#39 - Kinder Bueno

When it comes to Sweets Fiend approved holidays, it's hard to beat Christmas: not only is candy conveniently found in festive bowls and fuzzy stockings wherever one goes (presuming one goes where the candy is, which is a fair presumption in my case), but cookies and cakes abound in endless shapes and flavors! Plus, one needn't dress up in a scary/silly costume and trek through the neighborhood to receive said goodies (trust me on this one, that does not help at all). So Christmas is sort of the holiday champion when it comes to sweets (but I appreciate the effort, Halloween).

Christmas would also be the reigning champion in the "most holiday movies" category; there is no shortage of classic films celebrating the season of giving. Once in a great while such films concern what Christmas is all about or even what Christmas sometimes feels like it's all about, but by and large (perhaps in anticipation of the resolutions that so often arrive with the new year) they are stories of individuals learning to set aside their self-centered ways to become better, more generous souls.

I have seen many such movies during the many Christmases of my life. While many have a lot to offer (such as the most suspenseful sixty seconds of my entire childhood), with each passing year I find myself growing more and more fond of "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens. No seasonal tale of reformation (sorry, Alfred Nobel) has stood the test of time like that of the miserly Ebenezer Scrooge and the spirits who visit him in a plea for repentance. It is a story retold by everyone from the Muppets to Mr. Magoo, and though cinematic adaptations can never truly capture the brilliant literary artistry of Mr. Dickens, the story is no less compelling in any form.

It is almost enough to inspire me to be a better Sweets Fiend. A kinder Sweets Fiend. A good (one might even say "bueno") Sweets Fiend.

How fitting, then, that today's review subject is Kinder Bueno (admittedly not one of my better transitions)!

I don't know about you, but my Christmas just got a little more... bueno!

I am not a complete stranger to Kinder products, and my exposure to the brand, though limited, has always been favorable. Kinder is a German line of products created by Italian manufacturer Ferrero. So what we have here is a product with a Spanish name from a German branch of an Italian company, made in Poland, purchased in Scotland, and about to be eaten by an American. Oh, what a world we live in!

The Bueno is a milk and hazelnut treat, Kinder's first product aimed at adults. Devoted readers (or German-speaking folk) might remember that "kinder" is German for "children," so it would make sense for the brand to have no adult-oriented aspirations. But somewhere along the line I suppose Ferrero realized that kids do not account for a substantial portion of the world's economy and decided to expand the "Children" product line in a direction that I, for one, find a tad uncomfortable.

The package design shows Kinder's trademark blend of skillful artwork and mediocre design choices. The brand's logo and signature sterile white background are as unappealing as the candy images are beautiful, and the font choice for the product's name seems as confused as the decision to stray from the normal target demographic. I suspect that Kinder has some talented artists who were simply unable to reconcile the conflicting goals given them.

It's not a failure by any means, but I do not think it unfair to suggest that there is room for improvement here.

Speaking of failure, let's move on to the expiration date, shall we?

Excuse me while I hang my head in shame.

The "best before" section is explicitly marked and offers a charitable amount of information. But once again I have missed the proposed date by more than a few days (how many times must I say that?). The Ghost of Candy Past (its expiration date) whisked me back to the week before said date to show me that I was too busy with vacation preparations to make note of my precious Bueno's imminent doom.

Point taken.

Still, I thoroughly enjoyed my vacation, so if candy was going to expire, it might as well have done so and decreased the surplus population (of candy in my sweets stash, that is).

But anyhow, back to the review...

The nutrition information panel and ingredients list are both well designed but poorly placed, wrapping clear around the side of the package. This made reading the data difficult and photographing it all but impossible, so all photos were taken after the wrapper was opened completely. Just one more possible improvement in the package design, I guess.

What doesn't kill me makes me fatter.

The Bueno is pretty average Calorie-wise (assuming one eats an entire two-pack versus a typical candy bar), but rather high in fat content. On the plus side, the sodium content isn't too bad. I figure it doesn't really matter in the end; too much candy will wind up killing me one way or another anyhow.

But it's all within the realm of reasonable in the world of sweets, so it's time to progress to the ingredients list:

The plain white background adds to the excitement!

As Bueno is sold in a variety of countries throughout the world, it is perfectly sensible to include the ingredients list in several languages. Granted, it adds to the reader's struggle even more than the aforementioned "wrap-around" effect, but I understand the purpose. Presenting the allergens in large, bold letters helps break up the monotony of the list somewhat and practically eliminates the need for the allergen list (aside from any legal requirements).

But there's nothing too interesting within the list, anyhow. Milk, chocolate, and hazelnuts are all givens, and the rest are things I see on just about every package I come across.

No surprises here!

That is, until I actually opened the package and discovered that Bueno sticks are individually wrapped! This is not often the case with twin-packed items, but it is always refreshing to discover, and it gives one more confidence in the longevity of the product (especially to those who've slipped past the expiration date).

At this point, I was feeling rather hopeful regarding the status of my Bueno, but the Ghost of Candy Present warned "If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, the candy will go bad," so
I wasted no time in ripping open the clear wrapper to get at one of the sticks!

This is not a child's candy bar. It is mine. All mine.

Let me tell you, the Kinder Bueno is a thing of beauty. Each "stick" is composed of four connected pieces and drizzled with stripes of chocolate. It is certainly more elegant than Kinder's Happy Hippo biscuits I've had before (imagine that)! I hate to keep bringing up the package design, but I think it does a great disservice to the product, cheapening its reputation. Still, there is a sense of accessibility to the Bueno not present in the most luxurious of chocolate treats, much in the way some celebrities seem able to keep in tune with their humble beginnings despite their success. Even their bottoms display a hint of mass-produced whimsy (I'm speaking of the candy here, not celebrities; sorry for any confusion).

But it's not just another pretty face (though I really don't see what's wrong with another pretty face, myself); the Kinder Bueno is marvelous inside and out, with textures and flavors expertly balanced. The chocolate, the cream... everything felt just right.

Here's the only problem: I'm apparently not into hazelnut. I've had my suspicions in the past, but I think this may confirm it. I could find no blunder on Kinder's part here, yet it was just okay to me.

More than any other time in the past, I wrestled with the scoring on this one; I would highly recommend this product to any hazelnut lover (Ferrero is no novice when it comes to chocolate/hazelnut treats, after all) and feel it deserves at least a 3 for its achievements, but I am not the least bit tempted to purchase another for myself.

