#14 - Cloetta Sportlunch

On July 7, 1999, Moroccan Hicham El Guerrouj ran a mile in just 3:43.13 seconds, setting a new world record, which he holds to this day (Noah Ngeny, one of his opponents, finished with a laughable time of 3:43:40). The guy is FAST.

In high school (circa 1991-1992), one of my physical education class demands was running a mile in under ten minutes. I cannot remember how many attempts I was forced to take before my teacher finally gave up on me and waived the requirement, but it was plenty enough for me. Suffice it to say, I am NOT fast. In fact, I have been told by more than one individual that I am the slowest person he/she has ever met (is it any wonder that The Poky Little Puppy was one of my favorite books as a young boy?).

Clearly, sports aren't my thing. I have never participated in any organized sport, nor do I follow sports, really; my wife jokes that I can name more current fashion designers than athletes (which, at any given time, tends to be more true than funny). I even once seriously injured myself playing a game of pool. It's bad.

I am just not an athlete, nor am I likely to become one as I age. Perhaps my sedentary lifestyle is the culprit, but I'd rather place the blame on a lack of nutritious sweets (because that requires no change on my part). If there were a candy bar that could turn a sluggish klutz of a man into a superhuman athletic machine, surely my story would be completely different.

Fortunately, the cries of the sluggards have not gone unheard, as my good friends at Cloetta (okay, I don't actually know a single Cloetta employee) have promised a solution to the problem: the Sportlunch candy bar!

Who needs exercise when you've got milk chocolate and crispy wafers?

The Sportlunch (formerly "Mellanmål," or "snack" - I prefer "Sportlunch") apparently comes in at least two forms: the wider six-pack and the two-bar version I am reviewing today. It is not the first candy bar I've come across to allegedly offer miraculous nutritional qualities; the Japp and Power Break series share similar claims (I'm still waiting for their effects). It seems that in Sweden (and neighboring countries) candy bars are considered very nutritious for you, which means that either Nordic people do in fact obtain their ideal nutrients from candy (in which case I should've been born a Swede or something) or that their usual culinary fare is (somehow) far less nutritious than candy. I mean, they wouldn't allow so much blatantly misleading advertising, would they?

There can be no doubt that candy bars are low on the nutritional totem pole, because G.I. Joe's Lifeline (the wimp of G.I. Joe, really; he was a lover, not a fighter) says so, and, with his medical training, he ought to know (and knowing is half the battle)! Before I go on, please view the video and explain to me this: is Lifeline a contortionist, or is he being fed the apple by an off-screen friend? Seriously, I do not think it is humanly possible for one to hold an apple as he does, though I would gladly be proven wrong. I offer this challenge to my reader(s): take a video of yourself (or a friend, preferably dressed up as a G.I. Joe character) attempting to eat an apple (or any edible object, for that matter) in the style of Lifeline. Anyone brave enough to accept the challenge may be featured in a future blog entry, which is likely to be viewed by at least two people (including me and the challenger)! What have you got to lose, other than some pride and self-respect?

This is no apple, folks!

Anyhow, Lifeline's denouncement of candy bars was obviously a blow to many of my dreams (to say nothing of his encouraging kids to eat apples without paying for them). It was also when I realized that food substitution suggestions rarely make sense (instead of a double cheeseburger, have a stick of celery!); if my taste is for a candy bar, an apple (even a "free" one) will hardly satisfy my needs.

But enough about tragic memories, there is candy to be eaten! The packaging is well done, being colorful and eye-catching while giving off a "fitness" vibe. If it were not for the candy graphic on the right, I might mistake the product for an actual health bar. Luckily, it is no such thing. It is honest-to-goodness candy, and, if the artwork is to be believed, it looks to be a good one!

If you can read this, your candy's still fit to be eaten.

On the back of the package, the "best before" date can be found, if you look closely. It is faded badly, but not yet beyond legibility, and it seems everything should be just fine. Generally speaking, I would expect ink to have a larger shelf life than chocolate, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Maybe the Sportlunch just has an abnormally long shelf life. I am tempted to call one of the numerous phone numbers provided to get an answer, but it seems like an awful lot of effort, and, as has already established, I'm a lazy bum.

A slight look to the right of the contact information reveals the nutritional information.

Eat two packages of Sportlunch, and this information is correct!

I didn't realize at first that it was in fact the nutritional information, because I'm used to seeing a chart or, at the very least, a box. Cloetta has decided on a more subtle approach with the Sportlunch, maybe to hide the fact that it is not the world's healthiest snack?

