#5 - Mrs. Annie's Jalapeno Peanut Brittle

Of all the things to love about living in America, one of my favorites is the myriad of cultures to be discovered without even leaving the country. One does not need to go very far to feel out of place (for me, out the front door is usually enough), or to experience a fresh perspective. There is really no such thing as "American culture" per se, as lifestyles and traditions are as varied as the sweets one finds in local shops and markets.

With such diversity and distinctiveness, it is only natural that a sense of identity and pride would blossom in small communities, large cities, or even entire states. Take Texas, for instance. I am not from Texas and have never been to Texas, but I have known some swell people from the Lone Star State, so that practically makes me an expert.

Just kidding, of course. If you are not from Texas, you do not understand Texas. From what I can gather, a Texan is a Texan no matter where he/she might live presently, even if he/she has not set foot in Texas since the Dallas Cowboys won the Superbowl (probably the only sports reference you will ever get from me). Texans simply have a lot of pride in Texas, so you best show some respect!

As the saying goes, "Don't mess with Texas!"

Actually, that phrase is an anti-litter campaign slogan (say "NO" to litter, folks). But that doesn't change the fact that Texans love Texas. It has nothing to do with guns or cowboy hats (not to mention cowboy boots), and nothing to do with things being "bigger" in Texas (personalities included). As far as I can tell, it is something one must be born with to properly "get."

So it is with a dash of hesitation that I present to you Mrs. Annie's Jalapeno Peanut Brittle:

Introducing TCR-FRESHY 5000 (Vanna White had a scheduling conflict)!

Why the trepidation? There are several reasons:

1. Mrs. Annie's "Peanut Patch" is a proud Texas company (it's even part of the GO TEXAN program), and if I were to find any fault with the snack, I may also find an angry posse of Texans at my front door (making me feel out of place, no doubt). Reviewing treats is a dangerous job, as everyone knows.
2. I don't mind a little spice now and then, but Texans are known for loving their heat. If my taste buds are burnt to a crisp, that would somewhat hinder my ability to accurately review candy and other goods.
3. The package came to me nearly a month past its "best by" date. In addition, it does not appear to have traveled all that well. Both facts make the worst-case scenario as described in point #1 a very plausible outcome.
4. The brittle looks like a cross between an extraterrestrial monster from a low-budget horror movie and toxic waste.

In light of reasons #2 through #4, I felt it would be in my best interests to leave the initial inspection of the candy itself to my trusty robot, TCR-FRESHY 5000. He has not spent the years I have cultivating a love of candy and snacks, but he's got no shortage of moxie, and (best of all) he is completely and utterly expendable.

Before TCR would be put to work, however, I decided it was within reason that I should perform a brief ocular study of the product's exterior.

"You put your right boot in, and you shake it all about..."

To begin, I believe the product label was designed to prevent consumers from taking any pictures of it. It's not just that it's a shiny metallic gold, it's that a label affixed to a bag of brittle is sure to abound in wrinkles, reflecting light from any and all directions. However, the biggest challenge in photographing a subject like this is always going to be my laziness. I was eager to get the testing started, and wasn't really in the mood for lighting shenanigans (i.e. doing things right). So I took my usual shortcuts to provide label images that show some texture and shininess whilst keeping the text readable.

The label contains the product name (always a good choice), with a big Texas graphic (sense the pride?) and a chile boot shaking its foot (in attempt to suggest a kicking motion) below.

I have only two other comments regarding the front label:  Firstly, my wife suggested a better name would be "Mrs. Annie's Jalapeanut Brittle." She may be right, but don't tell her I said that. Secondly, I'm not sure I find the chile boot enticing. I get the "The Brittle with a KICK!" slogan, but nothing about boots is appetizing, and I think they are overselling the Texas theme. I am not a complete fool (I did manage to build a robot for ages 8 and up); seeing a large outline of the snack's home state is plenty to get the point across.

