#42 - Tunnock's Real Milk Chocolate Caramel Wafer Biscuits

Throughout history, it has been customary for a son to follow in his father's footsteps, career-wise. For instance, if one's father is king, one is probably going to end up king one day (unless one happens to be Charles, Prince of Wales). From plumbers to funeral directors to purveyors of junk (even British purveyors of junk), fathers are keen on passing on more than their genes to their offspring, and the words "and son" are ubiquitous in the business world.

Still, there are times when one's son feels called to forge his own path in life. Maybe he's just not that into ruling the galaxy or making toys, or maybe the father's job is literally as dull as watching paint dry. Whatever the reason, it affords the son the opportunity to alter the course of his bloodline, with a new livelihood to pass down for generations to come (or not; kids can be so rebellious, after all).

Such was the case when Thomas Tunnock opted not to carry on his father's coffin-building legacy ("Why live a miserable life when for 30 bob you can be buried comfortably?"), instead striving to make miserable lives a bit less so with the opening of his own bakery (he even used his dying wish to ensure his son would continue the dream; he wasn't taking any chances!).

I, for one, am thankful for the divergence; I am unlikely to need a coffin from Scotland in my lifetime (or death, for that matter), but I can always go for a sugary treat, and Tunnock's Real Milk Chocolate Caramel Wafer Biscuits sound like just the thing to satisfy that craving!

This reminds me of a circus or carnival, minus the excitement and terror.

First off, I think the name "Tunnock" sounds like it was pulled straight from a J.R.R. Tolkien novel, which isn't too unreasonable, as it's a Scottish name from days long gone (we're talking centuries here). Perhaps it is this sense of tradition and history that led to the anachronistic package design; it is equal parts old-fashioned and modern, showing true dedication to the company's heritage whilst paying homage to current trends. The top is adorned with the words "still original size," which is a heartening phrase if ever I've heard one; who among us has not at one time or another lamented the decrease in volume of his or her favorite treats? And the featured mascot/child (who was, in some tragic turn of events, left without a name) harks back to simpler times, before such dreadful realities as candy review blogs.

Really, it's all very well done, but, to be blunt, it doesn't do much for me. I can't fault Tunnock's, as I believe they have achieved success in all their package design goals. I honestly appreciate their sentiments, I just don't find myself craving what hides behind the shiny metallic wrapper. And despite his easy smile and polished appearance, I do not want to be Tunnock Boy's friend (I think I shall take it upon myself to name him "Shteve" (for some reason I suspect he has a speech impediment), not to be confused with "Phteven").

But it's a simple matter of opinion; I still commend Tunnock's artists and visionaries for their talents.

Space for rent?

Anyhow, the "best before" date can be found on the back of the package, in a much-larger-than-necessary blank canvas of sorts (the entire back of the package lacks the flair of the front; it's almost as if they forgot it was there until the minute before production was to commence). I don't know if Tunnock's lacks confidence in the precision of their date-printing machinery or they are leaving space for future use, but I suppose it doesn't matter; the date is easily readable within the otherwise bare expanse of whiteness.

My actual consumption of the candy preceded the publishing of this review by a shamefully long period of time, so I did beat the expiration date (by at least a tiny bit), so lay your worries to rest (seriously, you worry about the silliest things).

Typical values indeed.

The nutritional information panel shows that, gram for gram, the biscuits are very much comparable to an average candy bar in terms of nutrition (or lack thereof, if you prefer). As I'm a big fan of candy bars (and getting bigger with each one), I would like to think that this in some way bodes well for Tunnock's creation. I might be way off base, but I'd still like to think it; considering chocolate caramel wafer biscuits sound delightful to me anyhow, I believe there's plenty of room for optimism (just like there was plenty of room for the "best before" date).

Also included in the panel is the address of the Thomas Tunnock Limited headquarters (and website), which is not uncommon (I refer here to candy manufacturers providing their own addresses; it would be quite uncommon, and probably frowned upon, for other manufacturers to supply the Thomas Tunnock Limited address on their own candies).

So far, no real surprises, which is itself not very surprising, since the Tunnock's brand seems so deeply rooted in tradition; "traditional" and "surprising" are words seldom matched together.

The ingredients list is no different:

Suitable for vegetarians? And here I was expecting a pork filling...

Every ingredient listed is readily found in countless other candies and sweets. There is not a single entry to cause alarm or even interest (unless, of course, one has wheat, soy, and/or milk allergies). But caramel is (woo-hoo!) the first ingredient, so that's a plus.

Fortunately, a dull ingredients list need not translate into a dull product. Thomas Tunnock Limited has simply chosen to stick with tried and true components, and there's nothing at all wrong with that.