As is usual for candy from the region, the data is based on 100g, which rarely corresponds to the actual mass of the product. Fortunately, this particular Sportlunch is 50g, making calculations a simple division by two (or a single bit shift to the right, if you're a computer programmer). There are thus 263 Calories of pure athleticism inside. That's on the higher end for candy bars, as is the amount of protein therein. I suppose one could argue that the Sportlunch is indeed packed with energy, but I still have my doubts that any G.I. Joe representative would recommend it over an apple.

The ingredients are hidden under the flap (surprise!) and of no help to me whatsoever, since I don't read any of the languages provided. However, the very first ingredient is "socker," which I imagine translates to "MaD Socc3R Ski11Z." Maybe the Sportlunch does indeed make one an instant fitness superstar?

There is really just too much to go through here, so I will just pretend it is a credits list and be done with it.

I don't know about you, but I'm a fan of helmjölkspulver's recent work.

The external examination being completed, it was time to dig in and see what the Cloetta Sportlunch really had to offer. My first impression was thankfully a positive one.

VROOM VROOM?

The "chocolate brick," for lack of a better word, has a nice Formula One racing motif to it. I am assuming it is an F1 motif, at least; I could be horribly wrong. I know it's not Nascar, that's for sure, but it certainly does seem to have something to do with racing, which I know precious little about. I once received a call asking if I had some free time to take a survey. As chance would have it, I did. It turned out to be a survey about Formula One races and international soccer tournaments, and, in particular, the brands associated with and advertised during said events. As one might guess, I was not the ideal candidate for such a survey. What followed was nearly half an hour of me repeating either "I don't know" or "I've never heard of them." Still, it passed the time.

As I've often said, I always appreciate additional design details to candy, so I was pleased with Cloetta's efforts. It was a thing of beauty. However, the chocolate was quickly beginning to melt in my hand, so I thought it best to initiate Operation Consumption with no further delay.

Sun? Octopus? You be the judge!

Imagine my joy and surprise when I pulled out the second "brick" and discovered a totally different look to it! This one appeared to be a sun, perhaps setting on the last race of the day or something (it was either that or the last view of someone being killed by a giant octopus). It was a fitting conclusion to the candy, and I will admit, I truly enjoyed it (both the candy and the look of it).

The milk chocolate/crispy wafer combo is a popular one, with varying degrees of success. I would personally place the Sportlunch slightly ahead of the more famous (at least around here) Kit Kat. The chocolate was mighty tasty (and in a thicker layer than most of the competitors), and I found no fault in the wafers. All in all, it met (and perhaps exceeded) any expectations the artwork on the wrapper may have inspired (and it was filling, to boot).

It was close to a complete winner. Unfortunately, like Noah Ngeny, it fell short of the highest ranking. I can't exactly explain why, to be honest; it didn't necessarily do anything wrong. But neither did its memory stick with me afterwards. I thought "Hey, that was good," and then went on my merry way without a thought of whether or not I'd ever meet another Sportlunch.

Therefore, I give the Cloetta Sportlunch a very respectable 3. You can't go wrong with it, and I wouldn't mind buying one sometime (not even a little bit), but it is unlikely to haunt my dreams (or turn me into a superhuman athletic machine).

Even so, Cloetta is to be commended for putting forth such a solid offering. Don't hesitate to pick one up if you happen to be in Sweden (or Norway, for that matter), and as the slogan (which is nothing at all like Nike's slogan) goes, "Just eat it."

Just keep an eye out for any pesky G.I. Joe members in the vicinity.

Until the Sportlunch promise comes to fruition, I remain
The Sweets Fiend

Now that's what I'm talking about!

#13 - Nestlé Aero 2 in 1

I have never been a superstitious individual (knock on wood), and that can come in handy at a time like today, when I am poised to review my thirteenth candy (particularly after my last debacle). The fear of the number thirteen (or "triskaidekaphobia," if you want to sound like you know what you're talking about) is a puzzling one, with uncertain origins but some odd consequences over the years.

For instance, most people have heard of buildings "without" a thirteenth floor (just don't try and count). Less well known is the quatorzième (literally "fourteenth"), a professional dinner guest in nineteenth century Paris whose job was to bring an unlucky party of thirteen up to a more fortuitous fourteen. If that ever makes a comeback, I may apply for the position; getting paid to fill a seat and stuff my face sounds like my kind of a career!

The point is, some people take their numbers very seriously. Consider the legend of poor Hippasus, who may or may not (though most likely not) have been drowned by the Pythagoreans for proving the existence of irrational numbers (which, ironically, would have been an extremely irrational reaction).

I reiterate: some people take their numbers very seriously.