The front label also contains the ingredient list (okay, maybe I had more than two comments):

The cast of the cult classic IT CAME FROM TEXAS!

There are some chemical compounds sure to scare off the "nothing but natural" crowd (interesting fact: you are most likely to die from "natural causes"), but as I've pledged my life to embracing such risks for the sake of my reader(s), I have no choice but to keep calm and carry on (which was NOT an anti-litter campaign slogan).

Brings new meaning to the phrase "red letter day."

The nutrition facts panel was stuck to the back of the bag, displaying in blood (or red lettering, at the very least) the date which will live in infamy: May 22, 2015. That is the day by which I should have eaten the Jalapeno Peanut Brittle, a day which is long gone. There's no going back, as I used critical components from my time machine to build TCR-FRESHY 5000. Hindsight is 20/20, they say.

Aside from the chilling expiration warning, the nutritional information is pretty standard. The bag contains around 420 Calories (in 8 ounces) of brittle "with a KICK"! That's actually not too bad for peanut brittle, if you can believe that.

At this point, I'd like to bring up one of my pet peeves in American nutrition facts: the word "calorie" is commonly (practically always, including in this blog) and carelessly used to mean "kilocalorie." Europe does not have this problem (then again, Europe has embraced the metric system), and I imagine (I hope, at least) it must drive food chemists crazy. Can you imagine being invited to take part in a 5 meter race, only to find out on the big day that it was really a 5K? You may not mind. But the two are not the same (I only have a chance of completing one; I won't say which).

With that out of the way, let's get down to business and into the bag. TCR-FRESHY 5000 and the brittle were secured in an appropriate environment for sample collection.

Boldly going where no man has gone before?

With unfaltering nerves of steel (or, more accurately, aluminum), TCR ripped open the bag to let loose the unnaturally green confection. I don't remember ever seeing an edible(?) item so verdantly vibrant before. In short, its color was jarring.

Despite my being in the "safe zone," the familiar smell of peanut brittle awakened my olfactory system. It was in no way an unpleasant smell. So far, so good, it seemed: no foul odors, no detectable signs of life, and TCR remained operational.

The next step was to remove several pieces from the bag for closer inspection. TCR was, as always, up for the task.

All the king's horses and all the king's men (and TCR-FRESHY 5000) couldn't put the peanut brittle back together again.

Again, it was unlike anything I had seen. There was an overall stickiness to the brittle, possibly due to the fact that I ignored the label's "store in a cool place" instruction. In my defense, "cool" can have multiple meanings, and I thought a bag of candy was a pretty cool place to keep it.

That being said, TCR's sensors detected no immediate danger present, and he consequently offered me a piece to try.

If this looks appetizing, you might just be from Texas.

I paused a moment before subjecting my mouth to the vast unknowns hidden within the mysterious treat.

In all honesty, it was pretty good! It tasted just as peanut brittle should and had the proper amount of crunch.

And then came the "KICK"! It was the sort of heat that doesn't hit you right away; it hides, like a ninja, waiting for the prime moment to strike! It was definitely spicy, but stopped short of being too much.

If I was let down in any way, it would have to be the lack of any jalapeno flavor. Perhaps that's a good thing; I can't say for certain. But my taste buds could not locate any taste in the heat. It seemed to be spicy for the sake of being spicy.

In the end, though, I had to stop myself from eating the entire bag. There was something almost addicting about Mrs. Annie's Jalapeno Peanut Brittle, though I can't put my finger on it, and if I were offered another piece (or bag), I'd accept it cheerfully. Still, I find it doubtful I would purchase another bag for myself.

Thus, I give it a rating of 2. It's all right, just not something I'd keep on hand. But if you love peanuts and spicy foods (and can overcome the unsettling appearance), go ahead and pick up a bag already! If you can't take heat, however, you might want to steer clear of Mrs. Annie's Jalapeno Peanut Brittle; this Texas treat will KICK your butt with no apologies!

