#44 - Arnott's Tim Tam (chewy caramel)

If one were to view my collection of player's club cards (or whatever they're called) from the various casinos I've been to, one might come to the conclusion that I have a bit of a gambling problem. As usual, one would be mistaken. I do not gamble (with good reason: I once converted $10 of free play into a whopping $0.79 in winnings), but there is a perfectly logical reason for me to own said cards: I enjoy a good buffet (that makes more sense, now, doesn't it?), and casinos tend to have good buffets, complete with discounts for card-carrying members.

My lack of interest in gambling extends to horse races (in my younger days, I did dabble in it via my Commodore 64, which I'm sure is just as exciting as the real thing), so one might bet (if one has a gambling problem) that I could never in a million years guess the name of the horse that won the Kentucky Derby in 1958.

Yet again, one would be wrong (why does one even try?), and, yet again, there is a perfectly logical explanation (again involving my appetite): in 1958, Ross Arnott was a spectator at the "Most Exciting Two Minutes In Sports" (i.e., the Kentucky Derby, if you haven't figured that out) and decided to "borrow" (i.e., steal) the name of the winning horse for a newly designed cookie (which itself was inspired by Penguin biscuits).

Thus, Arnott's Tim Tam was born, a product that has through the years seen its fair share of variations, and today (wouldn't you know it?) I am tasked with reviewing the chewy caramel edition:

A cookie by any other name would taste as sweet.

In my humble opinion, this might just be the worst name origin I've come across (though it's hard to beat the Violet Crumble, which is another Australian creation; maybe Aussies just have trouble coming up with names). The product has nothing at all to do with horses (I hope), and the name (which is itself of uncertain origin) gives no indication as to what a Tim Tam is (if I were to guess, I'd suspect it referred to a Scotsman named Tim who really loved his cap). Perhaps Mr. Ross Arnott thought naming the cookie after the winning horse would bring the product success (which would hint at a superstitious nature; though Tim Tam never won the Triple Crown, so let's not set our sights so low), or perhaps he won a large chunk of change on the race (say, more than $0.79) and wanted to honor the horse responsible (which would hint at a possible gambling problem). Regardless, there is no good reason to name one's confections so haphazardly (even if today the name has become synonymous with the cookie rather than the horse).

Name aside, the packaging is really well done; it is clear Arnott's (or Pepperidge Farm; though Arnott's is an Australian company, Tim Tam has been distributed in the USA via Pepperidge Farm since 2008, and my package is decidedly American) has a world-class art team at their disposal. The swirling chocolate and caramel artwork as well as the breaking cookie graphic are exquisite, and the overall layout works. It definitely gives off a mass-market vibe, which is not necessarily a bad thing; really, the package design is every bit as successful as Tim Tam himself (I refer here to the horse, not my imaginary Scotsman friend). If I were pressed to point out flaws, I would suggest that the font for the name (though it might just be the name) seems slightly out of place, as does the parrot in the Arnott's logo (but that couldn't really be helped, could it?).

So a fine job thus far.

Well, they got it right to two decimal places...

The "best before" date can be found on the side of the package, and it happened to be Pi Day! Unfortunately, that means I missed the date (only by one day, actually, since, as usual, this review comes some time after my first tasting). To make matters worse, I didn't even eat any pie that day (oh, the tragedy of it all!). But my package of Tim Tam was given to me in an airtight bag, in which I had total confidence, so spoilage should not be an issue.

The top of the back of the package contains a brief retelling of Ross Arnott's "inspirational" day at the races. I'm not sure whether Arnott's is proud of their "creativity" or they're simply trying to explain to the consumer why their cookies have such a nonsensical name, but it takes up a significant portion of the back side, so they must've felt it was important one way or another.

At the bottom (partially obscured by the flap) is the nutrition facts panel (which also wraps around the edge some; if space were such an issue, maybe they should've cut short their origin story):

It's too much trouble to count the cookies, okay?

A quick scan of the data reveals that the Tim Tam has considerably more fat and sugar per gram than Tunnock's Real Milk Chocolate Caramel Wafer Biscuits, which I reviewed recently. I find that interesting, as both promise a chocolate-covered caramel cookie experience, and I loved Tunnock's offering; could Tim Tam's extra fat and sugar lead to a superior product? I suppose anything is possible, but forgive me if I'm a little skeptical.

Another item of note is that, while a serving is two cookies, the servings per container is a vague "About 4." So there are "about" eight cookies enclosed. I wouldn't think it would be so hard to verify whether or not a package holds more or less than (or exactly) eight cookies.

I guess we shall see.

