#25 - Cloetta Ahlgrens bilar Saltlakrits

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you might have guessed that I am not much of an outdoorsman. Don't get me wrong, I love being out in nature; I just prefer to be more of a visitor and less of a long-term guest. This may explain my complete lack of survival skills. I do not know how to build a proper shelter or find/hunt for proper food, and I all but spontaneously combust in direct sunlight. In other words, if I were to find myself in a zombie apocalypse type of situation, my chances would be rather grim.

I have only gone fishing (and I use that term loosely) twice in my life. Once was when I was ten or eleven (or thereabouts) and my class spent a couple (or thereabouts; my memory's not too particular about it) days and nights at a camp. I recall using a stick with some string and a piece of bread at the end of it. I am probably remembering this wrong. Regardless, I had no luck that day.

My second attempt at fishing was a few years ago with my father-in-law. I did not use bread that time, that much I am sure of. I do not remember what I did use, but I managed to catch a lot of weeds and pond scum (which might suggest I was using the wrong bait). If I were an herbivore, it would have been a very successful excursion. Alas, it was nothing but another failed attempt.

Basically, I have very limited experience in fishing supplies or techniques (I personally think "bait and tackle" would be a great name for a sneak attack maneuver, though), and so I had to take my wife's word for it when she said of one candy: "That looks like a bag of bait."

That candy was none other than Cloetta's Ahlgrens bilar Saltlakrits:

TCR-FRESHY 5000 agrees with my wife. He would.

Personally, I'd have said it looked like a bag of rocks (and not even cool, interesting rocks). Based on the package design and color scheme (which is decent but not extraordinary), I expected it to be some sort of nut-based snack or something (I was wrong). It didn't matter; it did not look like anything I would want to put in my mouth, so I requested the services of TCR-FRESHY 5000, and he kindly agreed to assist me in the review.

As I've said, the package design is pretty good, aside from the clear window displaying the unappetizing product. But nothing about the packaging or candy (yes, it is candy) is right. Not at all. See, Ahlgrens bilar Saltlakrits translates to "Ahlgren's Cars Salty Licorice"). Look at the bag again. Look at the candy inside. Look at the bag one more time. It is all oh-so-wrong. If it weren't for the text (or the little car graphics at the bottom), nobody in his (or her) right mind could ever possibly guess what the candy was supposed to be. I have my doubts it was designed by a person who has actually ever seen a car.

Now, Sweden manufactures cars (Volvo is a Swedish brand, for instance, and happens to be Latin for "I roll."), so one would expect the general population of the country to know what an automobile would look like. But I will give Cloetta a break this time; the original version does resemble a car slightly, so something must have gone wrong during the salt/licorice process. Either way, I would recommend replacing the transparent window with an opaque graphic of a car on a road, just to make things extremely obvious and hide the appetite-suppressing "bilar" inside (it sometimes seems that the more horrid a product looks, the more the manufacturer is intent on showing it off).

People generally either love or hate licorice. I'm somewhere in the middle; I am fond of both licorice and salt (though not on its own) in conservative quantities, so I might actually end up enjoying Ahlgrens bilar Saltlakrits. I almost regretted enlisting the help of TCR-FRESHY 5000, but what's done is done, so he might as well earn his pay.

I like a candy that comes with reading material.

 Thankfully, the back of the package provides more clarity, with a semi-recognizable personified car graphic and a short story, which Google translates to:

"Since the first piece of Ahlgren's Cars rolled out of the factory in Gävle in 1953 a lot has happened. Ahlgren's Cars is now Sweden's most sold car and its tasteful design have made it to auto sport's No. 1.

"Ahlgren's Cars Saltlakrits have a bite and an acceleration in the taste as never before. With his sharpened aroma gives the concept undoubtedly burn-out a new meaning. But also try Ahlgren's Cars fruit cluster, Sour Sugarcoated, and the legendary original model."

Well, that certainly clears things up. Am I to assume by the "burn-out" reference that the candy is meant to taste like burning tires? Oh, boy, am I in for a treat!

If any confusion still remains regarding Ahlgrens bilar, one need only watch this awesome old commercial, and the world will make sense again (or nothing will make sense, which is about as good as it's going to get here).

On a side note, Wikipedia states that Ahlgrens bilar boasts to be the world's most sold car, while the Ahlgrens bil Saltlakrits package restricts the claim to Sweden. I think I'm going with the bag on this one; Cloetta ought to know.

Try and find the date hidden in this picture!