As for me, I take my candy very seriously. But today's candy happens to include two numbers in one name, for it is none other than the Nestlé Aero 2 in 1:

"Two can't fit into one; it's twice as big!" - irrational and imaginary number fanatic

This one caught my eye while browsing through a store containing foreign candies, so the package design obviously works well, with chocolate and white chocolate bubbles and an effective, albeit plain, color scheme. Having never had an Aero before (2 in 1 or otherwise), I can only assume that the texture of the font is representative of the product somehow. Either way, it intrigues me and raises my expectations, which is really what packaging is all about.

Seeing the words "Bubbly Milk" takes me back to my childhood, where I (like any normal child) would blow into my milk, spawning a multitude of milk bubbles. Oh, the power I wielded! Even so, it is my opinion that "feel the bubbles" does not belong on any sweet, and certainly does not necessitate a trademark. Is the phrase really so highly coveted in the candy world? I am not a player in the cutthroat world of chocolatiers, but I would think not (if you happen to be a chocolatier and know me to be wrong, I'd love to hear from you). Even if the bubbles play a major role in the Aero experience, the Nestlé wordsmiths could have aimed for a bit more creativity. This isn't the first time they've let me down with a slogan; the Walnut Whip wasn't any better. Try harder, Nestlé; I know you've got it in you.

I don't trust this one bit...

The back of the wrapper continues the "bubble" motif, and a sticker was haphazardly placed over the foreign information for the convenience of the American consumer. The "best by" date indicates the product is still in its prime, though I am interested in the numbers covered up by the sticker; if they make up a date, it is a very different date. Hmm...

A quick glance at the nutritional information concerns me. The Calories from fat and total Calorie count are listed as the same, but that is clearly wrong. The fat content is 11g, which should make for 99 Calories. Also, the front of the package suggests that the total Calorie count is 194, not 182. Where did those extra 12 Calories go? You're not fooling anyone with your sloppy sticker work! In Nestlé's defense, I don't believe the sticker was their doing, but it's a shame nonetheless.

Added bonus: in the ingredients list, "flavour" ranks lower than "hazelnut paste." Oh, joy.

Anyhow, if you want the REAL nutritional information, you need to lift the back flap (always a good idea with candy). Sneaky, sneaky!

Tip for Nestlé: hiding the "nutritional compass" under a flap defeats its purpose.

That's much better. As the Nutritional Compass® says, "It's good to know." Indeed.

This chart is actually accurate, aside from a little misspelling and the lack of an Oxford comma ("depennding" on whether you feel an Oxford comma is necessary or not, I suppose).

I'd take accurate information in a foreign language over inaccurate information in English any day. Importers, take note!

Maybe it's just me, but I'd make flavor a priority.

Also hidden under the flap is the real ingredient list. "Flavour" still ranks poorly, but the hazelnut paste is nowhere to be found. I'm beginning to think that the Americanized sticker is truly worthless.

Additionally, Nestlé gives out some contact info, because they believe it's "good to talk." That is, of course, unless you happen to be a teenage girl, in which case Nestlé feels it's their obligation to shut you up. It's nice to see a company that still maintains wholesome old-fashioned values.

Upon opening the wrapper, I was greeted with the familiar Nestlé chocolate smell. It's all right, but it has always seemed sort of cheaply processed to me, and the Aero 2 in 1 is no exception.

I figured I should give the bottom side of the "bar" a viewing, because once in a while one finds interesting features there. That did not happen this time. The bottom of the bar reminds me of a thoroughly rusty sheet of metal, though more "chocolatey." But hey, it's my fault for looking, right? It would be best to not dwell on it.

The front is an entirely different story:

This bar is ready to party!

I am a fan of fanciful designs in my sweets, so I fully appreciate the bubbly stamping on the Aero 2 in 1. It shows effort and just all around adds to the appeal of the candy. After all, who doesn't like fun? I recall "I like to have fun" appearing on nearly every Myspace profile I've ever come across (especially girls; Cyndi Lauper called that), so that's more or less an ironclad confirmation: people like fun, and whimsical chocolate is fun! To facilitate sharing, the bar is split into several segments. Encouraging generosity is always a plus.

There was a sort of "fun" factor to the texture within, too. The airiness allowed the insides to collapse in my mouth. That sort of thing could easily go wrong, but I'm glad to say it succeeded here.

It's just too bad that the taste wasn't quite as fun. There was nothing wrong with it, per se; the promised tastes were present, with the white chocolate flavor being prominent. As much as I enjoy white chocolate, it just didn't move my taste buds in any meaningful way, and when I was finished with the bar, my sweet tooth was not fully satisfied.