It is therefore with great reluctance that I rate the Kinder Bueno a 2. Not because it is not a great product (double negative, anyone?), but due to the parameters set up in my rating system. Every rating system has its flaws, and mine is no different; its shortcomings have been exposed today without mercy.

Ah, the trials and tribulations of candy reviewing!

But I'd better be on my way... I believe I see the Ghost of Candy Yet to Come pointing a bony finger in the general direction of my candy stash.

Apparently I've still got some work to do.

Wishing one and all a Bueno Christmas,
The Sweets Fiend

The only thing wrong with this is the man behind the camera.

#38 - Marinela Gansito

Recently (last month, in fact), my wife and I were afforded the opportunity to take a two week vacation. I am rather fond of vacations, as they transform my laziness into "relaxation" via the mighty power of perception (with an assist from expectation). They also provide an excuse to travel great distances, which you may recall (if you've been keeping up with your reading) I also enjoy.

So we packed up a rental car and (much like a goose) headed south for sunnier days.

Now, no trip is complete without well-timed stops along the way to pick up additional nourishment (i.e., candy) and pamphlets or brochures from small towns attempting to extend their proverbially allotted fifteen minutes of fame indefinitely. While some of the brochures are clearly produced by capable professionals, others are... clearly not (those are naturally more exciting to peruse, such as the guide book I found that ought to have been named "The Book of Overly Compressed JPEGs").

But it's not just brochures that provide amusement; browsing regional gas stations, one rarely fails to find unusual (or at the very least unfamiliar) goods being offered at less-than-compelling prices. Whether one is seeking a Last Supper commemorative clock (my apologies if you're the proud owner of one), a ceramic dog head of one's favorite breed (again, very sorry), or a best-forgotten low budget movie starring a big budget actor, gas stations are more than happy to oblige!

Generally, such visits are in the end a wild goose chase, but, once in a great while, one finds an item intriguing enough to warrant a purchase. And that, my friend(s) (I don't mean to be presumptuous, but you're my friend(s), right?) is how I ended up with today's treat: Marinela Gansito!

Yes, yes, yes! So much yes!

Marinela is a division of the unfortunately named Grupo Bimbo (based in Mexico), which just so happens to be the largest baking company in the world. Gansito (which means "little goose," if the internet is to be believed) is one of the brand's oldest (1957) and most popular products (a golden goose of sorts, one might say); its lasting appeal is sure to incite envy throughout small towns across America!

So it's a pretty big deal. And I had never heard of it.

Anyhow, Marinela is no novice when it comes to marketing, and it shows. The package design is nothing short of brilliant; the moment I saw it, I knew I had to have it, and that's precisely the goal of any packaging. The colors are bright, the wealth of information is clear but concise, and the artwork is not only exceptionally done but stylized in just the right manner. Small town brochurists (pretend that's a word if it's not) should pay attention.

Sure, if one tries hard enough, one can quibble over the details, particularly regarding the plucky goose mascot (who seems to have experienced a modified Benjamin Button effect over the years). For instance, is that blood on his shirt? Is it his blood? Is he so happy because he survived being stabbed/shot? Why would he be stabbed/shot (aside from the usual reasons people shoot/stab geese)? Was he maybe involved in some international drug cartel, smuggling his illegal cargo via snack cakes? Why is his hand awkwardly cut off at the edge of the package? What is he hiding? A weapon? A bloody stump?

Yes, certain details could lead to all kinds of conspiracy theories, but by that point the package would likely have already been paid for, and it'd no longer be Marinela's problem.

Besides, creating such a friendly-looking goose is a noteworthy accomplishment in and of itself. Geese aren't exactly known for their charming personalities (Mother Goose excluded), yet the Gansito mascot exudes such joy that one couldn't help but forgive him even if he were on the wrong side of the war on drugs (not that I'm suggesting that he is).

Note: though he is officially called "El Gansito Marinela" (can't imagine how they came up with that one), he is a gosling, and so I shall henceforth refer to him as Ryan Jr. (at least in this blog entry).

Moving on...

The date is a lie.

The "best before" date is boldly displayed on the front of the packaging. This is a welcome change from many of the treats I've reviewed thus far, especially because I picked my sample up on the way down as opposed to upon my return, meaning it would be subjected to two weeks of questionable storage.

So I was very much aware of the "best by" date. Not that it motivated me any to get to my review more quickly, but I was very much aware of it (for the record, I did eat my snack cakes before the posted date; I've just dragged my feet on finishing this review).

There is also a small "20:33" printed next to the date, which I would like to think is the exact minute (in military time, of course) the snack cakes begin to wane in quality; I doubt that's the case, but such precision in snack expiration would be such a technological feat that I can't help but dream (dream big, they say).

Meanwhile, the nutrition facts panel is printed on the side (which also shows that our winsome goose friend has at least his thumb intact, and probably no weapon after all):

Just because you can does not mean you should.

The shape of the side makes for a clumsy canvas, and some of the details are either difficult to read or outright obscured without some manipulation of the wrapping. This is a little disappointing, given the stellar performance up to this point, but I have seen far worse, so I'll give Marinela a break.

There are two snack cakes per serving (very reasonable), totaling 390 Calories and consisting primarily of sugars and fats (with a minute addition of vitamins for good measure). So Gansito is not for the faint of stomach, but will hopefully be delicious; I've eaten enough bad fatty, sugary treats to keep my optimism guarded, even though the Gansito production geese appear to possess talents and work ethics uncommon in the goose world.

The back of the package includes an ingredients list section (largely hidden behind the flap), which is a block of text so formidable that even the fine folks at Fazer would turn tail and run (in other words, I think we have a new champion!):

Every package comes with a fun word search!

Read it to your heart's content (read it and weep), but the most important part is that the first two ingredients are sugar and strawberry filling (of which the first ingredient is again sugar). So we're talking lots of sugar here! Oh, boy! Also, I had assumed the filling would be raspberry, not strawberry. I don't know why, nor do I know why I'm telling you, either, as it makes no difference one way or another. But I just thought you'd like to know, just in case you keep a running tally of my mistakes.

The remainder of the backside is decidedly bare, which emphasizes the poor placement of the nutrition facts panel; there is plenty of space here for the necessary data, which would free up the side of the package to show the remainder of Ryan Jr.'s hand (I can't stress enough how much better that would make me feel). If one were in need of a poster child for missed opportunities, one needn't look farther than the back of a package of Marinela Gansito. The glaringly empty space stirs up numerous emotions within me, none of them positive, so I figured it'd be best to try and move past it.