Okay, with that all out of the way, it was time to find the "best before" date on the package and make sure these salty licorice cars (which are looking more and more like submarines to me) are safe to eat.

Sometimes packages do not contain a "best before" date. I was almost convinced this was one of those cases, until I spotted the near-invisible text on the transparent portion of the packaging. Okay, it could be worse (and soon would be); it wasn't impossible to see, after all. But it was certainly not conspicuous, and causes me to wonder if the clear window was implemented not so much to show the hideous product as to conceal pertinent information, possibly increasing the likelihood of a sale to a bewildered customer.

You may think I've gone all conspiracy theorist at this point, but I present you with Exhibit B, the nutritional information panel:

I see neither automobiles nor nutritional information here.

Where is it, you ask? I asked myself the same thing. If I doubted the existence of an expiration date marking, I was thoroughly convinced that there were no nutrition facts on the package. They are so well camouflaged that I nearly missed them entirely! The military could take some pointers from the Ahlgrens bilar Saltlakrits: if you don't want something seen, this is the way to do it.

Straining my eyes, I was able to make out that there are 347 Calories for a 100g serving (mostly consisting of carbohydrates and sugars), which is of no help to me, as I could find no indication anywhere pertaining to the size of the package nor so much as a hint as to how many "cars" 100g consists of. So even when you find it, the chart is worthless. Leave it to Cloetta to blaze new trails in data encryption.

Note to self: TCR-FRESHY 5000 needs to be upgraded with a mass analysis module.

Now how'd THAT get in there?

Fortunately, the ingredients list is no secret. It comes in three languages, even (which is perfectly normal for Swedish candies). The first ingredient is sugar, which is promising, and, for the most part, the other ingredients are not surprising in the least. The exception is ammonium chloride (fairly early in the list, too), which sounds frightening, especially when a Google search returns facts such as these:

• It has expectorant and diuretic effects.
• It is is commonly formed on burning coal dumps.
• It is used in fertilizers, etching, and batteries. 
• One site simply says of it: "The primary hazard is the threat posed to the environment."

On the bright side, it is a type of salt (and is apparently not uncommon in Nordic licorice treats). Even so, it makes me glad to have TCR-FRESHY 5000 carrying out the initial inspection. What a roller coaster of emotions Cloetta is taking me on today!

It's probably best to just get right into the bag from here, so take it away, TCR!

Mmm... Smells like... a burning coal dump byproduct?

Even from my safe distance, I could tell, as TCR-FRESHY 5000 tore open the package, that this was no ordinary licorice. There was the familiar aroma of licorice, yes, but there was something more to it that I can only describe as "not licorice." I'd guess it was the ammonium chloride. But I did not care for the smell of it, whatever it was.

At close range and just the right angle, TCR's image recognition software was in fact able to identify the shape of the candy pieces as car-like, so I'll concede a minimal amount of redemption to Ahlgrens bilar Saltlakrits. I still say they look like rocks, though.

TCR carefully selected half a dozen specimens for closer examination...

"OooOoOooh! Toys!" Silly robot.

His chemical analysis resulted in a "possibly fit for human consumption" rating. I suggested he run a few other tests, but, as he had concluded earlier that the objects were "car-shaped" (not to mention just the right size for his "hands"), he became preoccupied with pushing the small candy pieces around and making "VROOM VROOM" noises. For what he gets paid, TCR can sure be unprofessional at times.

But he does do a killer impression of a car's engine, I'll give him that.

Eventually he settled down enough to offer me a solitary "car." I was a little hesitant to taste it, seeing as how I found its smell off-putting, but eating candy is what I was brought into this world to do (or something along those lines), so I steeled myself before placing it carefully in my mouth.

Geology experiment? No, that's a car. Sure it is.

I wish I could tell you it was a dream come true, a wonder for my taste buds. Regrettably, I can say no such thing. It was not very good. Admittedly, there were moments when the licorice came through uninhibited, and it was all right in those moments, but there was something (again, I'm blaming the ammonium chloride) tainting the flavor with an acidic foulness.

Once, several years ago, I picked up a box of Dots at the store, noticing they were drastically marked down. It was not until I began chewing on one that I realized I had mistakenly purchased the sour variety. Ahlgrens bilar Saltlakrits provides the licorice version of that experience with every bite. I have not purchased a box of Sour Dots since, and you can bet your tonsils (assuming you still have them) that I will not be purchasing another package of Cloetta's Ahlgrens bilar Saltlakrits (not that I purchased this one). They took something I enjoy and turned it into something thoroughly unenjoyable.

