#21 - Marabou Japp

In the world of consumerism, variations run rampant. This makes sense, since, compared to starting from scratch, a modification on an existing product takes relatively little work. The laziness in me totally gets the appeal. Thus, we wind up with extended editions (or director's editions) of movies (not to mention constant re-releases of the same movies; I'm looking at YOU, Star Wars), multiple editions of pretty much the same video game (such as Angry Birds; In particular, I'm looking at YOU, Angry Birds Star Wars), or, needless to say, countless versions of junk food and candies (Pop-Tarts has a knack for coming up with new "flavors" that are remarkable for their lack of both taste and nutrition but somehow always manage to lure me in anyway).

Sometimes the variations are successful (M&M's have had a fairly good track record, I'd say). Generally speaking, though, the phrase "leave well enough alone" rings true; the original product is usually superior, so that the new variant becomes nothing but a disappointment by comparison (sort of like when one's second child falls short of the first's accomplishments).

But that's not necessarily a bad thing. It is the marketing equivalent of Clarence from "It's a Wonderful Life," providing a jarring yet enlightening glimpse into a world where one's favorite sweets are mere shadows of their former selves. I shudder just thinking about it (or maybe that's just a sugar rush)!

Now, if you follow my escapades with regularity (if you have trouble with regularity, try eating more fiber), you may recall I tried the Marabou Japp HazelNut bar back in August and was underwhelmed. However, that was a variant of the standard Japp bar, and I expect the unadulterated form would prove to be tastier fare, having no coattails to ride on.

It is therefore with an unhealthy optimism that I review the original and pure Marabou Japp bar!

"Hooked on Phonics" won't help you here.

Right off the bat, the black of the packaging (even with its metallic sheen) is in stark contrast to the gold of the Japp HazelNut. This brings the red ribbon graphic more into the forefront. The combination seems to imply a sense of femininity and sophistication/elegance; in other words, it's everything that I'm not. It brings to mind rhythmic gymnastics (who knew Winnie the Pooh was an announcer at the 2011 Olympics?), and, while I feel fairly confident that I could pull off a rockin' ribbon routine, I have never been described as sophisticated nor elegant, nor have my tastes. So maybe the Japp bar isn't for me...

On the other hand, the font and candy bar graphic have a more casual, easy-going feel  So the color scheme and artwork seem at odds with each other. And, if you've forgotten (or never knew in the first place), "Japp" (pronounced "yap") means "yep," (still a terrible name, if you ask me), which is possibly the most informal of affirmations. Perhaps the Japp bar is meant to come across as accessible, but with a less obvious, more sophisticated side. That's how it's come across to me, at least, so, if that was the intent, mission accomplished. In fact, the side of the wrapper says "Mjölkchoklad fylld med mjuk chokladmaräng och kola," which could very well mean just that! Or I could just be making stuff up. I've been known to do that now and then.

So... much... negative... space...

The "best before" section contains not only the all-important date, but also the bar code and the mass of the product. The date section seems quite a bit larger than necessary. I guess that's to make allowances for inconsistent stamping or something (maybe it's for doodling on). But it's always nice when the text comes in multiple languages. My favorite is the Danish, "Mindst holdbar til," which I believe translates to "Mind, hold this bar until..."

No horror vacui here!

The nutritional panel (hidden under the back flap) includes additional empty space (I'm not sure the package designers were finished when the candy went into production), as well as information for both a 100g serving and a 30g serving, neither of which the bar is, of course. That would be too convenient for the Swedes! Fortunately, it's easy to calculate 60g from 30g, so the Japp comes in at a whopping 270 Calories. It's a good-sized bar, though, even taking into account its thinness compared to other candy bars. Overall, there's nothing too shocking here; it's full of fat and sugar, like any decent sweet. Mmm, boy!

But where does all that fat and sugar come from? A look at the ingredients list should answer that (and other questions):

You don't have to be able to read this to know it sounds delicious.

The list appears to be in two languages, neither of which I can actually read, but there are enough words with enough familiarity to give an idea of what the Japp bar holds in store. To begin with, one can expect milk chocolate, caramel, and nougat. Any candy based upon that trio is on the right track in my book!

At this point, things are really looking up. What could go wrong?

I opened the wrapper with increasing anticipation, and...

Another victim of climate change!

Hmm. I suppose something might have happened during the shipment of the item (or, just as likely, while sitting in my stash). The backside of my Japp bar (like many a backside) was pale, marred by unsightly bumps and cracks. Its inside and outside were tangled together in some ghastly dance of death. Oh, the horror of it all! I have witnessed too many similar scenes in my lifetime already. When will the horrors stop?

Incorrect (and inconsistent) temperature was the likely culprit, but its crimes will, as always, go unpunished; temperature has diplomatic immunity or something.

The front of the bar was no better, and possibly even worse. If candy zombies were a thing (and why wouldn't they be?), I would expect them to look very much like my Japp bar. It was almost frightening to imagine what it might do to me once it had taken up residence in my body.

Well, isn't this appetizing?

But, truthfully, these sorts of "injuries" to candy bars have little to no effect on the taste, so all hope was not lost. Even with its alarming appearance (and strong "cocoa powder" smell), it could very well still be a more enjoyable treat than the Japp HazelNut.

And, wouldn't you know it, it was!

It was very much like a Milky Way bar, but its thinner design allows for an improved caramel-to-nougat ratio. Nicely done, Marabou! It also faintly reminded me (and less than faintly reminded my wife) of a Charleston Chew.

A cross between a better Milky Way and a Charleston Chew? Sounds like a winner to me! Unfortunately, it does not quite reach the highest of echelons. The concept is sound, and the taste was pleasant enough, but something just seemed to be holding it back. My guess would be it's hidden somewhere in the incomprehensible section of the ingredients list.