Therefore, I tore open the wrapper and removed the snack cakes with haste, releasing with them the customary aroma of mass-produced baked goods (and I mean that in the best possible way, though the chocolate smell was a tad less sweet than I'd have liked).

Exposure to oxygen may enhance freshness?

Well, this is a first... The cakes were kept together in a tray, yet each was individually wrapped, a luxury I had not expected. But that is not what I found so remarkable. No, what really took me by surprise was the fact that each wrapper had its own "best by" date, which was a full day later than that found on the front of the package!

On the one hand, it could be a relief to open one's Gansito on the dreaded Day of Expiration (when one's goose is cooked) and discover one's snack cake is a day fresher than previously believed (not unlike the feeling one gets upon receiving an extension on a project).

On the other hand (the possibly-holding-a-weapon hand), one may toss one's snack cakes in the rubbish prematurely, unaware of the lingering freshness inside. It seems irresponsible of Marinela, to be honest, particularly given their earnest pleas to recycle their packaging. Perhaps something about the outside wrapping is detrimental to the quality of the snack cakes, shaving off the product's life by twenty-four hours (but why?). Or maybe some silly goose at the Marinela factory does not understand pranks.

I couldn't say. But it was a pleasant discovery in my case.

Ironically voted "best hair" in high school.

Removal from the individual wrapper revealed the rigors of travel. Still, the cake held up fairly well, all things considered. I did notice that the sprinkle distribution was much more conservative than the package artwork implied. It looked like the snack cake equivalent of a comb over (you're not fooling anyone, Marinela!). So if sprinkles are of vital importance to you, you may wish to supplement those included with some from your own store (you do have your own supply of sprinkles at hand, right?).

Likewise, the bottom was lacking in the aesthetic department. Whether it was due to Marinela going cheap on the chocolate coating or injuries incurred during the long journey home, my sample would certainly never make the cover of Gansito Monthly (if such a magazine existed, that is; maybe I ought to start a Kickstarter campaign).

Some things are not meant to be seen.

Basically, my Gansito was not the prettiest. But I'm sure it had a great personality.

And I was sure the taste would be unaffected by its homely appearance. So I took a bite.

As I had suspected, the chocolate lacked the creamy sweetness I crave. But that's just me; lots of people prefer a darker chocolate, and it wasn't a bad chocolate by any measure (certainly not colonial times bad), just darker than my tastes lean toward.

The cake and filling, however, exceeded my predictions by a wide margin. I was almost shocked by the freshness of the cake, and the filling was proportioned beautifully. The only downside was that I didn't much care for the chocolate coating, and its flavor overpowered the others (if only because, like I said, I didn't much care for it).

For what it's worth, my wife felt the opposite: she loved the chocolate but was not impressed by the strawberry filling. It was a compromise in flavors that satisfied neither of us (what's not good for the goose is not good for the gander, one might say).

Thus, I feel I have no choice but to award Marinela Gansito a mediocre score of 2. All in all, I would consider it to be a high quality product (as far as junk food goes), right up there with anything from Hostess or Little Debbie, but its flavor combination is incompatible with my taste buds, and not even Ryan Jr.'s delightful enthusiasm could get me to fork over my hard-earned (I use that term loosely) cash for another pack.

Quite frankly, I was truly hoping to love this one; it does so much so well that it almost makes its faults seem worse than they actually are. Because I didn't dislike it, I was just... disappointed somehow.

So, sorry Marinela (and Grupo Bimbo by association), but this one didn't give me goosebumps.

And to my loyal reader(s), I will try and lay off the goose-related expressions for a while, though I'm not sure yet what I'll replace them with.

Guess I'll just wing it.

Contemplating whether a Gansito snack cake in the hand is worth two in the package,
The Sweets Fiend

Ugly duckling? No, it's a goose. An ugly goose.

#37 - Hershey's Candy Corn Bar

With the approach of every holiday, I can't help but drool in anticipation of the seasonal selection of sweets announcing its arrival. Sure, the majority of it is subpar at best (eaten only when all better treats have been consumed), but there are the inevitable winners among the dross, whether they be deliciously unique products, temporary new shapes or flavors for old favorites, or a simple repackaging (notable only for the hefty markdowns seen afterwards).

Then there are those sweets that, while available all year, see a surge in popularity during a particular holiday. One such example is candy corn, which, despite being on pretty much every "worst Halloween candy" list I've ever seen, finds itself in candy dishes across the country when October rolls around (Halloween accounts for about 75% of the twenty million pounds in annual candy corn sales). I think it's a combination of the autumn-appropriate color scheme and resemblance to monster teeth; its usage seems to lean toward decorative as much as (if not more so than) ingestive. Rumors even suggest that, every year, a considerable portion of candy corn is discarded in the trash once the season is over, because people just don't like it.

That's what I hear, anyway.

Me, I like the stuff. I have been referred to as a candy corn connoisseur, and one of my proudest moments in life has been single-handedly finishing off a five-pound bag of the sugary bits (the key is pacing oneself; eat too much at once and the flavor mutates into something less palatable). Therefore, I would think I should be more than qualified to review a candy corn inspired take on a classic (and a few days after Halloween, no less; it's all coming together now), no?

And so I present to you the Hershey's Candy Corn bar:

Mediocre chocolate company + candy nobody likes = ?

You may have heard of Hershey's before.

Hershey's is a colossal candy company (it even has its own community) that has, in its more-than-a-hundred years of existence, become the dominant force in the North American chocolate manufacturing industry (selling in dozens of nations worldwide, to boot), with a variety of beloved products.

This is, in and of itself, quite a feat, but it becomes all the more remarkable when one considers that, to be brutally honest, their chocolate is just one step (maybe two if I'm being nice) above the bargain-basement type found in the cheapest of candies. I have seriously heard it described, on two separate occasions, by two people who do not know each other, as "wax painted brown." Or, to borrow an expression my wife might use, "It's good because it's chocolate, but it's not good for chocolate."

But they have no intentions of letting something so trivial as inferior chocolate get in their way. No siree! And now they've thrown their hat(s?) into the candy corn ring.

I'm not sure how I feel about that, but I suppose their attempt deserves a fair shot, and I'm nothing if not fair (well, maybe I'm lazy).