If you do not like licorice, you will definitely be repulsed by this candy. If you do like licorice, you very likely will not like it, either. My advice to you is (unless you have grown up in the vicinity of Sweden and have been taught your whole life that licorice should contain ammonium chloride and cars look an awful lot like malformed rocks) to steer clear of Ahlgrens bilar Saltlakrits. The taste is by no means unbearable, but it is not something to seek out under any circumstances.

It is with a heaping helping of disappointment that I rate Cloetta's Ahlgrens bilar Saltlakrits a 1. While I do plan to finish the bag currently in my possession (out of principle), its crimes against licorice will not be forgotten.

I can only hope the original flavor is a more remarkable product. As "Sweden's most sold car," I think it would have to be; the claim can't be referring to this version, it just can't.

So, sorry, Cloetta, but you've let me down this time. Still, I remain optimistic that our next meeting will not be so dismal.

I don't see how it could be...

That's just how volvo,
The Sweets Fiend

Crushing a car between my fingers. Or a rock. Either is impressive.

#24 - Cloetta Plopp

If you have spent a reasonable length of time studying the English language (or any language), whether voluntarily or by coercion (i.e., school), you have probably come across a little thing called "onomatopoeia." If you did not know (shame on you or your teachers!), in addition to being a killer word in a spelling bee, "onomatopoeia" refers to the formation of a word based upon the sound said word refers to. Basically, it is an attempt to spell a sound phonetically. For instance, if you happened to have retractable claws, extending them would no doubt result in a "SNIKT" sound (there's no disagreement there, right?).

Perhaps the most well-known use of onomatopoeia is within comics (or the 1960s Batman television show), where sounds need to be represented in a visual manner (I guess a simple graphic of the sound wave would be less conducive to clarity). There are plenty of examples of onomatopoeia, some better than others (likewise, some worse than others). Given that they are based upon the sounds they mean to copy, one might think that onomatopoeic words ought to have some degree of similarity throughout the world. But, as one often is, one would be very wrong (come on, "one," get your act together!).

Still, there are times when they DO bear a striking resemblance, such as in the case of the Cloetta Plopp!

When onomatopoeia goes bad...

I have read many a comic book in my lifetime, but never have I seen "PLOPP!" used regarding a candy bar (perhaps I was reading the wrong comics?). I know what you're thinking: surely "Plopp" has some clever meaning in Swedish which brings logic to the lunacy! Sadly, it does not. Look "plopp" up in your favorite Swedish dictionary (we've all got our favorite), and you will find that it translates to "plop."

That is correct, dear reader(s): the Plopp's name is nothing but a lousy use of onomatopoeia. Maybe it refers to the sound the bar makes when dropped. Maybe it is the sound of surrender in the naming of chocolate products. Sweden has come up with some pretty lame names for their sugary goods, but this one may take the cake (mmm... cake). Think of the word "plop." What image comes to mind? Whatever it is, I would bet that it is nothing appetizing (nor exciting, for that matter). It is the most puzzling instance of product naming I've come across since the Violet Crumble.

Name aside, the package is unremarkable. The font choice is ineffective, and the big, plain red-disc-on-blue motif is utterly generic (maybe "Plopp" refers to the graphic design). The only saving grace is the image of the candy itself, which provides a glimmer of hope; it's hard to mess up a chocolate/caramel combo, and it looks as if some thought actually went into the appearance of the candy!

Call me skeptically optimistic at this point.

Abracadabra!

The "best before" date section includes Cloetta's unique disappearing date "feature," which I first came across while reviewing the Sportlunch. Cloetta is not a small company; they ought to be able to get their hands on an ink with adequate longevity (is the candy naming division  also in charge of ink selection?).

Fortunately, there is enough of the date left to let me know I've just barely gotten to my candy before the magical day when it ceases to be at its best! This is particularly fortunate with the Plopp, which has thus far had an underwhelming showing. The Plopp has been around in one form or another since 1949, so it can't be all bad, and there's a chance (however slight) it might win me over in the end. I do love a good caramel (and a good comeback, as well)!

A quick glance at the nutritional information reveals that the disappearing act is not restricted to the "best before" section, although the effect is much more subtle here. I suppose Cloetta feels it's more important to know the Caloric makeup of the Plopp than to know whether or not it's still fit to be eaten (maybe a more thorough look at the nutritional data would bring one to the conclusion that it's not fit to be eaten in any condition).

Abraca... aw, forget it.

As is the norm with Swedish fare, the data is based on a 100g sample. The Plopp comes in two pieces (the crease in the center is quite noticeable) totaling at 50g. So one must divide by four to learn the facts for a single section (thanks for all the math exercise, Sweden!).