I would also guess it was a conscious decision in balancing cost and quality. The Japp bar is more of a "pick up while in line at the store" than a "purchase for a special occasion" type of candy. As the wrapper suggests, the Japp's sophisticated side lurks in the background. But it's there. It's a fine candy bar, one I wouldn't mind exchanging a reasonable sum of money for.

Thus, I rate the Marabou Japp an admirable 3. If you're a fan of Milky Way chocolate bars, you'd most likely be a fan of Japp, as well. I'd suggest storing yours in a proper environment, however. Trust me.

But seriously, Marabou, I still don't understand how the name came to be (maybe that's for the best). Tasty candy bar. Stupid, stupid name.

Yep.

With that, I'm off to practice my rhythmic gymnastics routine. Keep an eye out for me in next year's Olympics (gotta dream big, right?)!

With visions of sugarplums dancing through my head (sans ribbons),
The Sweets Fiend

A delectable mess of milk chocolate, caramel, nougat, and... some other stuff.

#20 - The Ginger People Super Strength Gin Gins

I like to travel. Now, oftentimes when people say they like to travel, they mean they like to visit far away places but don't necessarily enjoy the process of getting there (i.e., the actual traveling portion), but when I say I like to travel, I really do mean I enjoy traveling. Granted, I don't travel regularly; I've only left the country twice, and I've only been on an airplane a handful of times, but I do take at least a couple of trips each year by car (generally not my car, as it is now old enough to have its own driver's license). To me, passing by (or through) quaint villages, spotting unique landmarks, and refueling at gas stations in the middle of nowhere (and perhaps discovering local candy there) are all part of the journey.

The world is a big place with a seemingly endless number of details, many of which are as interesting (if not more so) than the "big picture" (whatever that might be at the time).

I'd probably travel more often if it weren't quite so costly (or if I had more money; either would suffice). It's not that I have expensive tastes; my wife and I pride ourselves on finding too-good-to-be-true deals on hotels/motels. One never knows what one might find when scraping the bottom of the lodging barrel. Questions abound! For instance, what type of bug will the place be infested with (it is always amusing to see how the manager will try to make light of the situation)? When the large sign outside declares "COLOR TV," what colors are included (if you assume "all of them," I envy your naivety). If temperatures are sub-zero outdoors, will the heat (or, for that matter, hallway lights) be on? Will the parking lot contain a pile of dead animals? How many on-duty police cars can one expect to find upon arrival?

It has been my experience that the lower one's budget is, the less certain the answers to these questions become. Life is an adventure!

So, while I wouldn't exactly compare myself to Sir Francis Drake (I, too, did die of dysentery once, but that was obviously while playing The Oregon Trail), I feel I meet the minimum requirements to be considered a traveler. Therefore, I should be qualified to fairly review today's candy selection: The Ginger People's Super Strength Gin Gins!

The longer I look at this, the more it troubles me.

Who are these Ginger People? No, it is not a coalition of redheads, it is"the world’s most award-winning ginger brand." I guess that's something to be proud of; who knew there were awards for ginger brands? Are they televised? They should be. The world deserves to be kept up to date with the latest accomplishments in ginger. Maybe it could be a "Hulu Original." It'd have to be better than some of what they're cranking out presently.

Anyway, award-winning or not, I'm not particularly fond of ginger. Ginger snaps are one of my least favorite types of cookies. Likewise, ginger ale is one of my least favorite carbonated beverages. In other words, ginger candy is not exactly appealing to me. I hope Super Strength Gin Gins will be an exception to the rule.

The package gives me mixed emotions. While the chosen color palette is pleasing, The Ginger People have made the fatal mistake of believing ginger root would provide the base for a successful mascot/character.

"I'm off to die a slow and painful death!"

Clearly, that's not true. In addition to superhuman abilities, the "hero" pictured on the box appears to possess some horrible disease, possibly leprosy (or something he's picked up in a budget hotel). Sure, he may come to your rescue in your time of need, but will it be worth the risk of infection?

I usually prefer to not think about diseases while eating, so the Gin Gins have made a less-than-ideal impression on me. It could always be worse, though. It could have been a box of Original Gin Gins, upon which the hapless fellow lies naked, enjoying some unidentifiable chewy substance while completely oblivious to the tumors and other varied symptoms of the abominable malady that is sure to bring his miserable life to an untimely end.

Honestly, if the image were used in an anti-Gin Gins campaign, I don't think a single change would be needed. It is much like the anti-smoking ads showing those who have suffered terrible effects at the cruel hands of tobacco.

It was enough to make me fear for my well-being. And, as fate would have it, TCR-FRESHY 5000 was out of town on other business, so I was on my own.

Nobody ever said eating candy was going to be easy. It has been implied that taking candy from a baby would be easy, but that's an entirely different subject, so I will waste no more keystrokes on it (except for this).

Anyhow, at least the Super Strength Gin Gin guy looks friendlier. One might even think he does indeed have heroic tendencies, until one notices the suitcase and the large "The Traveler's Candy" text over his shoulder. That's right, he is not rushing to anyone's aid; he is using his superpowers to go on vacation (which explains his smile), most likely a nudist camp where he will take it easy and chew who-knows-what while wasting away.

So, the Super Strength Gin Gins have a very specific target market in mind: people who travel. This might seem an odd choice, except that ginger has long been touted as a remedy for motion sickness/seasickness (among other things; just not for whatever Mr. Gin Gin has, unfortunately). Scientific studies have not been able to prove conclusively one way or the other, but I suppose it's worth a shot if motion-induced nausea is a problem for you.

The Ginger People make good use of the box real estate. One edge contains contact information, which is always handy. Another has storage instructions and lets the consumer know that Gin Gins are produced in Indonesia. To my recollection, I have never tried candy made in Indonesia before; however it is dangerously close to the Philippines, which was home to the worst candy I've yet reviewed. TCR-FRESHY 5000, where are you when I need you?

