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:
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| 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:
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| 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.
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| 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.
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.
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| 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.
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.
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| 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).
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
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).
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| I think TCR-FRESHY 5000's 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
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| You'd better hope you make your saving throw! |
Glad to see the return of TCR-Freshy 5000!
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