I therefore am regretfully giving the Aero 2 in 1 a 2 (a very rational number). It's an okay treat, and I'd eat another if it fell into my hands (candy falling into my hands is always a dream of mine), but I have serious doubts about whether I'd purchase another one for myself. It was a valiant effort that just failed to hit the mark for me.

I'd recommend trying some iteration of the Aero bar if just for the textural experience, but wouldn't suggest trying too hard to get at one; there are better ways to spend your time (such as confounding a group of Pyhagoreans with mathematical proofs).

Definitely not a fail, Nestlé, but I still believe you can do better. I'm patiently waiting for you to prove me right!

'Til my sweet tooth beckons again,
The Sweets Fiend

Can't you just "feel the bubbles?"

#12 - Lucia Pastillas de Ube Macapuno

Whether or not you have played it, you have most likely heard of Dungeons and Dragons (it would be odd indeed to have played it without hearing of it at some point). Dungeons and Dragons (or D&D, if you're a fan of abbreviations) is of course the pencil and paper fantasy role-playing game popular with nerds, geeks, and other social outcasts, wherein the players can take part in adventures they'd probably not otherwise get to experience, such as fighting off a horde of goblins, or discovering a mountain of gold in a dragon's lair, or talking to a girl (who is, obviously, really another male player; it's not awkward at all)!

From the moment it was published in 1974, Dungeons and Dragons has been an object of controversy, being blamed for everything from suicides to murders to (perhaps worst of all) LARPing. Those allegations (aside from the LARPing one) have about as much to do with reality as the contents of the D&D Monster Manual, but at least they gave Tom Hanks his first starring role in Mazes and Monsters, the classic cautionary tale of a young man who has boundless potential but tragically finds himself in a terrible, terrible movie. Seriously, everyone should watch it once (and then never again).

Now, believe it or not, it was no accident that I brought up the Monster Manual. It is a well established fact that I am a nerd. Thus, I have spent my share of time playing Dungeons and Dragons, and I have some familiarity with the monsters of the game, so I can tell you firsthand: there are some real doozies! Many (if not most) of the monsters are taken from traditional mythology or legends, but there are also some original creations, quite a few of which I'm pretty sure were spawned from drunken sessions of Mad Libs (the raggamoffyn comes to mind, for instance). But, for sheer lameness, I'm not sure any compares to the gelatinous cube.

The gelatinous cube is more or less a large (10' per side) cube of flesh-eating Jell-O. While that is lame enough in itself, what earns it top prize in my book is that it somehow managed to be ubiquitous in early Dungeons and Dragons based computer games, ruining the word "gelatinous" for me forever.

How could an idea so bad be so widely accepted? Is there really anything frightening about something "gelatinous"? It is with these questions in mind that I approach my latest acquisition: Lucia Pastillas de Ube Macapuno:

Wait, WHAT?!

If you were to ask me what I know about the Philippines, I could tell you that it was home to the world's largest captive crocodile (at least until its death in 2013), and that would about end my knowledge on the subject. Sad, I know. However, upon reading "chewy milk candy with purple yam and gelatinous mutant coconut," I'm beginning to wonder if maybe I need to pay more attention to this often-overlooked country. Chewy milk candy? With purple yam? And gelatinous mutant coconut (now there's a D&D monster for you)? What is going on here? I never would have thought the Philippines could be the source of such a troubling description, but I stand corrected. Hats off to you, Lucia! I am equal parts intrigued and mortified!

Forgetting (or trying to, anyhow) for a moment the nightmares that may be contained within, the packaging isn't bad, giving a sense (as far as I know, which isn't very far) of the country of origin. The candy, however, is in no way appealing. The individually-wrapped pieces have the appearance of gelatinous creatures in clear body bags. During my initial inspection, the fact that they outnumbered me was at the forefront of my thoughts for some reason. I'm not a marketing expert, but I doubt that was the intended effect. I guess it is nice that the "candy" (if that's indeed what it is) is prominently displayed; if you purchase a package of Pastillas de Ube Macapuno, you have no one to blame but yourself.

By this time, I was hoping the back of the package would offer some comforting words (such as "Ha! We were just kidding about the purple yam and gelatinous mutant coconut!") or other means of easing my anxiety. Alas, this was what I saw:

There is no escape from the gelatinous mutant coconut!

Not only is half the description repeated in the ingredients section, but the ingredients are repeated again. They are not going to let you forget for a single instant that there is both purple yam and gelatinous mutant coconut (macapuno) inside. They are either quite proud of those ingredients, or they are trying to scare consumers away for some inexplicable reason. It is also stated one more time in bold lettering that milk is contained in the candy; you know, just in case the thought of milk in something bothers you.