Okay, then. The packaging is simple, but effective, as one might expect from a company with Hershey's resources. They've made a wise decision in keeping the flashy hues to a minimum, bringing a tad more sophistication than candy corn is accustomed to. The bar and candy corn graphics are totally appropriate, and the overall appearance is, in a word, successful . Designing a package for a product such as this is an extremely tall order, and the artists at Hershey's have passed with flying colors (yellow and orange, to be specific). Well done, all around!

I may frame this and keep it on my wall.

This being a product of the U.S.A. and all, there were no surprises to be found in the "best before" section; it was not only clear (even with the abbreviation), but also encouraging, as my bar was months from going bad.

Devoted readers of this blog (hi, Mom!) know I do not always get to my reviews in a timely manner. Thus, it is always a relief to find I've not let another precious sweet into the wicked hands of Time (no, not THAT Time).

After a well-earned pat on my back (hold your applause, please), I decided to see what Hershey's had in store for me nutritionally.

The information was on the back of the package, partially hidden by the wrapper's flap (not to be confused with a flapper's wrap).

All the nourishment candy corn can provide, now in bar form!

I don't think anyone was expecting a candy corn creme bar to be the pathway to health (which is more than I can say for the Sportlunch), and it clearly is not. At least it has a bit of protein, I guess (and is low in cholesterol and sodium). And hopefully its lack of any real nutritional value bodes well for the flavor; tastiness and healthiness are not necessarily inversely correlated, but one can still hope, right?

Oh, and though it can't easily be discerned from the picture (as the panel wraps around the edge), the calcium is listed as "8%." I doubt that would change one's opinion of the product one way or another, but I'd be remiss not to mention it.

Perhaps a perusal of the ingredients list (also beneath the flap and running off the bottom of the bar) would shed more light on the situation:

WARNING: THIS PACKAGE MAY CONTAIN...

Well, that's certainly a list. I apologize for the allergen warning being cut off (the package certainly leaves one in suspense). Just assume that if you have allergies you probably shouldn't eat it. That'd likely be for the best even if you do not have allergies.

Carnauba wax (painted brown?) may be a familiar, if frightening-sounding ingredient. Less familiar (but even more frightening) may be "resinous glaze," which is described in the most appetizing way here. Combine that with such horrifying terms as "tocopherols" and "PGPR," and one has the makings for a terrifying Halloween tale.

Also of note are the colored circles above the list. I've found them to be quite common on packages originating in the United States, but not so much on imports. If you've ever suspected there to be a thrilling secret behind them (such as distracting one from the inclusion of resinous glaze), the (SPOILER ALERT!) answer  might disappoint you. So don't worry about them, okay?

Besides, it's time to unveil the Hershey's Candy Corn bar in all its glory!

Or something like that.

Look at me when I'm talking to you!

Peeling away the wrapper (following the helpful "lift and pull here" instructions), I was greeted by the backside of the bar (and an almost overwhelming aroma my wife described as "a bakery on steroids"). This never leads to a desirable first impression (especially given the appearance of the candy corn "pimples"), but it seems to be a problem unsolvable by the collective minds of the world's chocolatiers; even the best of bars suffer this fate.

It's a pity, too, as the face of the Candy Corn bar isn't too shabby; the Hershey's logo is delightfully imprinted on each breakable section, and there the "pimply" bits are not so unsightly.

Is it the best candy bar I've ever seen? No. But it's fine job, nonetheless. Hershey's knows how to put on a show.


Still, the real question is how it tastes.

It brings me great joy to say it tasted very much like it smelled! While I struggled to find any sort of recognizable candy corn flavoring, there was no denying that if an entire bakery's worth of sugary treats could take steroids and then be compressed into a single bar, the result would be Hershey's Candy Corn bar (my wife can be very perceptive at times).

Really, it reminded me of grabbing a spoon and eating an excessively sweet frosting (Funfetti®, for instance) right out of the container. If that does not sound pleasant to you, you may wish to keep your distance; it is almost overpowering.

But as much as I enjoyed it, I could not help feeling that, for all its sweetness, it lacked substance. Yes, I was fond of the sugary intensity, but there was no depth to it, and I can't imagine feeling the draw to purchase another bar.

I therefore rate Hershey's Candy Corn bar an average 2. I liked it, I really did. But I feel I've already experienced all it has to offer. That doesn't mean I wouldn't gladly eat another one; I just wouldn't gladly pay to do it. And, no matter what it's called, it would in no way satisfy one's need for candy corn.

Not at all.

So if you're looking for an ultra sweet bar with unfulfilled promises, you might want to give Hershey's Candy Corn bar a try.

But if you're looking for candy corn, just eat some candy corn (or even make it yourself, if you're one of those crazy do-it-yourself types).

I won't tell.

Crashing from a sugar rush on steroids,
The Sweets Fiend

I can see more candy corn here than I tasted.

#36 - Philippine Brand Coco Mango Balls

Reviewing candy is a double-edged sword. I get a lot of free candy (much more than I'd expected when initiating this preposterous endeavor), but I do not get to choose said candy. Thus, I am at the mercy of my unpredictable benefactors, some with questionable intentions one might describe as "diabolical."

I have endured through chili mango licorice sticks. I have survived a form of chocolate (I use the term loosely) that first tormented its hapless victims over 250 years ago! And I have managed to somehow maintain my love for sweets despite a bout with candy so foul I still occasionally wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, the memory of its horrid taste lingering on my tongue.

Needless to say, my encounter with Lucia Pastillas de Ube Macapuno left me rather leery of the Philippines as a source of sweets. Then again, I'm all for giving a country a second chance; one never knows when one might find a diamond in the rough!

Nevertheless, I hope you will understand my reluctance in getting around to today's review, because it just happens to be Phillipine Brand Coco Mango Balls:

Introducing TTR-CRAB 900, the newest addition to my candy review team!

Now, I'm not a complete fool (that's a work in progress); I was not about to rush into a potentially disastrous situation alone (as everyone knows, "it's dangerous to go alone"). In a stroke of bad luck, my usual robot sidekick, TCR-FRESHY 5000, was on an extended vacation (personally, I suspect his fear simulators got the best of him; I don't know why I installed that bit), so I was forced to seek out another assistant, preferably one with experience in tropical climates.

