#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.