#52 - Marinela Pingüinos

In January of 2005, the documentary March of the Penguins was released into theaters to thunderous applause and countless (well, they could be counted, but I didn't feel it would have been the best use of my time) accolades. It was basically the Hamilton of the documentary world (in other words, it was a big hit). Caught up in the hysteria surrounding the flightless birds, my brother contacted my mother, extending an invitation to treat her to the allegedly (I still haven't seen it, actually) spectacular film.

But then something happened...

Or, rather, nothing happened.

For reasons still unknown, the trip to the movie theater never happened. Days passed. Then weeks. Then months (that's how time progresses, after all). My mother kept quiet, but she did not forget, and when my brother's birthday came around (as birthdays do), she exacted her revenge in a form she dubbed: "Penguinpalooza."

The birthday card had penguins on it. The wrapping paper had penguins on it. The majority (if not all) of the gifts were penguin related. Penguin books. Penguin socks. Even a waddling penguin pooper that ejects edible pellets from its bottom (because of course those exist; though, to be fair, penguin droppings are not without merit).

It was an effective tactic which continued through numerous subsequent birthdays (and holidays), and, for all I know, it may be continuing to this day (just more discreetly).

I mention this to explain why, when my mother sent me an article concerning international treats and I admitted I had never tried the Pingüinos mentioned in said article and then found myself in a gas station in South Carolina (in no way related to the article) with a generous selection of Marinela products (including the aforementioned Pingüinos), I had no choice but to pick up a pack of the cream-filled cupcakes.

I mean, I could probably use a pair of penguin socks (who couldn't?), but I've already seen candy and animal feces cross paths more often than any one man should. And so, with that in mind, today's subject is Marinela Pingüinos:

Penguinpalooza insurance.

I was first introduced to Marinela via their Gansito snack cakes, which failed to wow me. Still, Marinela got a lot right, so there was plenty of room for optimism. Let's get to the review!

To start, the package design (alternate view here) is, much like all their products, expertly done. The colors catch one's eye, the cupcake graphic makes one's mouth water, and the hip penguin with his bright red jacket and ultra-cool (I'll assume that's what they were going for) headphones is well drawn (even if I'd never want to meet him in real life). Plus, the front boasts that the treat is a good source of calcium, and that's always my top priority when selecting snack cakes!

Now, it occurs to me that Marinela seems to have a bird theme for its mascots (no, really!): first the Gansito gosling (who on newer packages sports more of a hipster vibe), and now the Pingüinos penguin ("pingüinos" is Spanish for "penguins," by the way; Marinela needs some help in the naming department). In keeping with tradition, I feel obligated to give the Pingüinos mascot a nickname, and so I'm going with Penguindict Cupcakebatch (for obvious reasons).

I do have to say that I can at least see the penguin inspiration in this case (though it's a bit of a stretch); the white-on-black (well, dark brown) motif is sound enough. But Marinela could have stood out some by altering the squiggle on top (which does not fit the penguin theme very well) into a more unique shape/form. Perhaps Penguindict Cupcakebatch is more of a conformist than he'd like you to believe.

Anyhow, the expiration date (which I forgot to take a separate photo of but is clearly visible on the front of the package) seems alarming, but that's just because other activities (such as eating candy) and mild illness got in the way of writing this review. I actually ate my Pingüinos with days to spare. So it's all good.

I did manage to snap a picture of the nutrition facts panel (go me!):

It all evens out in the end.

Pingüinos compare quite well with Hostess Cupcakes (which the product is clearly emulating). They are slightly smaller, but I'm hoping that just means they're packed with flavor (they've got less calcium, by the way). Being more familiar with candy bar stats than those of snack cakes, I was pleasantly surprised with the Calorie count. Two cupcakes is about one and a half (typical) candy bars, Calorie-wise, despite looking larger. That may be something to keep in mind when my sweet tooth is getting out of control (though the amount of sodium is much, much higher; I can't win).

Are these healthy? By no means. But then, one does not browse gas stations if one is looking for health foods, does one? No, one most certainly does not.

Just to be sure, why don't we check the ingredients list... Oh wait, the ingredients list is practically unreadable without beginning to open the packaging. Well, that's either a blunder on Marinela's part or an underhanded way of compelling consumers to buy Pingüinos (I can imagine places posting "You look at the ingredients, you buy it!" signs to take advantage of the "feature").

Fortunately, I've already bought it, so I can start the unwrapping process and take a gander (sorry, that expression must've been left over from my Gansito review) at the ingredients:

The further you read, the more the plot thickens...

