What Spice Tastes Like Licorice

Okay, let’s get one thing straight: black licorice is the Marmite of the candy world. People either worship its weird, earthy charm or recoil like you just offered them a tire. So what gives that twisted rope its signature bite? The answer is glycyrrhizin, a chemical compound found in the licorice root that is fifty times sweeter than sugar. It hits your tongue, hangs out for a bit, and then laughs at your taste buds.

But here’s the plot twist: most of the stuff labeled “licorice” in America doesn’t even contain real licorice root. Instead, manufacturers use anethole, the same compound found in anise seed, fennel, and star anise. These spices are distant cousins that just happen to smell like the candy you hated as a kid—but they are not the same plant.

Think of it like this: anethole is the fragrance, and glycyrrhizin is the experience. Anethole gives you that black licorice scent in a glass of Pernod or a French pastis. Glycyrrhizin is what makes you question whether you should eat a whole bag in one sitting. Spoiler: you shouldn’t, unless you enjoy a world-class headache and, weirdly, a blood pressure spike.

The Spice That Tricks Your Brain

So when we say a spice “tastes like licorice,” we mean it contains anethole. This chemical is a chameleon. In small doses, it’s a pleasant, sweet, slightly anesthetizing flavor. In large doses, it feels like you’re eating a dusty floral shop.

The king of licorice-spice is star anise, a rust-colored, eight-pointed star that looks like something from a sci-fi movie. Drop one in a bowl of pho, and it whispers, “I am licorice, but make it savory.” It’s the reason your Vietnamese soup tastes so oddly comforting. Without it, you’d just have beef water and noodles.

Then there’s fennel seed, the small, green-gray ovals you find in Italian sausage. Bite into one, and you get that little burst of sweet, piney, licorice-y goodness that makes you suddenly crave spaghetti. Fennel seed is basically the gateway spice for people who swear they hate licorice. They eat an entire sausage, and I’m like, “Congratulations, you just consumed a part of the plant that looks like a tiny alien antenna.”

Anise VS Licorice - How They're Different Yet The Same - Foodiosity

Anise: The Overachiever

Anise seed is the plant most people picture when they think “licorice spice.” It’s tiny, brown, and looks like cumin, but it punches you right in the sinus cavity with that distinct anethole aroma. Anise is used in everything from biscotti to absinthe—which is essentially licorice-flavored rocket fuel that made artists see dancing green fairies. Artists blamed the anethole, but realistically, they were just drinking too fast.

And let’s not forget tarragon, the snooty French cousin who shows up in fancy vinegars. Tarragon has that same anise note, but it’s more like a rumor of licorice. It’s subtle. It’s for people who say, “I don’t like licorice, but I enjoy the concept of it on my chicken.”

Here’s a surprising fact: anethole is not water-soluble, but it loves alcohol. That’s why anise-flavored drinks like ouzo and sambuca turn cloudy-white when you add water or ice. It’s not magic—it’s chemistry throwing a little party in your glass. The anethole molecules can’t stay dissolved in water, so they clump together and scatter light. It’s the same trick turmeric does, but much more fun to watch as your drink turns to milk.

Spice That Tastes Like Licorice - The Lost Herbs

The Danger Zone

Now, a quick public service announcement: real black licorice (the one with glycyrrhizin) can, in massive amounts, lower your potassium and raise your blood pressure. In 2020, a man in Massachusetts died after eating a bag and a half of black licorice every day for weeks. Yes, I’m serious. The candy started a war with his heart, and the candy won. So, maybe don’t use it as a meal replacement. Anise, on the other hand, is mostly harmless unless you’re a goldfish eating pure extract, and I assume you’re not.

So, the next time someone bites into a star anise pod and yells, “Ew, it tastes like licorice!”, you can calmly explain that no, it tastes like anethole, and anethole is the magical molecule responsible for that exactly-50%-of-people-love-it energy. And if they still argue, just offer them fennel seeds. They’ll be eating licorice-flavored delight before they know it, and you’ll win that argument without saying a word.

Just don’t challenge them to a sambuca shot. That’s how you lose friends.