Still a bit shaken (but not stirred),
The Sweets Fiend

The back of the brittle: a little less interesting, but every bit as green!

#4 - Kinder Happy Hippo (Cocoa Cream) Milk and Cocoa Biscuits

Last Friday I embarked upon a zoological adventure (in other words, I went to the zoo), where I saw many a wondrous thing. I also witnessed some things one might consider less wondrous. I will let you, my loyal reader(s), decide which category the feces-spraying hippopotamus falls under. You may have up to this point been blissfully unaware that, to mark its territory, a hippo will spin its tail while defecating, scattering its "product" in all directions to cover the widest possible area. You think you've seen a hippo covered in mud? I hate to burst your protective bubble of naivety, but that wasn't mud.

I, for one, am glad that humans (as a general rule) do not resort to such methods for territorial proclamations, and am not going to provide you with a link to a video of the act (though I know you'll probably go look it up now anyhow) as I am about to discuss candy containing chocolate, and nothing can put a damper on an appetite for chocolate like explosive fecal matter. By the way, as an added bonus, hippos are also retromingent, which means they urinate backwards (we have a word for everything, don't we?). They are just full of excretory surprises!

My point in horrifying you with all this is that, though cartoon hippos tend to lean more toward the cute and goofy side, the truth is that the hippopotamus is a disgusting and vicious animal. Hippos kill more people each year than lions, tigers, and bears combined (oh, my)! The female hippo's bite has been measured at 1,821 pounds per square inch. And if that's not enough to leave you quivering in terror, the male hippo's bite has been measured at... oh, wait, the male hippo's bite has never been measured, as it is too aggressive a beast. Seriously.

To sum it up: beware the hippopotamus.

Okay. Now that I have instilled in you a healthy fear of the "river horse," I ask you to join me as I throw caution to the wind with my latest sweet endeavor, the Kinder Happy Hippo Cocoa Cream Milk and Cocoa Biscuits (I'm not exactly sure where the name begins or ends):

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

This German treat (if the "German flag" background did not tip you off to the country of origin, you need to study your flags) is brought to us (or me, rather) by Kinder, which is German for "children." It is not the most clever name for a candy company, in my opinion (and I don't get why the 'K' is in black), but I'm pretty much a kid at heart, so I ought to fit into the target market (I'm actually quite sure of that after watching a twenty year old commercial for the product).

If you've grown up in the good old USA, the word "kinder" most likely makes you think of the word "kindergarten" (literally, "children garden"). My overall memory of kindergarten is pretty foggy, though I do remember disliking my first day and walking out of class and heading home. Nobody stopped me. Nobody noticed me. It was quite a school.

But let's get back on track, shall we? The overall package design is okay. It's not fantastic, but it does give adequate information along with some decent artwork of the Happy Hippos (including a severed hippo, because gore sells). The small text reads: "5 Delicious INDIVIDUALLY WRAPPED (their emphasis) hippo shaped biscuits with a milk and cocoa cream filling." Most of that sentence seems redundant, but I think Kinder just really, really, really wants to make sure its customers know what they're getting into. Nothing wrong with that.

Everything you've ever wanted to know about
hippos but have been afraid to ask.

 The back of the box contains not only the nutritional information (in European fashion), but also a handy diagram of the "biscuit" itself, lest all of the previous descriptions were unclear. May it never be said that Kinder has shirked their responsibility of informing consumers on the components of a Happy Hippo biscuit.

I should note that the back also included an American nutrition facts sticker, with a slightly lower Calorie count. I guess the extra Calories are lost during exportation (or that European stomachs are just not as efficient).

So, depending on where you live, each biscuit is around 119 to 122 Calories, with the entire box containing 595 to 610 Calories. Fat accounts for a good bit of the caloric value, but I'd hardly expect anything less from a hippopotamus. I would thus not recommend consuming all five biscuits in one sitting; I believe the main reason they are individually wrapped is to discourage such tomfoolery.

Is there no end to the product information?