Each piece ends up being about 118 Calories, which is just about standard for a bar of its size (or about 236 Calories for the whole package, if I'm being realistic).

As there's nothing too unusual in this section (though I do love the Finnish phrase "josta tyydyttynyttä"), I guess it's time to move on to the ingredients list:

WARNING: Writing on package may be closer than it appears.

If you are having trouble reading the information above, it is only because I am trying to recreate my experience for you. Even if I were literate in one of the three provided languages, it would be a true challenge to actually read the ingredients. Cloetta ought to include a magnifying glass with each Plopp bar or something. In spite of it all, I can gather that there is milk chocolate and a toffee of some sort involved. That's a start, at least. Opening up the package should be even more enlightening.

Let's get to it, shall we?

PLOPP!

Like many other chocolate bars, the Plopp wrapper opens to expose the backside of the bar. I have already discussed my issue with this, but it's a necessary evil of product development. The back of the Plopp is (surprise, surprise) flat and uninteresting. Mine happened to have a crack going halfway through it. Fortunately, it was not as troubling as it would initially appear; each piece of Plopp (if you had any doubts about how dreadfully awful the name is, say "piece of Plopp" out loud) is divided into three smaller bits. So in theory, one package of Plopp (again, try to say it out loud without cringing) could be easily distributed among six friends. If you are anything like me, though, you do not have five friends, so more for you! That's assuming, of course, that you would in fact want to eat all six nuggets of Plopp. That is still in question.

But another glimmer of hope peeks through the grim prognosis...

You are getting sleepy... You think "Plopp" is a perfectly acceptable name...

Well, what do we have here? The front of the Plopp is a sight for sore eyes (and my eyes WERE sore after trying to read the ingredients)! The face of each bit sports a hypnotic pattern, which is more than welcome after the lackluster performance leading up to it. I feel I've seen it before (though can't place where), but it at least shows a minimal amount of effort, and, at this point, I'm just thankful it's not flat through and through. I should have known; Cloetta has proven in the past to exhibit diligence in providing whimsical appearances for their chocolate products. It is something I value highly and appreciate in a candy manufacturer.

Cloetta has also demonstrated a knack for producing some decent sweets, despite having what I consider a mediocre chocolate. I'm not sure how they manage it, but I applaud them it. That takes some real skill.

Blood is thicker than water. And whatever this is.

Tearing off a chunk of Plopp (ugh) reveals that the caramel-like substance inside is much less viscous than I'd have imagined after seeing the picture on the wrapper; but viscosity is hard to illustrate, so I will give Cloetta a break (just not a break of Plopp).

Truth be told, I was a tad disappointed. I had envisioned a glorious chewy caramel, and this was not it. Perhaps it's my fault for not having the superhuman Swedish vision required to read the ingredients list and for creating false expectations.

Eating the Plopp was, sadly, another disappointment. Much like the name (and packaging), the taste simply fell short. I'm not exactly sure even what the flavor was meant to be (I almost detected a slight hint of fruitiness, which I'm pretty sure was just a trick on my taste buds), but I feel certain it missed its mark. It just wasn't very good.

Don't get me wrong, I'd probably eat another if no alternative were available. The problem is that there ARE alternatives available, a good many of alternatives that are much better than the Plopp. Quite frankly, I do not even understand why the Plopp is still being manufactured. It's not that it's that bad, it's that it offers no compelling reason for its existence, as far as I can tell. Wikipedia states that  over 95% of Plopp is sold in Sweden. I wouldn't be shocked to discover that 95% of Plopp is sold to one individual Swede burdened with a bizarre and unnatural addiction. I can see no other explanation for the Plopp's longevity (as opposed to the longevity of the ink used in Plopp info).

Still, I am going to rate the Cloetta Plopp a 2 (a low 2, at that). I cannot get past my apathy for it, and in no way recommend it to anyone for any purpose. But it exists, as it has for over half a century, and if your sweet tooth is starved and find yourself in a situation with naught but Plopp (an expression I feel should be used more often), it might get the job done.

Again, it's not that bad. But that's hardly a ringing endorsement (I'd propose it be the Plopp's slogan anyway). Apart from the candy design evoking a sense of déjà vu, I found the Plopp to be as dull as it sounds.

Better luck next time, Cloetta. This one just went "PLOP!"

Vanishing before your eyes like a Cloetta "best before" date,
The Sweets Fiend

This looks better than it sounds. Or tastes.