To the side of the nutrition facts one can find the ingredients list:

How many times can you find the word "milk" in this list? (Answer: About 4)

Again, I can't help but compare the ingredients to those of Tunnock's caramel wafer biscuits, contrasting the similarities with the differences. For instance, caramel gets top billing in the Tunnock creation, while only making third place in Tim Tam. Based purely on the ingredients lists, I would bet (if I were a gambling man, that is) on Tunnock's wafer biscuit in a head-to-head battle. I also have a hunch that Tim Tam may be the cheaper of the two products to produce; however, it is a hunch with no merit whatsoever, so you might as well ignore it.

Okay, then. With the perfunctory outside investigation completed, it was time to tear into my package of Tim Tam and taste for myself the "irresistible chocolaty happiness in a cookie™."

Pictured: About 2 servings.

My initial impression was quite favorable; the aroma wafting from within was (as anticipated) not exactly luxurious, but it was sweet and appetizing (I felt I could really smell both the chocolate and caramel), which goes a long way.

The cookies come in a handy tray, neatly arranged so that one can count how many one has (it turns out "About 4" servings means nine cookies; I guess "4.5" was a bit too much for them to calculate), or (if one is a pessimist), how many one has already eaten.

I actually had expected more, as the spacing between cookies is greater than I'd imagined, but I suppose it should keep their appearance from being compromised in transit; I've already seen enough heartbreaking examples of candy mishaps to last a lifetime, so I am thankful to see Arnott's treating their own with such care.

Retrieving one of the cookies from the protective tray, I discovered their efforts were not in vain.

Say, that looks familiar...

My sample looked surprisingly like the illustration on the front of the package. It was surprising because too often the artist's rendition (even when a photograph) is an idealized fantasy of the actual product the consumer receives. It is refreshing to see a treat that bears a convincing resemblance to the example picture, so once again I take my hat off to Arnott's (figuratively speaking, of course; I am not wearing a hat at the moment).

But it doesn't matter if a sweet is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen (Tim Tam isn't, by the way, but it at least looks as it should) if its taste leaves me in despair.

So how does Arnott's Tim Tam fare in the real test?

Exceptionally well, I'm pleased to say! The chocolate, cookie, and caramel are brilliantly proportioned, and the distinct textures play together like a well-oiled orchestra (I think I've mixed up my simile there)! Frankly, I have nothing negative to say about it; it satisfied my taste buds with flying colors.

Therefore, Arnott's Tim Tam (chewy caramel) earns a top spot in my rating scale with a well-deserved 4 (or should I say "About 4"?). If I had to choose, I would give the edge to Tunnock's caramel wafer biscuits (as my Sweets Fiend Senses™ predicted), but make no mistake: Tim Tam is a true winner (and here I refer to both the horse and cookie)!

So if you have not yet had the pleasure of indulging in Tim Tam's chewy caramel adaptation, take a gamble and buy yourself a package.

Trust me, the odds are in your favor.

Fearing I've discovered a new addiction,
The Sweets Fiend

Chocolate-covered caramel-filled cookie? You can't lose!

#43 - Choward’s Guava Candy

There is a certain plot one often finds in video games and movies (or seamless mixes of claymation, toys, miniatures, rubber suits, and cartoons), wherein some malignant force which has been dormant for any number of years awakens (or reveals itself) to wreak havoc on the world. Inevitably, it is up to a small band of heroes to wage war (in an epic fashion) against the evil presence.

If you are at all a fan of the action, fantasy, and/or science fiction genre(s), you have no doubt personally encountered such a story in one form or another. Sure, it has become something of a cliché, but it can still provide a base upon which a thrilling yarn may be spun (because if spinning yarn is not thrilling, I don't know what is).

Or at least I hope it can, because today's review is very much along those lines.

Way back when my wife first suggested I try my hand at a candy review blog, she selected a variety of candies from an international goods retailer to get me started. One of the items purchased was promptly deposited into my sweets stash and forgotten.

There it has remained for the last two years, quietly plotting who knows what while awaiting the day it would finally be rediscovered.

Today is that day.

And so I present to you: Choward's Guava Candy!

Your eyes deceive you.

Though the company is officially C. Howard Company, Inc. (named after one Charles Howard), they've chosen to go with "Choward's" for the branding, which I actually find less appealing, though I couldn't say why (because I don't know, not because it's a secret). It doesn't help that the packaging is not that attractive, either, despite being oddly photogenic (trust me, it loses something once it's in your hand). Whether it's the color scheme or guava graphics (or, more likely, a combination of the two), there is a unique quality to the packaging that saddens me and produces the desire to drop it back in my candy cache. It is a mysterious phenomenon, I assure you; it is not a particularly ghastly design, but it does not seem the work of a company that's been in the candy game since the 1930s.

Between the joyless packaging and the lengthy stay in my sugar storehouse, I felt it would be wise to acquire aid in my mission, so I called upon everyone's favorite crustacean-themed robot helper: TTR-CRAB 900 (I don't know if a pair of misfits constitutes "a small band of heroes," but TCR-FRESHY 5000 had a prior engagement and was unable to offer assistance)!