 The ingredient list is easy reading (the plot is a tad weak), with nothing exotic or alarming to be found. There is thankfully no actual hippo in the biscuits, nor any hippo byproduct (even more thankfully), and the section includes yet another description of the product.

In addition, it is revealed that Happy Hippos are manufactured by Ferrero (an Italian company), while still retaining their German citizenship. It's refreshing to see countries working together for the greater good (or almighty dollar, as the case may be).

At the very bottom of the panel is the "best by" date, which has yet to come to pass. There should therefore be no issues with the biscuits, right? We shall see.

Oh, the humanity!

When I extracted the individually wrapped packages from the box, it came to my attention that one of the Happy Hippos was less "happy" (if a hippo can truly be happy) than the others. In a tragedy of pachydermal proportions, he had lost an eye. Now, Germany has a reputation for consistent quality and precision (the phrase "German engineering" did not create itself, as far as I know), so I will give them the benefit of the doubt and assume this was not a production error. I would rather live my life believing that there is a secret Kinder Happy Hippo Fight Club, and that the eye was ripped off in a savage duel (hippos are notoriously violent, as you know). I do not suppose the injury will affect my overall enjoyment (or lack thereof) of the snack, at any rate.

I'm a fan of candy and snacks that are made to look like animals, particularly when they are done well, and I feel the Happy Hippos are done well. They may lack ears, but they are otherwise a fairly decent facsimile of  the dreaded animal they are meant to portray, down to the unsettling you-know-what splattered all over them. Kinder has clearly done their homework here, and the effort shows. Wunderbar!

Information overload in a more convenient size.

Each individual wrapper contains all of the information from the box, just in case you missed it the first (and second, and third) time around. This makes the Kinder Happy Hippo suitable for resale. I purchased the box at a bargain during a "buy one, get two free" special, so I could probably make a killing selling off each biscuit. Alas, as my business sense is no match for my love of sweets, the idea is doomed from the start.

Still, the extra info is a nice touch.

Actually opening up a Happy Hippo revealed an even greater likeness to its real-life counterpart, as it immediately and vigorously shed bits of its coating omnidirectionally. If  cleanliness is an obsession of yours, it might be best to stay away from hippos in any form.

Nevertheless, I again admired the design and craftsmanship of the biscuits. Regardless of how they might taste, each was a work of art (which should give you a pretty good idea of how refined my taste in art is).

Missing eye or not, they don't look half bad (not a sentence I utter very often).

During my exhaustive study of the allegedly cheerful beasts, I discovered that when viewed from below, they resembled snowmen. Not the nice, innocent, freshly built sort of snowmen, but the kind of snowmen who have lived out the better part of their existences and become covered with the filth of the world. They also have a cool diamond pattern on them.

Snowman down!

 The Transformer aspect to the treats makes them even more awesome, so I was really hoping they would be as pleasant to eat as to look at.

Fortunately, they did not disappoint! The outer shell was thinner than I'd expected (the consistency was very much like a wafer cookie), but pleasantly so, and the fillings inside were creamy and complemented each other splendidly. It also didn't hurt that I felt as if I were avenging the countless victims of hippopotamus attacks throughout the world. All in all, it was a positive experience, and I have no doubts that I would be tempted to buy another box if I happened upon one in a store, even if just for the novelty of it all. Its taste did not knock my socks off (to be honest, I can't remember whether or not I was even wearing socks), but it was a solid performer all around.

If you enjoy chocolate cream or animal-shaped snacks (or just have a vendetta against hippos), Kinder Happy Hippo Cocoa Cream Milk and Cocoa Biscuits (still not sure about the name) will satisfy your needs.

With a thankful heart, I rate this snack a 3. I could see myself purchasing another box or two some day, though I'd be unlikely to go too far out of my way for it.

Nice job on a quality product, Kinder!

'Til I'm back with another snack, I remain
The Sweets Fiend

Apart from the bits of outer shell caught in the cream, it actually does look a lot like in the diagram.