Still another edge provides both the date of production and the "best before" date, complete with pictures of various forms of transportation and a pledge of soothingness (it's a word; look it up!):

This is just a small sampling of where you can (maybe) enjoy Super Strength Gin-Gins!

As you can see, Gin Gins have an average lifespan of two years. This is most likely due to whatever wretched disease afflicts them all. Eating them is practically an act of mercy.

I would like to point out that the French text translates to something like (my French is a little rusty) "Alleviates travel sickness!" Nowhere does the package mention sickness of any kind in English. It causes me to question The Ginger People's confidence in the mystical powers of ginger, as well as what it means regarding their feelings toward the French. Do they think French consumers would require more convincing or that they're less likely to sue (any non-American is less likely to sue, really)?

Moving on... The back of the box is the main data center. Not only are the nutritional facts found there, but also the ingredients list (including allergy advice) and several bullet points of additional tidbits:

Much ado about (almost) nothing.

There really isn't a whole lot to Gin Gins despite the fact that they're "Stimulating & Delicious" (which is not how I would often describe candy, especially a "soothing" one). The number of zeroes in the nutrition facts panel is staggering! Considering this, I would think The Ginger People could cast a wider net with their marketing; why limit a product to travelers when there is so little to it that it might lure customers from all walks (a non-vehicular form of travel) of life? It makes sense to me, but perhaps The Ginger People know better. After all, I have yet to win any awards for a ginger product (maybe I should add that to my bucket list). But unless you have problems with soy, milk, or peanuts, Gin Gins are probably okay for you to eat (infectious diseases aside).

Opening the box revealed a nice surprise; each Gin Gins candy is individually wrapped!

Prepare to be stimulated! And soothed!

This makes for easier distribution and preservation of single candies, and the packaging is done quite well. No dull clear cellophane wrappers here! It of course adds an extra step between the consumer and the Gin Gins (possibly a good thing?), but the pros greatly outweigh the cons.

Outside of its little wrapper, each Gin Gins candy is a caramel-colored disc, about the size of a typical hard candy disc, which shows signs of having been assembled from multiple pieces. It seems like an awful lot of effort for such a small, simple candy, and I respect The Ginger People (or, more specifically, the Indonesians) more for it.

As I popped one of the discs into my mouth, I half-expected my life to flash before my eyes, but my worries were unfounded; as of this writing, I have not exhibited any signs of a deadly illness! Huzzah! Furthermore, the Gin Gins even tasted okay! The candy had a hard chew to it, and its taste strongly reminded me of a ginger snap (my wife and her friend disagreed as they spit theirs in the trash). It had much more of a spicy kick than a typical ginger snap, which compounds with each additional candy eaten, but it wasn't the least bit unbearable.

Therefore, if you love the taste of ginger and don't mind a little heat (the latter may be implied by the former), get yourself a box of Gin Gins. You might just like them.

But, though they were better than I'd have thought, ginger still isn't my thing, and so I cannot help but rate The Ginger People Super Strength Gin Gins a 2. If someone were to offer me another one, I'd probably accept it, but I do not foresee myself having any sort of long-term relationship with the unfortunate people of the Gin Gin world.

Still, I do wish them the best of luck in finding a cure for whatever it is that ails them so. Perhaps if we all work together with a belief as strong as ginger, we can make it happen!

So farewell for now, Gin Gin folk, and safe travels! Make the most of your two years on this planet!

I'll be over here, at a contagion-free distance, eating better candy.

Thoroughly soothed and stimulated,
The Sweets Fiend

It almost looks like medicine, which is rather telling...

#19 - Bourbon Every Burger

I have never come across a person who eats fast food in an attempt to become healthier. Not even once. Thus, I find it odd how often individuals set forth on a crusade to enlighten the general public to the fact that fast food is (gasp!) not very good for them. McDonald's is a favorite target for such campaigns. But what I find even more odd is the way such efforts are undertaken; in particular, the deception that is nearly always involved. Whether eating 5,000 Calories a day, or creating a frightening infographic based on a poor understanding of basic science, or even chronicling the rot-defying properties of a thin, dry, salt-laden patty (the case with any such patty), these intrepid activists will stop at nothing (except proper science) to convince people of what they already know: fast food is not healthy.

I do not understand the reasoning there. If something is true, would it not be best to let the facts speak for themselves? The truth needs no embellishment (and that's the truth). It's enough to cause one to wonder if perhaps health is not the real motive behind such passionate endeavors.

As for me, it causes me to wonder about burger-themed candy and snacks. Sure, everyone knows about SpongeBob Gummy Krabby Patties (right?), but what are the other options available for someone looking to combine two unhealthy genres into one?

Well, one need look no further than Japan (though, granted, that's pretty far), as today I present to my dear reader(s) the Bourbon Every Burger!

Not just ANY burger; EVERY BURGER!

To avoid any confusion, let me first clarify that there is no bourbon in Every Burger. Bourbon is a Japanese food and beverage company founded in 1924 that manufactures products with lofty goals (preventing disease, for instance) and honorable ideals. In the words of company president Yasushi Yoshida, "We produce the faithful article which put its heart and soul into the first guarantee of quality principles to contribute to a rich living of people through 'appetite.'"

I'm not sure why "appetite" is within quotation marks. I don't know what he's REALLY trying to say. However, the front of the Every Burger package is sure a happening place, so I'm going to choose to abandon any ominous feelings and take a closer look.

