Auntie Anne's pretzels, on the other hand, contain up to 10 grams of fat and cost at least a buck-thirty.

Aside from the hard facts, there is principle involved here. Is it right for a generic corporate chain to raid Philadelphia's pretzel market and eat away at our local heritage?

Philadelphians have a right to be concerned. While the average American consumes one-and-a-half to two pounds of pretzels annually, Pennsylvanians wolf down 12 times that amount, according to a video shown at the Pretzel Museum in Old City.

Local pretzelmakers have mixed feelings about Auntie Anne's authenticity.

"Auntie Anne's does twist their pretzels by hand," acknowledges Jeannie Sidorick, owner of Philadelphia Soft Pretzels, Inc. "But they make pretzels more like a danish, with all that icing and sugar. They are misrepresenting what a soft pretzel is."

The aversion is as evident in her voice as the distinct Philly accent.

Sidorick's company has been turning out the snack for 30 years. Unlike most local pretzelmakers, Sidorick's employees still hand-twist each and every braid. That comes to about 45,000 pretzels daily.

Despite its deceivingly simple appearance, baking the perfect Philadelphia soft pretzel is both an art and a science, according to local connoisseurs.

A good baker can glance at the dough before pulling it out of the hopper and determine whether it is the right consistency. If the dough is too stretchy, it won't twist. Without the proper elasticity, the pretzel will be brittle.

Clearly, twisting dough into a loose knot does not in itself make a pretzel.

"Auntie Anne's product may be shaped like a pretzel. But as far as I'm concerned, a traditional pretzel has salt—not any of those sweet toppings," declares Florence Sciambi, owner of Federal Pretzels in South Philadelphia.

But the trend in all American food is toward sickeningly sweet, says local food historian William Woys Weaver. Kids grow up drinking soda and eating candy, and they think that's what tastes good.

"That's the way it goes," Weaver says. "Guys who make bagels today don't make them the way they used to."

How dare anyone accuse Auntie Anne's pretzels of not being authentic, counters Susan Jamali, store marketing specialist for the chain, headquartered in Gap, PA. (The owner started out selling pretzels at an Amish farmers' market 10 years ago. Today, the franchise includes 550 stores in five countries, and is estimated to be worth $135 million.)

Compared to other snacks, Auntie Anne's pretzels do not tip the junk food scales, Jamali insists. "The majority of our pretzels contain fewer than 10 grams of fat."

Still, Auntie Anne's may take a bite out of the traditional pretzel market.

At the Northeast Soft Pretzel Bakery, owner Edward Ermilio concedes that Auntie Anne's pretzels are "very tasty," but he says they are more like a sweet roll than a true Philly pretzel.

"It is hard to say if they will have an impact on the market," Ermilio says.

Auntie Anne's pretzels are different enough from the Philly pretzel that the two can exist side by side, he predicts. "It's like if you go to the supermarket and walk down the cookie aisle—there are lots of types to choose from, but you have in mind what kind of cookies you want."

And Auntie Anne's isn't attempting to compete with the Philadelphia pretzel establishment anyway, Jamali says. "Our pretzel is viewed as a gourmet item. The competition is a place like Cinnabon."

And, as far as Jamali is concerned, the chain has nothing to apologize for.

"The traditional pretzelmakers make them the way we do," she points out (it may be the other way around, but whatever). "Sure, there are always going to be people who look at our pretzel and say it's not a real soft pretzel. But others taste it and say, 'Now this is a soft pretzel.'"