The serving size is 6 pieces, making for an inconvenient 3 and 1/3 servings in the package, and there are 160 Calories per serving. There are candies with worse nutritional value, I suppose.

When will it go bad? Shh! It's a secret!

The "Best Before" area is also a bit of a puzzler, as there is no date to be found. Why include the space for a date if there is no intention of using it? Perhaps gelatinous mutant coconuts live forever? Is there some sort of reverse psychology going on here? Do I need to use lemon juice or some other trick to reveal the date? I am at a loss for an explanation, unless Aiza's Sweets has a twisted, sadistic side. It's enough to make me  question whether the "Sharing the Best" slogan is meant sarcastically.

To state the obvious, the package gives little reason for optimism. Between the lack of an expiration date and the unknown cause for the gelatinous mutation of the coconut, I felt it was best to once again call upon the talents of my faithful sidekick, TCR-FRESHY 5000.

TCR proved invaluable in reviewing Mrs. Annie's Jalapeno Peanut Brittle, and there was actually a positive outcome in that case, so my hopes were ever-so-slightly refreshed upon his arrival.

DOES NOT COMPUTE... DOES NOT COMPUTE...

I set up a secure environment for the candy extraction and let Mr. FRESHY 5000 get to work.

He had issues with getting the bag open; apparently it is no easy task. In the end, the package essentially "exploded," launching the gelatinously (not a word, but it should be) filled "body bags" in all directions. TCR quickly gathered the pieces together for examination.

It was at this point that I noticed the smell of the "candy." It brought back some fuzzy hint of a memory, but I couldn't place it. A relative later compared the odor to the smell of glue, but I would say that's far too kind. It was not a pleasant smell, at any rate, and any hopes I had remaining fled in a hurry. Things were neither looking nor smelling very good, and all the while I knew that in the end I would need to actually EAT a piece.

To his credit, TCR-FRESHY 5000 tried his best to cheer me up, but robot pep talks can only take one so far.

Commencing phase 2 (of 3) of candy opening.

TCR carefully selected the least repulsive of the candy pieces and gave it a brief scan. He detected no abnormal radiation levels, but neither could he determine whether or not the morsel was fit for human consumption. We would have to move forward blindly.

Removal of the wrapper went off without a hitch. Actually, there was one hitch: there was a second wrapper under the first. That's right, each piece is not only individually wrapped, it is individually double-wrapped. If that's not a red flag, I don't know what is. I am not a fan of dual wrappers; I too often forget the second before placing it in my mouth, and it's just one more step between me and the candy I crave. Sure, that's on me, but I'd prefer a little help, Lucia!

Everything up to this point was warning me to turn back, with every new bit of information suggesting there could be no palatable result. But trudge forth we did, because that's how we roll (TCR-FRESHY 5000 rolls a little clumsily; so do I, if I'm being honest).

I think TCR-FRESHY 5000s expression says it all...

So the moment had arrived. It was time to see if the Lucia Pastillas de Ube Macapuno would live up to the expectations. It did. Oh, did it ever, and in the most awful of ways. The consistency did not bother me; it was a hard gummy sort of texture. But it tasted every bit as foul as it smelled. To give it a fair shot, I actually ate three pieces (half a serving), which I think is probably the most anyone has ever been able to get down (I offered pieces to several others, and more than half could not even finish one piece; the others had absolutely no desire for seconds). The second piece was not as appalling as the first (I believe my taste buds were in shock), and there was almost some sort of evil draw to the candy, daring me to try another. But, in the immortal words of Admiral Gial Ackbar, "It's a trap!" There were occasional hints of milk, yam, or coconut, but the prevailing taste was just plain terrible.

I am not sure what's going on in the Philippines to produce such an abomination, but I feel for its people, I really do. There needs to be some sort of telethon to bring proper candy to the region, or, at the very least, support groups for those who have suffered at the hands of Aiza's Sweets. I see no reason for such a candy to exist, and I'm pretty sure that the contribution of the gelatinous mutant coconut is abhorrent enough to cause even the Brotherhood of Mutants to reconsider their beliefs.

I have no choice but to give the Pastillas de Ube Macapuno my first 0 rating. Try as I might, I could find no redeeming qualities. I had to eat several pieces of REAL candy to try to cleanse my palate, but it did little good; the wretched taste kept finding its way back into my mouth, and, quite frankly, practically made me nauseous.

I do not recommend anyone ever eat this "candy" or even use it as a punishment (which would be both cruel and unusual). If you come across a bag, stay away. Run! Run away, and don't ever look back. Your taste buds will thank you.

And for the record, I still don't like the word "gelatinous."

With fear and trembling,
The Sweets Fiend

You'd better hope you make your saving throw!