#3 - Botan Rice Candy

To an ignorant Westerner (i.e. me), it can appear that Japan has more crazy per unit area than anywhere else in the world (excluding Kim Jong-un's personal space). I don't mean this in a negative way; it's just that Japan is a country whose culture and history are so rich with complexity (so much so that a lot of it had to be "borrowed" from China) that a lot of what gets exported to us in these United States of America seems, well, downright wacky! On the one hand, this is the country that brought us hugely successful franchises like Godzilla, Hello Kitty, Super Mario Brothers, Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, Pokemon, and countless others; book stores even have entire sections devoted to Manga! On the other hand, it is also the home of the Katsu Ika Odori-don (living squid dancing rice bowl), Arm Spirit (the arm wrestling game that will literally break your arm), and Sock Touch, the glue stick for the school girl whose pesky socks refuse to stay in place.

In short, one never knows what to expect from Japanese exports, and I think that's one of the reasons Americans love them so much: they crush the old adage about fearing what's not understood in ways domestic products and entertainment never could. There is a charm to them that cannot be duplicated (as much as we may try), despite all their failings.

It is thus fitting that I should review a treat from The Land of the Rising Sun (to be honest, the Japanese flag sometimes reminds me less of the sun and more of a bullet wound bleeding through a bandage), and so I give you Botan Rice Candy:

Cat? Check. Flower? Check. I think we're all set.

Frankly, I didn't know what to expect when I picked up this box (aside from a free children's sticker). I have had rice pudding (a winner), but never rice candy, whatever that meant. Would it be sugar-coated pieces of rice? Sugar-coated clumps of rice? It was a mystery my feeble imagination could not provide a solution for, and so it would have to wait until I got the package open.

Plenty of zeroes here, if you're into that sort of thing.

 A look at the back revealed the nutrition facts, printed on the American-added wrapping. The box itself had no nutritional information whatsoever, which I decided meant one of three things:

1. The box was not meant for individual sale.
2. Japan is pretty lax about consumer health.
3. It is assumed every true Japanese man, woman, and child inherently knows the nutritional value (or lack thereof) of Botan Rice Candy (a likely possibility).

Aside from that, there's not much to see. The package contains 2g of sugar and 60 Calories of carbohydrates. If you didn't know (and even if you did), there are about 4 Calories per gram of carbohydrates, 4 Calories per gram of protein, and 9 Calories per gram of fat. Hurray for math!

I did also notice that the nutrition facts panel was hiding some box graphics. Was this intentional? I was eager to find out...

Upon removing the outer wrapper, my eyes were treated to this:

All babies are beautiful. Except maybe this one.

The Japanese are more or less experts at making things cute, so I don't know what happened here. I assume it must have a cultural significance that eludes me, but I still find the baby just a little bit terrifying (sometimes I DO fear what I don't understand, after all). His lack of proper proportion combines with his rattle/weapon/unidentified object and ghostly white skin to create a monstrosity greater than the sum of its parts. He makes me uneasy, and I fear he will remain with me far longer than the candy ever could.

This side of the box also reaffirms the promise of a sticker, along with two more examples. As compelling as the sample sticker images are, I do not feel it bodes well for the candy. Anyone who has had the misfortune of watching an informercial knows that the more a product tries to sell you on the extras, the more disappointed you are likely to be with the product itself (Buy two sets of cat pants and get a solar-powered calculator FREE!). At best, the "bonus" item tends to be a consolation prize, and, at worst, an apology. Still, there are always exceptions...

On the side of the box were the ingredients:

No mention of the sticker here.

It would appear that lemon and orange flavors are to be expected. That sounds good to me. About the only unusual ingredient is the sweet rice. That shouldn't be too shocking, given the name of the candy, but you never know. All in all, pretty standard fare.

So how does it all look when we take it out of the box?