While not nearly as formidable as the Gansito ingredient list, Pingüinos are not a simple product. The number of ingredients necessary to produce cream-filled chocolate cupcakes is, quite frankly, astonishing. The entries also stray from what I encounter in candies and other sweets; things like sodium aluminum sulfate, sorbitan monostearate, titanium dioxide, and (maybe most frightening of all) locust bean gum can sound frightening (especially if you struggle with chemophobia). But truthfully, some of the most terrifying (exhibits A and B, for instance) candies I've had the misfortune of consuming have had the most normal-sounding ingredients, so I'm not too concerned.

But should I be? Only one way to find out...

They look just like penguins!

Tearing open the wrapper resulted in the familiar aroma of Hostess Cupcakes. Seriously, I don't think I could tell them apart in a blind smell test. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but neither is it necessarily a good thing, as Hostess Cupcakes are just okay to me (sorry, Hostess). Don't get me wrong, I'll eat them without hesitation; they're just not high on my list of favorite Hostess products.

I did notice that my Pingüinos appeared a tad dry, but since the "best before" date was still days away, I figured it was within the acceptable range of normalcy.

Though, if it looks like a Hostess Cupcake and smells like a Hostess Cupcake, logic would suggest that it probably tastes like a Hostess Cupcake, right?

As usual, no. Quit jumping to conclusions, will you?

This is not, I repeat NOT, a Hostess Cupcake. I promise!

I don't know if it was the locust bean gum or perhaps just the penguinicity (for lack of a better word) of it all, but I noticed a distinct difference in both the taste and consistency. And I mean that in the best way. The more I thought about what I was experiencing, the more convinced I became that it was something special. The chocolate cake was delectable. The cream filling was delicious. It was, in a word, fantastic, superior to the original Hostess variety in every way.

My initial thought upon finishing off the second cupcake was to rate Pingüinos a high 3, but further contemplation led me to decide I needed to just go ahead and give it a 4. And so that's what I've done. I just couldn't shake the memory of how much I enjoyed eating the cupcakes (seeing the empty package afterwards was a sad sight, indeed), and I instantly regretted not having bought more. I even found myself planning to purchase a pack (or two) if I happen upon them again.

Needless to say, I'm a fan. Top-notch work, Marinela! I had my doubts, but you've made a believer out of me.

And Mom, if you're reading this, I hope I've reviewed the Pingüinos in a time and manner acceptable to you.

Waiting in nervous anticipation,
The Sweets Fiend

I considered drizzling chocolate over them for authenticity, but I was fresh out of melted chocolate (I'm so embarrassed)!

#51 - Compañía Nacional de Chocolates Jumbo Flow

If one were to randomly select a citizen of the United States of America and ask him or her to name something Colombia is known for, one would likely get one of three responses:

1. What is Colombia?
2. Drugs (or drug lords)
3. Coffee (which is technically the same as #2, caffeine being a drug and all)

Now, Colombia's association with drugs is not exactly unjustified; my oldest (in terms of duration, certainly not by age) friend was born and raised in Colombia, and she has hinted that it is not an entirely skewed view from the outside (which is proof enough for me). But it would be foolish for one to let a little (or a lot, as the case may be) drug (and human) trafficking to limit one's impression of a country that has much, much more (muggings and fraud immediately spring to mind) to offer.

For instance, while some might recognize a certain Colombian actress advertising (what else) a coffee maker, or a certain Colombian singer who has advertised teeth-whitening strips (I'm presuming to remove coffee stains), not many outside the ornithological world are aware that Colombia boasts a larger variety of birds than any other country (plus, the constant threat of assault/theft adds some much needed excitement to one's birding experience). And I would wager a guess that very few Americans (as in United States of America Americans, of course) have ever heard of Copetín, Colombia's popular and long-running comic strip that takes a lighthearted look at life as only a Colombian could.

Yes, Colombia is much more than drugs. In fact, recently Colombia has seen a marvelous increase in cacao production (which I know also contains caffeine, but I have to draw the line somewhere, and I choose to draw it at chocolate). Granted, in Colombia even growing cacao is enough to put your life in grave danger, but that only makes the efforts all the more admirable, and I am not one to let such determination go unrewarded.

Thus, I have decided that today's subject should be manufactured by none other than Colombia's own Compañía Nacional de Chocolates. But which chocolate treat to choose? Why, Jumbo Flow, of course!

