#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.