Enter TTR-CRAB 900. Though originally from Hong Kong, he spent a couple of summers in the Philippines via some sort of robot exchange program. His resume was not exactly flawless (the section titled "Knife Skills" was disturbingly thorough), but he was eager, and I was desperate, and that elicited a prompt decision.

So let's commence the review, shall we?

First off, the package design is actually not bad. I don't know why that surprised me, but it did. It's not great, mind you, but neither is it terrible. The color palette and artwork are in line with the name/concept, and the font choices are acceptable, though not inspired. The package has two main faults, really: the phrase "EXPORT QUALITY" displayed on the front does not instill the confidence I presume was intended, and the little "window" exposes the "balls" in all their vile wretchedness. They in no way resemble the balls pictured on the bag (creating a ball that looks nothing like another is quite a feat indeed), and it causes one to wonder if perhaps "EXPORT QUALITY" actually means "NOT UP TO OUR STANDARDS." Otherwise, I shudder at the thought of what those poor Filipinos must be sold.

Let's just say that at this point I was glad to have TTR-CRAB 900 at my disposal.

O "best by" date, where art thou?

Moving on, I soon discovered that the "best by" section was completely worthless. If a printed date ever existed on the packaging, it was nowhere to be found now (much like my appetite). Maybe it was meant to indicate that the product was never any good to begin with. Or (fingers crossed) maybe the clever scientists in the Philippines have discovered a method of preservation which thwarts all of Time's nefarious schemes.

I could not be sure of the cause or meaning  behind the alarming omission (exposure to a light bulb offered no answer), but the multiple price tags (indicating at least one markdown) and visual appearance of the product were about as comforting as the "EXPORT QUALITY" pledge.

Now, Philippine Brand is a part of Profood International Corporation, which has no less than five certifications. One would think at least one of those certifications would involve suggesting dates by which to consume a product, particularly if said product contains a section on the package dedicated to such a date. I guess not. That would be silly.

Not particularly helpful in two languages!

At least the nutrition facts panel contains some information. I've doubts about its accuracy (they suggest 100 divided by 30 is 3.0, for one thing), but it's there. The values are given for one third of the package, which is mighty convenient, considering that there are sixteen Coco Mango Balls inside (who doesn't regularly stop after eating five and a third pieces of a snack, after all?).

I should probably mention that the panel wrapped around the edge of the package, and TTR-CRAB 900 thought it best to tear it open (at a handy "tear here" marking) in order to get a better photograph (the tear is visible in the resulting image). I'm not sure his recommendation was sound, but he's still learning the ropes, so try and go easy on him.

Anyhow, Coco Mango Balls are not frightening from a nutritional standpoint, as 130 Calories is about half what one would find in a typical candy bar. Eating all sixteen balls in one sitting would amount to somewhere between 390 and 430 Calories, depending on who's doing the math. But who would want to do that?

Meanwhile, the ingredients list is short and sweet:

If you've still got all your fingers, you can count the ingredients on one hand!
If not, I'm sorry to have reminded you.

Five ingredients. That's all. One could easily memorize everything necessary to create Coco Mango Balls. In fact, why don't you go ahead and do that? You've obviously got nothing better to do if you're sitting there reading about a pitiable man-child and his two-bit (I do not mean that in the digital sense; his processor is 8-bit at the very least) crab robot opening a package of (presumably) edible ball-like objects.

Okay, got it all memorized? Good. If Profood International Corp. should happen to lose the recipe, they'll have you to rely on (and won't you be so proud of yourself?).

Concise though it may be, the list provides some new and vital information. Firstly, not all mangoes are suitable for use in Coco Mango Balls. I believe the implication is that only the best mangoes are selected, but that's not necessarily true; there is no indication of what the criteria for selection might be (but rest assured, the mangoes are all "EXPORT QUALITY"). Secondly, there is no secret Filipino miracle preservative after all; sulfites are commonly used as preservatives in dried fruits.

So the condition of my Coco Mango Balls remained uncertain.

TTR-CRAB 900 is not afraid to get his claws dirty.

TTR-CRAB 900 approached the tray and carefully selected what looked to be the least offensive of the malformed blobs. His initial analysis determined a high likelihood of staleness with a low risk of fatality. With an excitement that seemed unwarranted considering the situation, he offered me the dreaded morsel, his eyes shining with anticipation (remember, this was his first job and all).

 I had no excuse (other than my common sense) to reject his "gift," so I gently plucked it from his steely claws and gave it a quick sniff. As far as I could tell, there wasn't much to smell. The doughy ball did feel a tad stale, however (I can hardly be blamed for that, given their "best by" shenanigans). Tossing my reservations to the side, I sunk my teeth into it and...

Well, it wasn't horrible! Believe it or not, I actually enjoyed the first instant wherein the coconut flavor tickled my taste buds (I'm a pretty big fan of coconut; I ate a peanut butter, jelly, and coconut sandwich every day for a good portion of my childhood). The taste of the mango followed with little delay, and that was the moment I realized that coconut and mango do not make for a healthy marriage. Before long, the mango asserted its dominance and the coconut was a distant memory. It was an odd sensation; I think either flavor would have fared better on its own, to be honest.

Still, I didn't hate it. And perhaps I'm just in a generous mood, or perhaps I'm just relieved that it did not leave me clutching my throat and gagging, but I am rating Philippine Brand Coco Mango Balls a 2 (a very low 2, but a 2 regardless).

Sometimes, one is just in the mood to snack on something and is not too particular what that something is. I can envision Coco Mango Balls being that "something" under the right circumstances; I wouldn't choose them, and I wouldn't specifically want them, but if they were there (especially if they were fresh), I wouldn't be opposed to eating them (though that might say more about me than the Coco Mango Balls).

Do I recommend them? No. But neither do I condemn them. I am as baffled as you likely are by my decision and am convinced there was just enough decent flavor to fool me into thinking they were better than they actually were. Profoods International Corp. must have sorcerers on staff or something.

So, nice try, diabolical benefactors, but you'll need to do better than that to take down The Sweets Fiend!

And thank you, TTR-CRAB 900; your premier performance can only be described as "EXPORT QUALITY."

Grateful to be alive,
The Sweets Fiend

I'd like to tell you this tastes better than it looks, but I'm not sure it does.