It has been some time since I've seen a humanized form of a product as the spokesperson for said product. I've mentioned before my concerns with such choices (mainly the implications of cannibalism), and the same applies here. The lack of a mustache puts Burgermeister-san (as I have named the Every Burger mascot) a step ahead of Mr. Bon Bon, and as I cannot read Japanese, the poor little guy may very well be passionately pleading for mercy to be shown to his less-developed burger friends. That would make a lot of sense, and perhaps appeal to the wickedness at every human's core (because, honestly, you know you'd eat them anyway), except for one thing: what looks to be the fractured bones of his fallen kinsmen in his mouth.

Do I have someone in my teeth?

There is a chance it is just more Japanese writing, of course, but one has to admit it bears a striking resemblance to cheeseburger-person bones. Thus, my guess at a translation of Burgermeister-san's friendly greeting is this: "I have eaten the bones of EVERY BURGER. You may have the rest." It's possible I'm incorrect, but I consider the case I've built to be fairly strong (and it brings to light one guess as to what "appetite" might refer to).

Aside from the grizzly goings-on depicted, the package is bright and colorful, in standard Japanese fashion. I could see it being cabinet art for a knock-off of Burger Time (Food played a big part in video games of the 1980s; it was the hungriest of decades). "EveryBurger" appears on every side of the box, so the product can be identified from any direction. That is a rare and welcome feature. Overall, I'd say it succeeds in grabbing one's attention (cannibalism tends to have that effect).

Carbon dated into the future!

One side contains the addition of a "best before" date; the "burgers" are still good for over a month, so all is well. But also listed is the code "C14 K136." I would guess that "C14" refers to Carbon-14, which is used in radiocarbon dating. It's beside a date, after all. A YouTube search for "K136" resulted in Mozart's Divertimento in D Major. I can't say for certain what that has to do with simulated cheeseburgers, but it does set the mood for consumption of the treat rather nicely and reflects on Bourbon's sophisticated tastes. Thanks for the suggestion, Bourbon; you've really thought of everything!

The back of the box shows a lot of information (including a handy diagram of the anatomy of Every Burger), a good deal of which has been obscured by an Americanized sticker (which refers to the product as a "baked wheat cracker") with the nutritional data as well as the ingredients list:

"Sucrose Fatty Acid Esther" would make for a cruel nickname. Please don't use it.

I was looking forward to what sort of disease-defying ingredients the Every Burger would provide, until I realized I wouldn't know one if I saw one. But there are a whole lot of ingredients in the Every Burger, that much is certain, so maybe it's in there somewhere. The never-ending list of components somehow makes the Calorie count seem insignificant (let's hope my body agrees), and, in reality, 360 Calories is not so awful for a box of the Every Burger size. Still, despite Bourbon's corporate vision, I had no real expectations of an improved health through the eating of tiny wheat cracker burgers. Call me a skeptic.

The sticker additionally contains a straightforward explanation of the "best before" date format, just in case us ignorant American consumers can't figure it out.

I was about to open up one side of the package when something caught my eye, and I realized I was on the brink of making a horrible mistake.

ATTENTION!

Somehow, I had previously overlooked the glaring "OPEN" instruction, arrow and all. I will be forever grateful that I caught it in time, since few things in a sweet fiend's life are as embarrassing as improperly opening a package of candy (or in this case, some sort of "baked wheat crackers").

I am also glad to have discovered the correct way to open the box because I otherwise would have missed out on half the fun of Every Burger!

See, one of the things I love about Japanese candy (or Japanese products in general) is the element of surprise involved. Whether good or bad, I can never predict what is in store for me, and I am always left feeling that I have truly experienced... something.

So I was not prepared for what the fine folks at Bourbon had cooked up.

There is no escape from Burgermeister-san!

Lifting the "OPEN" flap reveals another, larger graphic of Burgermeister-san, this time with more vigor and a playful wink (indicating he's still cool with you eating the remains of his "friends").

For some reason, it reminded me of opening a fast-food burger box (but a tad more fun), and one (but not me) might even say it gave me "genuine pleasure," as Bourbon intended. It was a simple matter, but I appreciated it nonetheless; it is the small details that make the difference.

Within the box was a tray wrapped in what appeared to be images of Burgermeister-san bathing in ketchup (i.e., burger blood).

I enjoyed this little particularity enough to disregard the fact that the whole design made it difficult to remove the inner package from the outer one. Or at least the first time. It can get a bit annoying if one plans on eating smaller-than-a-serving-size portions and returning the tray whence it came in between. Still, on the whole I'd say it was nice touch and a wise decision on the part of the Bourbon package designers.

But would the burgers themselves be designed with such thoughtfulness? Removing the tray from the wrapper revealed the answer to be resoundingly positive!

I don't believe I've ever eaten so many burgers in one sitting before.

Every Burger burgers are a veritable facsimile of real life cheeseburgers, down to the tiny sesame seeds! There was a definite disparity in the distribution of said sesame seeds, but some may have been lost in the shipping and/or handling of the package (It might make for an "interesting" study for a statistician, either way).

The "burgers" gave off a semi-pleasant low-quality chocolate cream sort of smell, and the chocolate "meat"filling itself hung off the bun in a manner true to fast-food preparation.

Finally, a burger fit for a diet!

Seriously, Bourbon can not be faulted for their miniature burger creations from a visual perspective. They are exquisite in their droll likeness to full-sized cheeseburgers.

Unfortunately, their taste leaves much to be desired. It is not exactly unpalatable, but neither is it anything to write home about (if writing home is ever done anymore). I would describe its flavor as a lesser version of an E.L. Fudge cookie.

It's a touch saddening, as I found Every Burger to be an otherwise enticing and entertaining treat. If Bourbon could just upgrade the taste (even at an additional cost), they'd have a real contender here!

It is therefore with a heavy heart that I rate Every Burger a mediocre 2. I have no doubt I'd eat another (or a handful, even) if no better candy was within my arm's reach, but I have no desire to purchase another box myself.