I guess it sounds marginally better than "Colossal Discharge."

Let me be the first (in this blog, anyhow) to say that "Jumbo Flow" is is a terrible name for a candy bar. Here's a free tip for all candy manufacturers out there: if the name you've chosen for your product could just as easily refer to a category of menstrual pads, you might want to rethink it (to further my point, one online thesaurus's list of synonyms for "flow" begins with the words "discharge," "flood," and "leakage," none of which is the least bit appetizing).

As it turns out, "Jumbo" is a brand of chocolate bars (my sample, at 48g, is by no means jumbo), and the "Flow" version happens to be a relatively new addition to the line. It still makes little sense to me. The only explanation I can come up with is that the creators were under duress when choosing the name (based on my extensive research on the country, I am willing to believe that any and/or all Colombians are under duress at any given point in time) and, in their rush to finish their project, unsuccessfully sought a word to epitomize their predicament.

Lousy name aside, the package design is decent. Not great, but decent. The color scheme is suitable and inviting, and the chocolate bar depiction is appealing, though strangely low resolution when compared to the rest of the graphics on the wrapper (and once I had noticed it, it became rather distracting). Overall, though, not a bad job.

What are you trying to tell (or sell) me, Jumbo Flow?

I failed to find any sign of a "best by" date on the packaging, though there was some faded information in black on the dark brown background (so easy on the eyes). The date might've been in there somewhere, but if so, it was hidden extremely well. The closest I could find was a series of numbers ("16217," to be exact), which, if representing a date, indicates one that has passed long ago. Then again, the first match for "16217" in a Google search brings up a listing for a house in Cleveland, Ohio. Perhaps Jumbo sells advertising space on their products. I doubt it, but they make a chocolate bar called "Jumbo Flow," so they obviously think outside the box.

On to things I am sure of, however. The package contains the description: "Nougat with caramel and peanut, covered with chocolate flavor."

Yes, it says it is covered with chocolate flavor. Not chocolate, but chocolate flavor. I am hoping it is just a poor translation and does not mean that I am about to eat tofu flavored like "chocolate" or the like, because nougat, caramel, and peanut(s?) are right up my alley, and I'd be dreadfully disappointed if some wretched barrier lay between me and those mouth-watering components.

The ingredients list should clear that up, but tradition dictates I first discuss the nutritional information (conveniently hidden under the wrapper's back flap):

Nothing you haven't seen before, now in an even more tedious format!

Compañía Nacional de Chocolates chose to go for a daring paragraph-style format rather than an easy-to-read graph. To be fair, they also prominently display some of the stats on the front of the wrapper, although for only half a bar. Altogether, it makes for an unpleasant experience, and if I weren't obligated (per my commitment to you, dear reader(s)), I'd write no more about it.

As it is, I'm not going to write much more about it anyhow, because there's not much to say. The stats are perfectly typical, comparable to, say, an everyday Snickers bar. So no surprises there. In fact, it is quite rare that I come across a candy that shocks me with its nutritional data. Sweets tend to be unhealthy with a consistency that spans all brands and cultures. But I will persist with the nutritional section of my reviews, just in case. Because I know the moment I stop will be the moment an anomaly crosses my path.

Oddly enough, the lack of nutrition shenanigans brought some relief to my concerns of the promised "chocolate flavor." Let's see if the list of ingredients further allays my worries:

Much more ado about nothing.

The ingredients are even more of a pain to read than the nutritional info (the allergens do stand out, I'll give them that), so I will save you the trouble of reading it yourself: again, there is nothing out of the ordinary (aside from the fact that one ingredient is called "coverage chocolate"). Could it be that this is actually just a normal, run-of-the-mill chocolate bar? No hidden grubs (or, for that matter, drugs) to catch me off guard? Just glorious nougat and caramel and peanuts covered in chocolate?

Things were looking pretty good at this point, so I carefully tore open the wrapper...

Fortunately, the aroma that greeted me was not only pleasant, but familiar. It took a moment to place it, but the scent was very much reminiscent of a Baby Ruth, which is currently one of my go-to candies. Needless to say, I was thrilled. Despite its name, Jumbo Flow was seriously starting to look like a winner.

Well, perhaps "look" was a poor word choice. See, when I removed it from its coverage plastic (the wrapper; just thought I'd try to take a page out of the ingredients list's book) my Jumbo Flow was not exactly the belle of the ball.

She ain't pretty, but I ain't too...