#35 - Las Sevillanas Mini Oblea con Cajeta de Leche de Cabra

Once upon a time (July of 2013), I embarked on a weekend trip with my wife and her parents. My mother-in-law diligently researched the available lodgings in the general vicinity of our destination and settled on a quaint (I'm being kind here) motel harking back to the days of yore (i.e., mid-20th century). The place truly was a throwback, unfettered by modern constraints such as standards. But the two main draws to this singular humble retreat were the ridiculously low price (that wasn't a red flag at all) and the promise of a farm of sorts on the property, complete with a heaping helping of live animals!

In the end, we managed to enjoy our stay, despite having to share our rooms with rambunctious families of millipedes (I think there was a bug convention in town or something). Much of our enjoyment was due to the presence of the farm animals behind the motel, which included a couple of donkeys (one with a penchant for biting off fingers, we were warned), a variety of chickens and roosters, the mangiest group of stray cats I have ever seen (and that's saying something), and a small herd of friendly goats. The goats, in particular, were a big hit, so much so that my mother-in-law declared "Sometimes you're just in the mood for a goat."

I think we can all agree with that sentiment.

Now, to a good portion of the world, goats are a popular source of both meat and milk, but, somewhere in its short history, the United States has lost its affinity for the handy critters. While that may be changing, we Americans still outnumber our goats a hundred to one and simply don't seem to have much of a craving for goat meat.

Or goat milk, for that matter. In spite of an upward trend in goat milk production, cows still provide the vast majority of America's dairy needs, and that includes sweets and candies. Here, one doesn't really find treats utilizing goat secretions (an appetizing description, I know) outside of specialty stores.

But again, the U.S.A. is in the minority with its anti-goat bias. Cross the national border (just be sure to remember your passport), and one never knows what one might discover. Take, for example, today's subject: Las Sevillanas Mini Oblea con Cajeta de Leche de Cabra!

This packaging is about as enticing as the phrase "goat secretions."

This would be my fourth venture into the world of Mexican (or at the very least manufactured in Mexico) candy, which has thus far proven to reliably incite strong feelings one way or another. I see no reason to suspect this time will be any different, especially when Google translates "mini oblea con cajeta de leche de cabra" to "mini wafer with goat milk caramel." On the one hand, I love caramel; I mean, it's essentially melted sugar (and maybe butter and/or cream), so what's not to like? On the other hand (the left, in my mind), I have not had good luck in my limited experience with goat dairy products; I wouldn't say that all goat cheeses are bad, but I have yet to try one that didn't fit into that category.

Anyhow, the packaging of the wafer is about as dull as I've seen, with a plain tiled title/bar code graphic that seems more suited to an industrial product than a sweet. This becomes more understandable once one realizes that the samples I was sent were not necessarily meant for individual sale (something like this makes more sense), but I still feel Las Sevillanas dropped the ball on this one; any additional bit of artwork to emphasize the edibility of the product would go a long way towards making a favorable first impression.

Something has gone terribly wrong here...

The back of the wrapping is even worse, making the Lammes Candies Texas Chewie Pecan Praline packaging seem a masterpiece by comparison. It is a horrid mess of utter chaos, reminiscent of a failed mixed media art project. It's as if they didn't care at all. Not even one tiny little bit.

Hidden within the train wreck of confusion is what appears to be a "best by" date, which I have apparently missed. So there is plenty of failure to go around today.

Aside from that, I can't quite make out anything clearly. I'm guessing there is an ingredients list in there, but I would have to open up the wrapper in its entirety to know for sure.

So that's exactly what I did.

Well, I did it to the best of my ability, anyway. I defy any mortal to attempt to remove the wafer from its wrappings without a single unintentional tear. I could not do it. My wife could not do it. And I assure you, you could not do it, either (so wipe that smug smile off your face). It causes one to question the point of printing all the information on the clear plastic when it is bound to be mangled horribly in the end. I'm just not sure how well this plan was thought through.

But I did try, and this was what I managed:

Observe a  moment of silence for those ingredients lost in The Unwrapping.

The incomplete list contains unsurprising ingredients: goat milk, corn syrup, sodium bicarbonate (baking soda), and possible traces of walnuts, to name a few. There is also contact information. It's not a bad collection of data for an individual wrapper; it's just a shame one's unlikely to see it all.

I could find no mention anywhere of nutritional content, however. That's not alarming, since it was surely on the larger package from which the individual servings were taken. Fortunately, the internet can fill in the blanks for us. As might be expected, the wafers have very little nutritional value. And while 37 Calories might not seem like a lot, the wafers are so thin I'd presume one could, if not careful, down a dozen or so without giving it much thought.

But would one want to? That's the real question...

Picture probably not to scale. Probably.

Outside its nefarious trappings, the product is much more inviting. Disregarding their texture, the slim wafers remind me of tortillas, putting me in the mood for a true Mexican treat. Meanwhile, the caramel filling oozing out the sides cries out to my sweet tooth (teeth?).

But I'm not going to lie; I still had my reservations about it all. Would one of the unnoticed ingredients sabotage the treat, leading to an ordeal I'd rather forget?

Gladly, the answer was an undeniable no! While the wafers' consistency was slightly compromised because of my overdue consumption of the snack, their flavor still paired well with the creamy caramel between them. Sure, the aftertaste was a bit off from what I'm accustomed to (I suspect the goat is the reason; goats make for great scapegoats), but it was not unpleasant, just different. I even found myself thankful to have been provided two specimens to indulge in.

And I would happily eat another, too (or "another two;" either spelling would work here). I therefore am rating Las Sevillanas Mini Oblea con Cajeta de Leche de Cabra a 3. I really liked it, and, while perhaps not on my "must have" list, I could definitely see myself purchasing an entire bag at some point in the future. I'd just have to be cautious, because, as I'd feared, they would be easy to consume quickly and recklessly (that'd be about the only thing I might do quickly).

To sum it up, I guess one could say "Sometimes you're just in the mood for Las Sevillanas Mini Oblea con Cajeta de Leche de Cabra."

Rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it?

 Always a kid at heart,
The Sweets Fiend

So thin. So tasty. So likely to be the death of me.

#34 - Trebor Extra Strong Peppermint

I am a sweets fiend. I know this. You ought to know this (the title of my blog should have been a clue). I love sweets. But I am still a human being. Therefore, I have arbitrary likes and dislikes just as any other member of the human race does. This can be a problem when trying to review a candy fairly, since my tastes (and ratings) have no bearing on anything whatsoever.