I like my cheeseburgers well done, and these only look the part.

That being said, I would recommend Every Burger for novelty purposes. A small girl could, for instance, use the tiny patties to add realism to a casual date between Barbie and Ken. Or a grown man could pretend to be 100 feet tall or something (I haven't calculated the proper scale; sorry). Or a fast food restaurant could use one in a commercial (just not that one). The possibilities are endless!

In other words, if you're looking for nothing more than a fun burger-shaped snack, Every Burger is here for you! If you, however, are looking for something with a more-than-adequate taste, it might be best to keep on moving.

Sorry, Burgermeister-san.

You're just going to have to dispose of the bodies yourself from now on.

With hopes for a sweeter tomorrow,
The Sweets Fiend

Does this not look more like real fast food burgers than the ones seen in commercials?

#18 - Mondelēz International Daim (2 pack)

When I hear the word "Sweden," there is a short list of possible things that come to mind:

1. The Swedish Chef (who is so not Swedish that he passes for a Dane in Germany)
2. Swedish Fish (which actually DID originate in Sweden)
3. Swedish meatballs (which I have in the past often confused with porcupine meatballs (HOW?), sometimes with troublesome results)
4. Political neutrality (Sweden has commitment issues)
5. IKEA (which I have never bought anything from)
6. Swedish massages (though, truth be told, I actually have no idea what makes a massage Swedish)

Aside from that, I for some reason know the random bit of trivia that Sweden was an early adopter of cell phones, at one point having more cell phones per household than any other country.

In short, I don't know a lot about Sweden. Sometimes when I think I do know something about Sweden, I realize I'm actually thinking of Switzerland.

Sad, I know.

Luckily, one of my candy acquisition specialists embarked on a trip to the wonderful (I'm assuming, I obviously have never been there) land of Sweden in an effort to retrieve a proper sampling of the nation's candies (he also had some business to attend to there or something, but that is irrelevant). I believe that one can learn a lot about a country by its candy, so it is in the interest of erudition that I set forth on my latest confectionary expedition with the Mondelēz International Daim Bar (2 pack):

WARNING: Daim bars may randomly explode into thousands of shards of death (but probably not really)!

Having already tried the Milka & Daim bar (and loving it!) earlier this year, my taste buds were all aflutter with anticipation. But was that a case of the whole being more than the sum of its parts? How would the Daim fare on its own? Would it maintain the accolades bestowed upon it in its pairing with Milka's creamy chocolate, or would it hang its head in shame (figuratively speaking), revealed as the weaker member in the partnership?

Naturally, I was eager to discover the truth.

The Daim bar was originally created by Marabou after a failed attempt at a licensing deal with Heath. It is therefore, as one might expect, similar in concept to a Heath bar (which I am a fan of; the Daim bar has its work cut out for it). In the past, it was also marketed as "Dime" (for pronunciation purposes, presumably) in the United Kingdom (and "Dajm" in Scandinavia, for that matter). Given Daim's willingness to partner with other candy bars, let me be the first to recommend a coupling with Hershey's Take 5, called (what else?) "5 and Daim". It'd be a surefire hit!

But on to the review...

The package design evokes feelings of thrill and excitement; I don't know what has caused the pictured Daim to be blown to smithereens (one might say "It's the way it shatters that matters," except that would be copyright infringement), but I want to be a part of it! It lacks the purple cow elegance of the Milka & Daim, but that's clearly intentional; there is no room for elegance in the Daim bar, as it is too packed with mouth-watering action!

The little "2" off to the side indicates that this is a two pack version, so I'm ready for twice the fun of a single Daim!

I got bored just reading the web address...

The "best before" date indicates the candy is in prime condition (which is more than I can say for myself), so we're good to go (assuming "we're" means "I'm").

There is also a little notice about being "Rainforest Alliance Certified," which is a pretty big deal, as being certified requires (among other things) reading a very dull 15-page document on certification policy. Bravo, Mondelēz International! That's more than I could ever hope to accomplish.

The final item of note in this section of the wrapper is the bold "56g," which implies that each individual Daim bar is 28g. This is significant, because it means one can distribute the bar evenly amongst seven people (a whopping 4g each!), if one so desired (which one wouldn't, unless one was weird).

And the sample size is... *drum roll*

The nutritional information is conveniently provided in multiple languages (anywhere from three to five, depending on the mood of  the chart designer). Who knew that "fett" meant "fat" in Swedish (Swedes, I guess)? It causes one to wonder if perhaps Boba Fett is of Swedish descent and endured cruel ridicule for his name in his younger days. It would explain a lot. But I digress...

If the multilingual aspect to the nutritional panel is convenient, its imprecise placement is just the opposite; since the label for each column wraps over the edge of the bar, it is anybody's guess what the given measurements relate to. It can make for a fun (if one is easily amused) guessing game, though. Look at the information and try to guess how much of a Daim bar is being measured;  with a bad enough short-term memory, several rounds can be played!

If my reader(s) really must know, however, the first column refers to a 100g (about three and a half bars) sample, and the middle column refers to 28g (one bar). I know the 100g table is for comparison to other candies, but I find it of little practical value; when has anyone ever started a fourth Daim and not been able to finish? Urban legends may abound on the subject, but none of them are the least bit credible.

Anyhow, a single portion comes to 150 Calories, which doesn't sound too terrible... until the thinness of the product is taken into account. Even so, it's not unheard of and hopefully bodes well for the taste!

Still more interesting than the "Certification Policy" document.

A quick look under the flap on the back of the wrapper revealed the ingredients lists.