60 Calories (not including the sticker) of rice witchcraft!

I had no idea what would come pouring out of the package, but I'd never have imagined THIS. There were six individually-wrapped candies, along with a good-sized colorful sticker. They looked like hard candies to me, but I've come to learn to not judge a sweet by its appearance. At any rate, there was no sign of rice to be seen.

The sticker was a pleasant surprise. Admittedly, I had hoped for the elephant or cat, but the ambiguous bird family was nice. They are undoubtedly wealthy birds (as signified by the diamonds), and both are being called upon by their children. However, the blue one (presumably the father) is busy sleeping, so the young one's cries fall upon deaf ears. It illustrates an important age-old lesson for children to learn (and here you thought it was just for fun): "Daddy works hard to provide for his family, so he needs a nap; go bother Mommy."

Disclaimer: The previous sticker critique is not endorsed by JFC International, Inc.

Now that I had investigated the Botan Rice Candy as thoroughly as I could from the outside, it was time to open one up and give it a try.

Here is what it looks like without the wrapper:

Believe it or not, this is actually edible. Seriously.

Wait, didn't I say it would be a picture without the wrapper? Then what is that clear plastic still doing on there? Oh, you foolish, uncultured reader(s)! As it turns out, the rice in Botan Rice Candy is a rice paper covering. It looks and feels (and for all intents and purposes tastes) like plastic. But it melts in your mouth.

I have a confession to make here: on my first sampling of the candy, I tried to peel off all of the rice paper, thinking it was indeed plastic (it was quite a feat, I tell you). It wasn't until afterwards that I realized my mistake and felt like an ignoramus. I mean, why wouldn't I eat something that in every way resembled a second wrapper?

The chewy fruit-flavored (I did taste the lemon/orange flavoring) candy is actually halfway decent. It's not great, but it's not bad, either. But you know that feeling you get when you pop a mini peanut butter cup into your mouth, only to come to the realization that there was a mischievous second wrapper you failed to remove (we've all been there)? This candy gives you that experience every single time. Some people may enjoy that. I don't. I much preferred my first, incorrectly eaten sample.

In the end, though I'm glad I gave it a try, I have no choice but to give Botan Rice Candy a 1. I appreciate the thinking-outside-the-box approach to candy, but encouraging children to consume things that look like wrappers seems like a bad judgment call to me. I could see eating one as a prank (Look, he's eating plastic!) or to avoid offending someone (I can only imagine what would lead to such a situation), but otherwise am fine not going through the Botan Rice Candy experience again (on a semi-related note, I think "The Botan Rice Candy Experience" would be a pretty cool name for a band).

On the plus side, I would give the sticker a solid 3. It was my favorite thing in the box.

Call me crazy, but it is what it is.

Domo arigato and whatnot,
The Sweets Fiend

I figured you'd want another look at the glorious sticker rather than the candy. You're welcome.

#2 - Milka & Daim

Two years ago (nearly to the day, give or take a week) some friends from Germany dropped by, bearing gifts of chocolate. Yes, people will travel from all ends of the Earth to bring me candy. They were quick to enlighten me regarding the intricacies of European candy. Mainly, I was informed that not all European chocolate is created equal, and one must be wary of the lesser brands. One of the better brands is Milka, they told me, and the samples they brought supported their hypothesis wholeheartedly. I have since come across a small selection of Milka bars here and there, but the timing just hasn't been right, and so I've remained Milka-less... until now.

Therefore, it is with the greatest pleasure and trepidation that I present to you the second of my sweet adventures, the Milka & Daim chocolate bar:

Thar's GOLD in them thar bars!

Now, what is this "Milka & Daim" name all about? It's quite simple, really. The Daim bar was Sweden's answer to America's Heath bar (in other words, toffee can be expected), and Milka & Daim is a Milka chocolate bar with pieces of Daim bar mixed in. Or, as the Milka website so eloquently puts it, "Milka & Daim ist der zartschmelzende Schokoladengenuss aus Alpenmilch Schokolade aus 100% Alpenmilch mit knackigen Daim-Stückchen."

