#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 (at the time of this writing) "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, 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.