Or maybe there is. I guess I'd have to try one to know for sure, wouldn't I?

It's like the package gave birth... to twins!

And so I pulled one out of the package... and discovered they are individually wrapped! Personally, I found that to be a welcome feature, despite it adding an extra step between me and the milk chocolate caramel wafer biscuit. One thing I noticed, however, is that the wrappers were rather loose, suggesting that perhaps that the reason for their existence is something other than preservation.

The wrappers continue the motif of the outside package; in fact, it was at this point that I realized (I'm a tad slow) the package front contains a (slightly off-scale) cutaway graphic, displaying the six internal biscuits. I don't know how I missed that before (I was probably too distracted by Shteve's floating head), but it's a nice touch. Additionally, the individual wrappers contain the ingredients list (always a considerate move), as well as the claim: "MORE THAN 5,000,000 OF THESE BISCUITS MADE AND SOLD EVERY WEEK!" That's more than a quarter of a billion per year. Not bad for a product I had never heard of. Not bad at all.

This could really be any chocolate-covered wafer biscuit.

So I opened up one of the biscuits.

To be completely honest, my initial impression was not entirely favorable. The smell of the chocolate was not particularly encouraging, and the appearance (including the bottom), while perfectly acceptable, was nothing to write home about (maybe worth making note of in an amateur candy blog); although its shape is typical of such a product, I could not help but notice its likeness to a coffin. It's possible I was just struggling to find something unique about the treat; after all, what could lead to the demand for million and millions of the treats each year?

As it turned out, Tunnock's real milk chocolate caramel wafer biscuits did have a trick up its sleeve: it was absolutely delicious! It was crunchy. It was chewy. It was a masterful blend of chocolate and caramel. It was everything I could ask of Tunnock's and more!

I was in every conceivable way impressed, and it is without reservations that I rate Tunnock's real milk chocolate caramel wafer biscuits a 4! It is a product any company should be proud of, and though Thomas Tunnock did not live to see its inception, I am eternally grateful for his decision to pursue baking; my life is indeed less miserable because of it.

As a disclaimer, I should mention that those with whom I shared samples did not share my love for the candy (though all liked it to some extent; one suggested it might have been better at a greater distance from the expiration date, which is a fair point). But they are not writing this blog, so their opinions are of no importance. In fact, forget I said anything (I'm too lazy to delete it); instead, go seek out some of the delectable biscuits yourself. You won't regret it.

In case I have not yet expressed my feelings on the product with the utmost clarity, I leave you with a question: is there any chance I could be buried in a giant Tunnock's milk chocolate caramel wafer biscuit?

I'd be willing to pay upwards of 30 bob.

Happy to be alive,
The Sweets Fiend

Please, sir, I want some more!

#41 - Nestlé Polo (original)

Polo (anglicised from the Balti word for "ball;" yes, we essentially call the game "ball") is a competitive team game played on horses. It originated in Persia more than two thousand years ago, but is still played today (and while perhaps not the world's most popular sport, it did inspire a well-known clothing line, so that's something). Water polo (no relation) is a competitive team game played in (what else) water, sans horses, dating back to the late nineteenth century (it is also still played). Marco Polo was a traveler of days gone by (1254-1324), whose name has (relatively recently) been borrowed by a water-based game of blind tag (which involves neither balls nor horses and has no relation to either of the aforementioned games, but, again, is still played).

My point is that there are a lot of things to associate with the word "polo," and each is as likely as any other to come to my mind upon hearing it. But if you're a British mint lover, the word could very well produce a hankering for the ring-shaped candy first manufactured in 1948 by a man named John Bargewell: the Polo mint (in this case, "polo" is allegedly derived from the word "polar," but I have my doubts)!

"Original?" Sorry, but I'm not sure there's anything original about you, Polo.

Now, it wasn't all that long ago that I, in no uncertain terms, declared my lack of fervor for mints. Yet, lo and behold, I find myself again confronted with a pack of the pitiable candies. A small part of me is hopeful, however, as Polo makes no claims about being "extra strong." On the other hand, the candy's slogan is "The Mint with the Hole," which is perhaps the worst slogan I've ever come across (even the Violet Crumble's slogan seems inspired by comparison). If your product's most notable feature is a hole, you might want to reexamine your priorities, especially if your product is not unique in regard to said "feature." Lest you think I'm being overly harsh in my criticism of Polo's obsession with holes, I present to you two bits of information that may sway your opinion in my favor:

Exhibit A: In 2004, Lord Justice Mummery (who arguably has one of the greatest combinations of title and name the world has ever known), dispensed both wit (rough as it might have been) and justice when he rejected Nestlé's appeal to trademark the Polo's unoriginal shape, claiming "This is an appeal with a hole in the middle."