Being the people-pleasing go-getter that he is, TTR-CRAB 900 wasted no time in commencing his investigation, starting with the "best by" date:

"A Delicious Confection" they say. And I'm sure they aren't biased in the least.

As might be expected, I had missed the suggested date. By a month. Oops.

Still, I suspect that the greater the recommended shelf life, the less a day or two (or thirty) will matter. I mean, after twenty or so months, what's one more, right? So I wasn't too worried about it, and neither was TTR-CRAB 900 (he's pretty easygoing, as far as robot crabs go).

In addition to the "best by" date, the weight of the product, country of origin (USA!), and company website are provided. Not too shabby, although I don't need C. Howard Company, Inc. to tell me their candy is delicious. I can do that myself (well, with the help of TTR-CRAB 900). Besides, "delicious" is a generic word that doesn't tell one anything (which I suppose is why I use it so freely when reviewing better sweets).

I quickly grew bored of looking at this side of the package and asked TTR-CRAB 900 to continue the evaluation.

One quick turn and we discovered the ingredients list:

You want nutritional information? I hope you've got some free time...

The list starts off innocently enough (with sugars and the vague "natural and artificial flavors"), but soon switches to more sinister sounding items, like magnesium stearate and Red 40 Lake. TTR-CRAB assured me that, even though it's most commonly used in pharmaceuticals and is one of the two components of soap scum, magnesium stearate shouldn't kill me.

What a relief!

Perhaps even more foreboding is the absence of any nutritional information; C. Howard Company, Inc. has decided, in their infinite wisdom, that it would be just as convenient for one to write a letter and wait for a response than to try and read a tiny nutrition data panel. That is how I often work when contemplating the purchase of consumables anyway; I pick up the item in question, pen a thoughtful message to the manufacturer of said item, and sit back in anticipation while the U.S. postal service does its thing. What could be handier?

Fortunately, one can find the elusive info online if one wishes. But even that is not worth the effort, so I will save you the trouble by telling you now (SPOILER ALERT!): three pieces of Choward's Guava Candy contain five grams of sugar, and that's it. There is no other nutritional value whatsoever. I do not see why C. Howard Company, Inc. could not have put that somewhere on the package. Granted, it wouldn't be in the traditional nutritional information panel form, and it might be hinted at by the ingredients list, but why not spare a few precious moments of their customers' lives?

I'm just saying.

Anyhow, having just wasted a few precious moments of my reader(s) lives, it would probably be for the best to carry on with the review...

TTR-CRAB 900 carefully opened the package (there was some confusion involved, as both sides said "open here;" I hope we chose correctly!) and withdrew three pieces (the suggested serving size) of the guava candy:

Attack of the Super Crab! YOU WILL ALL BE DESTROYED!

I admit to being taken aback by the candy's appearance. I had been predicting the product to take a thicker, chewier form. I guess I need to be more aware of ingredient lists' implications; all the clues were there to indicate the hard, chalky consistency one finds in candy necklaces or Flintstone Vitamins (both of which contain magnesium stearate, by the way).

Each piece is finely embossed with the Choward's logo. I've got to hand it to C. Howard Company, Inc. here: the candy may give off a cheap vibe in substance, but the imprinting is expertly done; the logo is crisp and clear, which is rarely the case at this scale. It was, quite frankly, the first time Choward's Guava Candy impressed me.

Perhaps the taste would produce a similar effect?

Meh.

My first thought upon placing one in my mouth was that the guava flavoring bore a striking similarity to the mango portion of the dreaded Usher Chili Mango Twisted Bongos, which naturally did nothing to excite my taste buds. By the third sample, however, the comparison was forgotten, replaced by the sensation of gritty, crunchy sugar.

Don't get me wrong: I was (and am) still not especially fond of the guava taste, but I didn't mind it much, either. If you can imagine a piece from a candy necklace with the added flavor of guava, you'll have an excellent idea of what to expect from the product.

And so, I rate Choward's Guava Candy a bland 2. I was a bit apprehensive about this one, and it actually turned out better than I had supposed (it will sufficiently curb a sweets craving in an emergency), but I'm afraid that, for me, it will never achieve first-string status.

Does our story today have a happy ending? I'm not sure. It was anticlimactic, certainly. There were no real victories or defeats to speak of. It was nothing like the epic tale I had envisioned (and practically promised).

Even so, I'm currently taking a break from my usual nutritional information requests to concentrate (with the aid of TTR-CRAB 900, of course) my writing efforts on the screenplay.

Just in case.

Patiently lying in wait until my next appearance,
The Sweets Fiend

They're just like vitamins without the nutrition!