#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.