Having had several candies from Sweden at this point, I'm used to the ingredients being provided in so many languages that the section becomes a blur of incomprehension. Imagine my surprise upon finding I could actually read some of the words! I was almost convinced my consumption of Swedish goodies had led to a miraculous and spontaneous understanding of the Swedish language. Alas, that was not the case; it's just that this product has a wider distribution than some of the previous candies I've tried. Even so, it's always nice to know what I am about to eat.

Overall, the ingredients look to be a delicious mix, aside from the ambiguous "flavouring," which could go either way. And once again, the information wraps off slightly, reducing readability. Fortunately, it really only affects those customers who prefer to read Swedish in this case, so I'm okay.

Now, the back of a candy wrapper is a lot like a person's profile on a social media or dating site; a lot of (hopefully true) facts are given, but it can never really fully explain how one might feel after experiencing said candy. So what is the Daim bar truly like, sans wrapper?

Daim mitosis in action!

Well, both samples inside had cracked at some point, turning my two pack into a potential four pack. Not that I minded.

In addition, there was a slight discoloration at the tip of one, but it didn't seem anything to worry about, either. I nevertheless found the bar oddly appealing. It just seemed... right somehow.

The odor was not as appetizing, however; it smelled strongly of cocoa powder, and memories of the American Heritage chocolate stick still haunt me. To be honest, I was expecting the flavor to be rather disappointing, an inferior version of the Heath bar. I am extremely pleased to say I was wrong. Oh, how wrong I was! The Daim bar is an unmitigated success!

The combination of chocolate coating and crunchy almond butter is delectable, and the consistency is utterly perfect; I wouldn't change a thing! I, for one, am thankful Marabou was unable to license the Heath bar, as their failure ultimately led to the creation of a superior product. Hershey's probably less thankful.

It should not come as a shock, then, that I rate the Mondelēz International Daim Bar a well-deserved 4. I would most certainly purchase another if  in a reasonable vicinity (I've heard IKEA sells them; I feel a sudden urge to window shop for some ready-to-assemble furniture), and I'd heartily recommend it to anyone who sees chocolate-covered toffee as an alluring concept. It will not let you down.

To answer my earlier question, the Daim bar can definitely stand proud (or toffee-nosed, even) on its own (or in a two or four pack). It's the sort of sweet treasure rarely found in my adventures, a fine product through and through.

From this day forward, whenever I hear the word "Sweden," my first thought is likely to consist of a Daim bar; my second thought will be regarding where and how to obtain another.

As the slogan goes, "You never forget your first Daim."

Indeed.

Having the Daim of my life,
The Sweets Fiend

So thin. So crunchy. So delicious.

#17 - Usher Twisted Bongos (Chili Mango flavor)

Ah, Halloween...

As I am The Sweets Fiend, it should come as no surprise that I loved Halloween as a child. When the days grew shorter and the trees shed their golden vestments, my sweet tooth nearly rattled with anticipation... candy would soon be mine!

Some might even argue that the entire purpose of this blog is to continue the tradition of receiving free candy (minus the costumes and legwork). Who's to say (well me, but I'm keeping my mouth shut)?

Combing the neighborhood in a possibly uncomfortable costume was a small price to pay for complimentary sugary goodies. In fact, the more uncomfortable the costume, the better; it provided the illusion that I actually earned the candy. I would sit poring over the evening's haul, my feet sore and my head a sweaty mess, proud of all the hard work that went into knocking on doors and exclaiming "Trick or treat!" Ah, the delusions of youth (much more fun than delusions of adulthood)!

Like all holidays, Halloween has become more and more commercialized over the years, to the point where any original significance is overlooked in favor of dressing up and watching scary movies and eating loads of candy (my favorite part). Little thought is given to the fact that it is also known as All Hallows' Eve, which initiates Allhallowtide, the three-day celebration of remembering of the dead.

Even so, I appreciate the fact that Halloween brings communities together like no other modern holiday. After all, what other day involves visiting all of your neighbors (even if done in disguise)? A common illustration of the friendliness of people in days of yore involves one neighbor asking another for a cup of sugar. Halloween is that times 1,000.

Of course, Halloween is not the only celebration of the dead. It is well known, for instance, that our very own (slightly fatter) neighbor to the south, Mexico, celebrates the Day of the Dead (Día de Muertos). The United States has not yet managed to fully commercialize that holiday, but you can bet your bottom dollar we're working on it! I know that I have personally been seeing more and more merchandise with a Día de Muertos theme as of late, most of which was likely made in China.

But I guess some of it could have been made in Mexico. My last car was assembled in Mexico, so I know the country exports more than just people. As a matter of fact, I have within my possession at this very moment a product of Mexican origin: Usher Chili Mango Twisted Bongos!

Cobwebs added for effect. As a general rule, you should not buy candy covered in cobwebs.

This marks my first trip into the world of Mexican candy. I don't recall Mexico being a major force in the American candy market during my lifetime. With ideas like chili mango flavored licorice, I can't imagine why. Maybe it has something to do with the risk of lead poisoning or something.

Anyhow, as much as I do enjoy living on the edge with a diet full of lead-based delicacies, I decided to play it safe this time around and leave the initial inspection to my tried and true robot, TCR-FRESHY 5000 (he skipped a Halloween party for this but insisted on still wearing his costume). I sometimes don't know what I'd do without that little trash heap of aluminum.

The packaging is actually fairly well done. It's colorful, and Usher (which unfortunately has no affiliation with the singer of the same name) bravely chose to include a transparent window so the candy could be seen in all its terrifying glory.

I'm, like, TOTALLY RAD, man!

The  Twisted Bongos mascot is a dog/weasel creature of some sort. He looks very familiar to me; perhaps he's related (second cousin or something) to another mascot somewhere? Regardless, he is crazed with his love for mangos!