So what happens when Germany and Sweden combine forces in one candy bar? Let's find out, shall we? Yes. Yes, we shall.

To begin, I find the package eye-catching and appealing. The color scheme manages to be soothing even while evoking excitement (much like Chuck Norris singing a lullaby) and captures the respective Milka and Daim branding with finesse.

Why is she purple? To be honest, I don't really care.

Speaking of branding, the Milka cow (see what I did there?) appears trustworthy to me, even though her vivid hues lie on the wrong portion of the chromatic spectrum (I like to think the wrapper was designed to suit her coloring rather than the other way around). Trustworthiness is not a trait common to cows. Think about it for a moment, and I'm sure you'll wind up in agreement. Not that I blame them, mind you; historically, human-bovine relations have not exactly been in the cows' favor. Maybe her bell keeps her in check. I can't say for sure. At the end of the day, I trust the Milka cow, and that's enough.

If every part of this image does not cause an uncontrollable
emptying of your salivary glands, you may have a problem.

The Daim side of the wrapper is exploding with energy and flash. It also does not hurt things at all to see that the bar was marked 55% off (due to its "best by" date rapidly approaching).

All in all, the wrapper is masterfully done, and certain candy manufacturers (who shall remain nameless) should take note. It tells you all you need to know about the candy without trying too hard. The back even includes a small diagram on opening the candy bar, lest you should have difficulty accomplishing the task on your own (I'll be honest, I probably would have). Well done, Milka!

One bar provides 25% of your daily caloric needs. Who could ask for more?

The ingredient list is nothing unusual. In fact, it would probably even pass muster among those suffering from Hellenologophobia (look it up, unless you're too scared). The sticker also subtly announces that I have missed the "best by" date (which is really for the store more than consumer anyhow), and that it is a Kraft product (they do more than macaroni and cheese, after all).

The ingredients and nutrition facts also suggest that eating this bar and losing weight are mutually exclusive goals. In the interest of science and the betterment of all mankind (or at least YOU, loyal reader(s)), I have chosen to pursue the less noble of the two goals. You can thank me later.

Shhh.... Don't tell anyone this is here.

Before I opened the wrapper (carefully following the guide, of course), I decided to take a quick look under the flap on the back, where I discovered the contact information and Mondelēz International logo (which Kraft  Foods, Inc. became in 2012). I felt as if I had discovered some hidden information meant only for members of a secret society (maybe I was just crazed with hunger for some sweet, sweet chocolate).

Anyhow, it seemed about time to actually try out this confectionery collaboration. Here is what I saw upon peeling away the wrapper:

Is this chocolate bar mooning you? It very well may be.

I understand that logistics probably dictated that the Milka & Daim bar's back side be your first glimpse during the opening process, but it's hardly flattering. Have you ever visited a friend, and he (or she) opened the door to welcome you with his (or her) back turned toward you (hair, warts, and all)? There is a reason that doesn't happen (with a few exceptions; you know who you are). Milka & Daim, you're better than that. You really are.

Fortunately, the front of the bar was a beautiful thing, with the Milka logo imprinted into each delicious-looking segment. And delicious they were! The chocolate was creamy, the toffee was crunchy, and each bite left me craving more. I am not often overcome with the hankering for a chocolate and toffee candy bar, but I will most certainly keep Milka & Daim in mind for when I am.

I gladly give Milka & Daim a 4. It may have an ugly side, but that is soon forgiven and forgotten. Besides, what was more upsetting was when I realized I had finished the last piece (and just in case you're concerned for my health, I did NOT eat the entire bar in one sitting, nor even one day). That's the mark of a truly good candy.

So, I ask again, what happens when Germany and Sweden combine forces in one candy bar? I propose that the answer is good things. Very good things.

Sweet dreams and even sweeter realities,
The Sweets Fiend

This photo was taken after the testing; the candy bar thankfully does not come pre-enjoyed.