Exhibit B: The slogan is not only lousy, it's also a total rip-off; Life Savers used it (complete with the candy taking the place of the "o") back in 1917, more than thirty years before Polo even existed.

So Polo is basically a knockoff trying desperately to convince the world otherwise. Which is why I question even the origin of the name.

Controversy aside, the packaging is well done; it is not the Lord Justice Mummery of designs, but I would definitely place it well above Trebor's attempt. The color palette and art style toe the line between playful and dignified (which I guess makes it more the Lord Justice Mummery of designs than I'd first thought). Sure, one could argue that it misses the mark on both fronts, but I think the artists at Nestlé ought to be proud of their work here; at least it's not a complete duplicate of its competitors (as far as I know).

This is ugly on so many levels.

Anyhow, the "best before" date on the package is vague (and rather sloppy, if I may say so; are they still using the original printer from 1948?), giving only a month instead of a particular day, which hints at the fact that expiration dates need not be taken too literally. Having had my fair share of "expired" treats, I can say firsthand that candy (especially hard candy) is usually good well beyond the suggested consumption period.

But, as I had tried my first Polo in January (I tend to run late with my reviews, if you hadn't noticed), it's a moot point, so I might as well move on.

Shall we?

How many mints would you like? Seven? Oh, okay.

The nutrition facts panel (which understandably wraps around the roll), reveals that Polo is mostly just sugars (nothing wrong with that, right?). It's not too surprising, really. In fact, its stats are very much in line with other mint products. It is unusual, though, in that I haven't often seen words like "nil" and "trace"in such a section.

"Trace" refers to stuff that's not intended to be in the candy but finds its way in anyhow (because the same equipment is used for multiple products, for instance). It's thoughtful of Nestlé to provide the information; it allows one to concoct any number of theories as to where, say, the protein comes from (I'm guessing insects, personally).

I am not sure why "7 sweets" was chosen as the reference, however. It seems like a lot of mints for any insignificant period of time (I don't know anyone who considers significant periods of time when planning their mint intake), and it can be an awkward number for mental division (fortunately, dividing the 42 by 7 to get 6 Calories per Polo is straightforward enough).

And then we have the ingredients list:

Children under four, please read this carefully!

There aren't many ingredients that go into a Polo (again, not surprising, as it's mostly sugar). The only item to catch my eye was "stearic acid," which, aside from providing some light reading via its Wikipedia page, is not too exciting. The warning about young children choking takes up the lion's share of the section, which is okay with me; if you're going to care more about something than what's in your candy, choking children is a respectable option.

The section ends with an inconspicuous instruction to store the product in a cool and dry place. That's generally good advice for sweets storage and at the present a thankfully simple directive to follow, it being winter here and all.

With the wrapper thoroughly investigated, it was time to unveil the candies in all their untrademarkable (why use real words when a fake one will do?) magnificence:

Wow! They are unlike anything I've ever seen!

Whereas Trebor peppermints are approximately the diameter of a quarter, Polo mints have chosen to emulate the penny (so not even its size is original, though, to be fair, it is between two to three times as thick). Maybe it's just a coincidence, but there seems to be some sort of correlation between the proportions of American coins and British mints. Is it some elaborate scheme to undermine U.S. currency (I might buy into that if the mints weren't worth more than the coins)? I don't know, but it does mean that coin wrappers should double as mint packages in a pinch, so be sure to keep some handy if you have a knack for destroying your British mint wrappers (life hack!).

Besides the "one-of-a-kind" hole, Polo mints are embossed with their name, which isn't at all like Life Saver candies. Not one bit. It's a completely different name and everything. They also look and feel cheaper than other mints I've encountered (perhaps that explains the decision to mimic the penny). All in all, nothing about the Polo had wowed me up to this point.

And then I tasted one.

To my delight and amazement, I liked it! It wasn't merely tolerable; the taste was actually pleasant! What trickery was this? The mint flavoring was definitely on the mild side, and that might just be the key: I do not like strong mints.

It is therefore in the highest of spirits that I rate Nestlé Polo a 3. I rarely purchase mints to satisfy my sweet tooth, but I have been known to buy a pack to fool myself into thinking it will cure my bad breath (the sugars are more likely to reinforce the problem than resolve it, but at least it improves the taste in my mouth), and I wouldn't hesitate to select Polo in such a situation. They may be fairly mundane in every way, but, in the end, I believe that's what won me over. I'll say it again: I do not like strong mints.

So Polo may not be an original candy, but it's a mint I don't dislike, and that's something special. Well done, John Bargewell; my taste buds salute you!

Now to stock up on some coin wrappers...

Shocked and awed,
The Sweets Fiend

Important: Children under four probably shouldn't eat pennies, either.