His glasses and overbite in conjunction with his backwards cap indicate that he is a social outcast trying his best to be one of the "cool" kids (as if his unnatural love of mangos were not evidence enough). I pity him, really, which I don't believe is the vibe Usher was shooting for. Or maybe it is. Maybe they're counting on guilt purchases. It's just that sort of out-of-the-box thinking that would lead to chili mango licorice, after all.

The art style reminds me vaguely (and bizarrely) of The Very Hungry Caterpillar. I may be alone in the feeling, but I could totally see Eric Carle doing a book about Weazel Dawg (I'm assuming that's the name of the mascot, because what else could it be?).

But enough about Mr. Dawg. He has served as a distraction for much too long (well done, Usher!). Why don't we see what the Twisted Bongos are all about, shall we?

In his eagerness to get to the examination, TCR-FRESHY 5000 tore into the package before I could get proper photographs of it, so please excuse any unsightly rips; I will try to remember to dial down his enthusiasm setting in future reviews.

Sodium? What sodium?

The Nutrition Facts panel shows that a serving size is four pieces, totaling about 86 Calories. That's not so bad. But the table also shows 240mg to be 0% of the recommended daily value (rather than a more accurate 10%). Are Mexicans immune to sodium, is it just a typo, or are Usher employees just sorely lacking basic math skills? It is alarming how often I come across errors like this in my sweets exploits. I'm starting to think "Nutrition Opinions" would be a more fitting name for such charts.

I was glad to see that the package included a nice, big "Best Before" date by the ingredients list, and that that date was far into the future:

If these ingredients were randomly selected, I would not be surprised.

I do not, however, understand why the date was upside down or so carelessly placed. Too much tequila available in the Usher packaging plant?

I was almost shocked at how normal the ingredients list was. I don't know what I was expecting (lead, maybe?), but it was practically a disappointment to not see any disconcerting components (gelatinous mutant coconut comes to mind).

That being said, just because ingredients may sound innocent on their own does not mean I would necessarily consider combining them in a candy. Some pairings can be disastrous (take J.J. Abrams and lens flares, for instance), and I am really hoping that the creators of Twisted Bongos knew what they were doing here. I mean, the product must've gone through taste testing and everything, right? To be honest, I'm not holding my breath (my lung capacity is deplorable)...

One last note on the back of the package: between the recycling/anti-litter graphics and storage instructions, it says "THIS PACKAGE MAY NOY BE RECYCLABLE IN YOUR AREA." A small typo, perhaps, but TCR-FRESHY 5000 spotted it immediately. I'm just mentioning it in case Usher happens to see this and wants to correct it (along with the more glaring nutritional error) before starting production on a new batch of Twisted Bongos. You're welcome. Feel free to return the favor sometime.

 As there is nothing more of interest on the package, it is time to proceed within and explore the intricacies of the chili mango Twisted Bongos (vicariously, of course).

Don't open that... NOOO!

Upon removal of the outer wrapping, the candy gave off a familiar smell that I could not place; my wife suggested it smelled like her apple tea, and she may very well be right. I am personally not a big fan of tea, especially in my candy, so it did not bode well. I suppose it could have been a a chili/mango combo scent of sorts, but I'm sticking with my wife on this one.

Commencing extraction...

At a glance, the licorice sticks resembled beef sticks. A closer inspection revealed a coating (or "frost," if you will) of crushed red pepper flakes. I didn't find the look to be all that appetizing for candy. But it wasn't the worst I've seen, by any means. Not at all.

TCR-FRESHY 5000s chemical sensors detected no objectionable material in the sticks, which was promising. Then again, I don't believe they have EVER detected objectionable material, so they may just not work properly. Oh, well. I suppose it wouldn't kill me to try one either way. Would it?

I am happy to say that no, it would not. And it did not (though it would've made this blog entry a lot more mysterious if it had).

TCR-FRESHY 5000 has such a flair for the dramatic.

It was chewy and a little rubbery (as all licorice is) with a definite kick to it, and it wasn't nearly as horrible as one might expect. The ghastly ideas conjured up by my imagination were (mostly) unwarranted. The chili and mango flavors did not mix too well on my palate, but the mango flavoring itself was adequate (it was a tad more artificial-tasting than it should have been), and almost nice, even.

I believe my exact words to my wife were "I'm not hating it." But neither was I particularly liking it. I managed to eat two sticks (i.e., half a serving), but was satisfied with that and have no desire to take part in the Twisted Bongo experience again (sorry, Weazel Dawg). A little goes a long way.

But believe it or not, I would not call Usher's chili mango flavored Twisted Bongos a failure of a candy. I think it does have a place in the sweets world; I would, however, say that it is a niche product with a limited target audience (at least in the USA), of which I am not a part.

I therefore am rating the chili mango Twisted Bongos a 1. It was not my cup of tea (despite smelling like it), and it would take some extraneous circumstances to find me eating another one. If you are a heat fiend, you might disagree; you might even enjoy the unusual pairing. But I am not a heat fiend. I am a sweets fiend through and through, and this treat did nothing for me.

In short, if the thought of mango licorice covered in red pepper flakes does not appeal to you, don't worry that you're missing out. This candy is not for you.

Also, I do not recommend handing Usher Chili Mango Twisted Bongos out for Halloween, unless you want to be that house. Nobody wants to be that house.

Maybe give pennies instead. Those are always such a hit with kids.

Hoping for a hauntingly happy Halloween,
The Sweets Fiend

I could probably use some sun.

#16 - Lammes Candies Texas Chewie Pecan Praline

There is an old expression, "out of sight, out of mind," which implies that that which is not in one's sight is easily forgotten (not being on one's mind and all). Like other such sayings, it should be taken with a grain of salt (not literally), as there are naturally plenty of cases in which it is not true (particularly if you are blind). Alternatively, "out of sight" is an old slang phrase to describe something as wonderful or awesome, and to be out of one's mind is to lose control of one's mental faculties, so one could argue that the expression could rather be making the point that it's difficult to think straight while in a euphoric state. To my knowledge, it has never in the history of the world been used in such a manner, but it would be every bit as true, if you ask me (which you didn't).