For instance, mint is not one of my flavors of choice. I have mentioned this before, but it may be worth repeating (if I'm being honest, it probably wasn't worth stating the first time). It was never a wish of mine that mintiness should be so incompatible with my taste buds, but that's how things stand nonetheless. Consider it a weakness of mine: there is an abundance of sugary mint-infused treats I cannot enjoy as well as I'd like.

Peppermint, being one of the more potent mints I've encountered, tends to be unwelcome in large doses. Thus, when someone offers me a package of particularly ambitious peppermint candy, I can only assume it means one of three things:

1. He/She has not been faithfully following my blog
2. He/She is sadistic and takes pleasure in my suffering
3. My breath is rancid, and he/she is trying to be subtle about it

I'm not sure which is the worst.

Now, being a sweets fiend and all, #3 is not out of the question, but, knowing my friends as I do, #2 is just as plausible (I shan't even consider #1 an option). Regardless of the reason, I find myself today with a package of Trebor Extra Strong Peppermint:

Why? I may never know (hopefully not all of the above).

Trebor (based in the U.K.) is one of the many brands owned by comestibles behemoth Mondelēz International (formerly Kraft  Foods, Inc.), which seems to eat up companies like I eat up sweets. Thankfully, they've put out some fantastic products, so I'm hopeful this will be one to add to the list.

The packaging is fine but a bit run-of-the-mill, especially considering the creativity Trebor has exhibited in its commercials over the years (such as this one from 1985, or maybe this one for their Softmints). I suppose it gets the job done, but I would expect more from the "Masters of Mintyness" (to be fair, they never claimed to be "Masters of Package Design").

On the plus side, everything is clear and concise (unlike the phrase "clear and concise," which isn't very concise at all); I immediately knew what to expect from the product. That's not always the case.

The cylindrical format does not provide much real estate for information, so there is not a whole lot to see elsewhere on the package, aside from a slogan ("More than a hint of peppermint!") and a small section with all pertinent data, which on my specimen is covered by an Americanized sticker (since I guess Americans can't understand British English) of dubious quality.

It's always encouraging to see sugar get top billing.

Right off the bat, one notices that the suggested serving size is the entire pack. That seems a bit overzealous to me (the suggestion for Altoids is three pieces, after all), but perhaps that's just my ambivalence towards peppermint rearing its ugly head. The 170 Calories for 41g is pretty average for a mint, consisting mostly of sugars (music to my ears!). So far, so good.

The ingredients list is short but suggests that, while the sticker was placed for an American audience, it may not have been produced by an American audience; the use of E numbers (E415 is Xanthan gum, if you were wondering) is highly suspicious (if only "candy detective" were a job). But I do appreciate knowing that the gelatin (while I know the extra "e" is acceptable, it still seems wasteful, given the limited space) is of bovine origin, because nothing gets me more in the mood for a mint than being reminded that it contains the boiled ligaments, bones, and tissue of a cow. Yum!

Last but not least, the "best before" date indicates that I've made it just in time. I'm so proud of myself, I think I will reward myself with an extra strong peppermint!
 

Collect four of these, and you've got one Trebor dollar.

 Removing a piece of the candy from the package revealed a pleasant surprise: the Trebor logo is imprinted on each mint. Granted, the composition of the mints does not seem well suited to such imprinting (they look as if they've seen years of wear/erosion), but the signature star and name are not beyond recognition.

Not a bad try, Trebor.

Each mint is about the diameter of a quarter (maybe that's where the U.S. Mint got its name), albeit much thicker, and a package of Trebor Extra Strong Peppermint is roughly the size of a roll of quarters, but only about 18% of the weight (so it'd be less useful for self defense). The weight difference is probably for the best, though, as it should eliminate accidental quarter consumption by those who make a habit of carrying both mint packs and rolls of quarters in their pockets/purses (swallowing coins is not a recommended pastime).

I only hesitated a moment before popping the first specimen into my mouth, and I must say Trebor makes good on all of their promises (well, I suppose they've really only made one promise). It is indeed an arguably extra strong peppermint; I wouldn't say it's the strongest in the world (it's by no means unbearable), but it is definitely not mild. The texture is slightly grainy, and the mint is not so hard that one can't chew it, releasing the peppermint "flaviring" with reckless abandon. Really, as far as I could tell, everything was spot-on, if a tad unexciting.

Unfortunately, my taste buds had no love to offer Trebor's accomplishments. As I've said, peppermint just isn't my jam (coincidentally, I don't mind mint jelly when used properly), so an extra-strength peppermint candy has little chance of winning me over. It didn't exactly wow my more peppermint-receptive friends, either; the general consensus seemed to be that the product was okay, but nothing special (a couple even hinted that the "extra strength" moniker might be unwarranted).

In the end, I am rating Trebor Extra Strong Peppermint a 1. I would not be adamantly opposed to eating another piece under the right circumstances, I suppose, but neither would I initiate it.

Do not let the low score dissuade you from trying it yourself, however; it is actually a fine product, and its score is more a reflection of the faults in my rating system than any true fault on the part of Trebor. If you love mints, Trebor Extra Strong Peppermint could very well become a staple in your life. Or not. Who knows? Stranger things have happened.

As for me, I'll be off enjoying some candy having nothing to do with mint. And then I'll be brushing my teeth.

Just in case.

With minty-fresh breath (one can hope),
The Sweets Fiend

Frankly, I'd rather not put either in my mouth.
(More observant readers might note that the quarter is from the same year as the Trebor hot air balloon commercial; is this merely a coincidence, or have I been saving it for just such an occasion?)

#33 - Klik Kariot-Pillows

As a sweets fiend, I am introduced to an extensive assortment of candies (insert a sincere thank you to all my generous benefactors here). There is a whole lot of sugary goodness out there, and it is easy for a perfectly fine product to get lost in the sea of options. Thus, manufacturers must find creative ways to allow their offerings to stand out. One simple method is to model a candy's appearance after some intriguing object or animal. I am a fan of said method. In fact, readers who follow my blog with any respectable amount of commitment (and I truly feel all my readers should be committed) might grow wary of my incessant babbling on the topic.

Be forewarned: there will be no respite from the issue on this day.

So I continue...

I have eaten many a candy with more than a passing resemblance to something else, from hippos, to ice cream cones, to just about everything in between. Sometimes they even had a pleasing taste! But in every case (successful or not), I appreciated the attempt.

It does cause one to wonder, however, which designs didn't make the cut. Is there a landfill somewhere overflowing with sketches of candy based on items or creatures that were, for one reason or another, just too awful (or bland) to consider? I mean, surely the bar must be set somewhere, right?