Today, I refer to the expression in the more common (i.e., correct) usage, as I recently (as well as not as recently) have forgotten about a particular sweet given to me by one of my generous benefactors. Having been tucked out of my sight but in with the rest of my candy stash, it slipped out of my mind without the faintest warning and stayed there for several months.

The human brain is like that.

Then, just as rapidly (and again without warning), it popped back into my mind with a sense of urgency. The human brain is like that, too. So fickle!

Anyway, I wasted no time in seeking out the neglected candy, which turned out to be the "world famous" Lammes Candies Texas Chewie Pecan Praline (you may clap in excitement if you wish)!

A real celebrity in my home! I'm so starstruck!

Despite having lived in this world my entire life, I had never heard of this candy (nor Lammes, for that matter), though both have been around for more than a century (130 years, to be exact). Lammes has a pretty awesome (one might even say "out of sight") history, having been lost in a poker game (never bet your candy, folks) and bought back by the founder's son for a cool $800 (both in 1885; what a year!). The Texas Chewie Pecan Praline is currently their best seller, so I'm sure to be in for something special.

The Lammes logo is what I presume to be a lamb dreaming of being whatever the sheep equivalent of Superman or Supergirl is (based on the "flying" pose of the front legs). He or she seems to be enjoying the dream quite a bit, in fact; I'd like to think the dream also involves delivering chocolates to good children and adults alike. Aside from that, there's not much to the packaging, but that's okay with me. A minimalist approach to design is perfectly fine for a product like this.

First place in the "scary costume" contest.

A comparison to images on the Lammes Candies website leads me to believe my candy endured untold hardships on its journey to my mailbox. If he were alive today, I'm not sure even David Lamme, Sr., himself would recognize the object in the wrapper as a Texas Chewie Pecan Praline (though the text might give him a clue).

It is unfortunate, not only because I am unable to experience the praline in all its glory, but because it has severely hindered the readability of the wording on the packaging (though I would guess that it would be difficult to read in any condition).

The back side looks no better than the front. It exhibits the wretched state of the confection in tragic clarity and contains a crimson rectangle of mysterious origin and meaning. Was my sample tagged for some reason? Did it win a red ribbon for some accomplishment (such as surviving the arduous voyage)? In the immortal words of the riveting Alien Storm conclusion, "nobody knows and there is no way to find out."

I could find no expiration date anywhere on the wrapper. This was a big part of the reason I had forgotten about this particular candy, actually; I have my candy (or rather, my wife does) organized according to expiration date to eliminate the risk of spoilage, but the Texas Chewie Pecan Praline, having no such information, was off in limbo (just like the Alien Storm "tremendous three").

Therefore, it could very well be past its prime. Or it could (more likely) be just fine. A quick unwrapping should settle that in a jiffy!

I can't believe it's not butter! Oh, wait... it is!

Removing the wrapper allows one to actually read what's written on it. Of course, it would be too late for the consumer to change his or her mind at this point; smart move, Lammes Candies! Another example of their cleverness is the requirement of a phone call to obtain nutritional information. When one is considering the purchase of candy, calling customer service tends to be low on the list of priorities, and I would be surprised if they've ever actually received even one call from a consumer regarding the nutritional information. I know they have received no such call from me. As such, I have no ideas or thoughts concerning the nutrition facts of the "Texas Chewie" (out of sight, out of mind, after all). I will therefore eat it under the assumption that it is a healthy snack, because, hey, why not?

The package does, however, include the ingredients list, which is fairly standard, although I find it interesting that both butter AND margarine (the invention of which, believe it or not, was commissioned by Napoleon) are used. Who knew the two could live together so harmoniously? It's a lesson in peace for all of humanity.

Imagine this throbbing for greater effect.

As I said earlier (you WERE paying attention, weren't you?), my praline appeared to have been through a lot during its lifetime and was not showing itself in the best light (says the man who provided the lighting). Its malleability allows it to be deformed with ease, almost like silly putty (but probably much more edible). I could see this being a huge hit with children because of it.

My specific specimen resembled some undefined organ from some as-of-yet unknown creature (terrestrial or otherwise). Even so, it seemed to be in decent condition to my untrained eye (and nose). I do have to admit, there was a brief moment when I considered I should have enlisted the help of my trusty robot assistant, TCR-FRESHY 5000 (who has helped me in the past once or twice), but what was done was done, and I had no choice but to continue on my own.

So I ate it, and Lammes Candies did not do me wrong.

The Texas Chewie Pecan Praline was not the best pecan praline I've ever come across, but it hit all the right marks. It was good and chewy (as suggested by the name), apart from the pecans, which obviously had the consistency of pecans (also suggested by the name), and it tasted... well, like a pecan praline should!

So, all in all, I liked it, but I don't think it quite lived up to the hype. If I were to purchase a selection of chocolate goodies from Lammes Candies, I would certainly include the "Texas Chewie" in the mix, though I might not purchase one on its own, and I doubt it would be my favorite of their offerings.

Therefore, I rank the Lammes Candies Texas Chewie Pecan Praline a 3. It's a good product from what seems to me to be a good company, and I'd recommend checking them out if you happen to be in Austin, Texas (or order from them online, even; you can't go wrong!). I know I wouldn't mind crossing paths with them again.

Until then, I bid Lammes Candies a sweet adieu, with wishes for another 130 years of success.

And I suggest they refrain from playing poker. That'd just be best for everyone.

Out of sight but never out of mind,
The Sweets Fiend

There are two sides to every Texas Chewie Pecan Praline. This is not one of them (it's the other).