I would have thought so, but then I was introduced to today's specimen: Klik Kariot-Pillows!

I've finally found what my life has lacked: miniature chocolate pillows!

If I were to be tasked with suggesting the worst possible source of inspiration for a chocolate treat, I don't think I could best pillows. Seriously, what could be more dull (I welcome your answers)? Granted, the name may have been inspired by the candy's appearance rather than the other way around, but I'm not sure that improves the situation any; the fact remains that a pillow makes for a baffling muse when it comes to a product of this sort. But, then, Klik Kariot-Pillows is a product of Israel ("Under the supervision of the Rabbinate of Safad & the Orthodox council of Jerusalem Eda Charedith."). Maybe (just maybe, mind you), to a people who've endured hardships (not to mention more than their fair share of prejudice) for thousands of years, there is no thought as enticing as a peaceful nap.

Who knows? Certainly not me.

Lame idea aside, the packaging isn't so bad. The chocolatey brown of the photographed "pillows" works nicely against the blue backdrop, and the "burst of light" graphic adds some much needed oomph to the lackluster concept. Unfortunately, the Klik logo (which is bright and informal, if a bit amateurish) and artist's rendition of the candy lack harmony with the more realistic background. Pick a style and stick with it, please; either would do fine on its own, but together they clash in a battle not unlike those peppering Jewish history. Perhaps a pair of contrary designers was assigned to the packaging, and the end result was a forced lose-lose compromise. I believe there's some talent there, but it missed its mark this time. Such a pity.

Oh, and, by the way, though my internet research on the meaning of "kariot" has not been entirely conclusive (Google guesses it is Samoan for "kariot." Thanks, Google), sources suggest it might translate to "pillows," which would essentially mean the candy is named "Pillows-Pillows." From the bottom of my heart, I hope that it's true, because nothing livens up monotony like redundancy! And just in case there's any doubt that Klik would be so redundant, the front of the package actually says (albeit in a very small font): "Picture for illustration only."

Additionally, my investigation revealed that Kariot is also the name of a popular cereal in Israel (with a commercial that's really heavy on the pillow motif), upon which our candy in question seems to be based. That's right, folks: the pillow theme is so successful in Israel that it has spawned at least one spinoff. I am completely dumbfounded and beginning to doubt everything I thought I knew about sweets.

But, lest this discovery lead me down a deep, dark path to depression, I am going to alter my trajectory and resume examination of the packaging...

Generally, I would discuss the "best before" date at this point. The problem is, I'm not sure where it is. Hidden behind the bottom flap in tiny, tiny (oh, so tiny!) letters is the phrase "Best before:," but nothing is beside it. However, if one follows a straight line halfway across the packaging, one finds this:

I have no idea what these numbers are about. Probably something to do with pillows.

Is there a date in there somewhere? If so, it would take a better man than I to identify it. My wife thought it might be the "16:08," which is not a bad guess (whether that makes her a better man than I is up for discussion). If so, the date is vague enough that I may or may not have been too late when I first opened the bag. I don't know anymore; I'm living in a world where pillows are appetizing, after all!

 Fortunately, the nutrition facts panel is clear as day:

For a more satisfying experience, imagine Morgan Freeman reading the ingredients list aloud.

The bag comes in at a whopping 360 Calories, 140 of which are from fat, so this may be the sort of candy to enjoy through multiple sessions. But at least there's some fiber in there; wouldn't want my bowels getting all plugged up with chocolate "pillows," now would I?

All in all, it's pretty standard, which is comforting (like a pillow?) considering how things have been going thus far.

The ingredients list is noteworthy only for its size (much like my stomach). There are no particularly interesting ingredients (though if you find pillows interesting, you may disagree), but there sure is a jolly good bunch of them! Who'd have thought chocolate pillows would prove to be so complicated? Due to the use of such a wide variety of components, the allergen information is also of a considerable length, with half a dozen entries to be aware of. If I ever find myself involved in allergen-based warfare (hey, anything is possible), Klik Kariot-Pillows will be high on my list of "weapons."

As far as I know, I have no allergies to worry about, so I'm free to eat Kariot-Pillows with impunity.

Well, then, let's get to it!

Need reasonably-priced throw pillows for your doll house? These just might do the trick!

My initial thought upon opening the bag was that the aroma of chocolate filling the air was more potent than I'd expected. It was not necessarily a bad thing; it just caught me off guard.

The pieces did an acceptable job of representing miniature pillows, though the texture was noticeably off; they looked as if they had come from a war zone (which, given Israel's present situation, is understandable), with dents and dimples aplenty!

But I have to admit, there was something mildly comforting about the shape of the candy. Maybe I was too quick to judge the whole "pillow" thing. And maybe one bite of the sweet morsels would hook me for life.

Sadly, that was not the case. Based on the package artwork, I expected a creamy sort of filling in my Klik Kariot-Pillows. There was none to be found (which begs the question: what was the picture an illustration of/for?). There was a thin layer of what I think was the nougat (thin enough that biting the outside properly to get a picture was difficult), but the candies were hollow. I've never been to Israel, so I couldn't say how they make their pillows, but I'm fairly certain it's customary to fill them with something other than air. Frankly, I can't help feeling cheated. Why would you do this to me, Klik? Why?

On the plus side, the pieces had a nice crunch to them, and the chocolate flavor was decent. But the thin inner coating left a less-than-pleasant aftertaste (the hazelnut may have been partly to blame) lingering in my mouth. It might have been fine had it not been so persistent, but it would just not let up (this wouldn't be the first time hazelnut has done that to me).

Overall, I was underwhelmed. One might even say eating pillows had left me feeling a little down in the mouth (feel free to groan). Therefore, I rate Klik Kariot-Pillows a mediocre 2. They aren't without merit, and I wouldn't mind accepting a piece or two (or even more) from a friend, but I see no compelling reason to expend energy in seeking them out.

Sorry Klik, but I still do not understand the appeal of memorializing the pillow in chocolate. I cannot wrap my head around it. I just do not get it (I hope that was redundant enough for you). Better luck next time, though. Maybe pick a more exciting muse, something outside of the bedding department. The results might surprise you.

As for me, I think I'm ready for a nap now.

I can't imagine why.

With a hearty "Shalom,"
The Sweets Fiend

Picture for illustration only.