Caramel and nougat (and peanut(s?)) were bursting out with no regard for the chocolate covering (discharge and leakage indeed), cracking the bar on all sides. But, while it was perhaps not what I would call a thing of beauty, I've seen worse (oh, so much worse), and I was feeling optimistic that its flavor would be unhindered by its hideous outward appearance.

Right?

Right. And I am glad to say that my greatest expectations were exceeded!

One bite, and I was sold (unlike that house in East Cleveland (at least at the time of this writing)). The chocolate. The nougat. The caramel. The peanuts. It was all delightfully exquisite. And it tasted remarkably like a Baby Ruth, albeit with a thicker layer of nougat.

I loved every minute of consuming it.

Therefore, it is without hesitation that I rate the Compañía Nacional de Chocolates Jumbo Flow a well-deserved 4. It came into my life with the odds stacked against it but won me over with its fine texture and flavor. I have only wonderful memories of my brief time spent with it.

So well done, Colombia. I applaud the tenacity of your citizens as they face turmoil and uncertainty, and I commend the brave souls who put their lives at risk to bring sweet, sweet goodness to the world. You are true heroes.

I mean, no candy is really worth putting one's life at risk... but, if I'm being honest, the Jumbo Flow comes pretty close.

Flowing (though not leaking) with gratitude,
The Sweets Fiend

How could anyone say no to this?

#50 - Sarotti Katzenzungen (marbled)

People love cats. When I say "people," I of course do not mean all of mankind. But when it comes to those who do love cats, they really, really, REALLY LOOOVE cats. They have been worshiped as gods. The word "cat" produces nearly 90 MILLION results on YouTube (no one will ever live long enough to see them all). Cats have their own web pages (and full-length motion pictures) and magazines. Cats inherit fortunes (in case wealthy humans weren't enough to make you feel inadequate).

Basically, people are crazy about their cats.

I discovered this firsthand when I, in a whim of cat fancy (and at the request of my wife), created a 10-week game of sorts titled "The CATchelor," which pitted a dozen beloved pet contestants through a series of increasingly ridiculous tasks to win the heart of my dashing but ill-tempered feline (may he rest in peace). There was absolutely no real prize and the elimination process was without rhyme or reason, yet each and every owner put forth great time and effort to win (and I use that term very loosely), because... well, they are crazy about their cats (I was very thankful for their participation).

And the kicker is, if one looks at the situation objectively, it's hard to deny that cats are jerks. If you were to date a human with the personality of a cat (and if you are dating, I do so hope it is a human), your friends would tell you to break it off as soon as possible because you were being treated like garbage. And they'd be right.

But somehow it's okay for cats. A gentle purr and warm nuzzle, and suddenly it doesn't matter that they've torn your new furniture to shreds and vomited mouse innards on your pillow. Also, they're hungry, and their food bowl is ONLY HALF FULL!

Cats have an unexplainable hold over people.

It was inevitable, then, that I should sooner or later come across candy that was feline-themed in some manner. Cats inspire all sorts of inane products, after all. And so I humbly present to you Sarotti Katzenzungen (marbled):

Hang in there, kitties!

Sarotti is one of those companies that, while largely unknown in the United States, boasts a lengthy history in Germany. Its age is revealed by its mascot, Sarotti-Mohr (first debuted 100 years ago), who was, until recently, a small stereotyped dark-skinned boy (or possibly man?) from the "Orient" who pulled pieces off of his never-ending chocolate bar and deposited them directly into the mouths of expectant fellow human beings (not to mention animals and woodland gnomes). Cringeworthy stuff. Thankfully, Sarotti finally came to their senses in 2004, deciding that perhaps a more culturally sensitive icon would be preferable. So they changed his skin to gold (sort of a lateral move, if you ask me). One can read the whole story (assuming one can read German) on the company's mascot page.

If one does not like to read, one can instead watch Sarotti's "Chocolait Chips" commercial and risk never again being able to say the words "chocolate chips" without breaking into song (I know it's unrelated to anything, but how could I resist?).

But let's leave that all behind us and focus on the packaging, shall we? My first impression was that the box felt cheaply constructed and the print quality of the kittens (which I assume were chosen for their "marbled" fur) was surprisingly poor. Additionally, the badly-superimposed photo of the product was (and is) unappetizing (and an observant individual would notice that both chocolates appear to be exactly the same; I guess Sarotti was too stingy to provide two for the photo shoot). I think someone needs to inform Sarotti that slapping a picture of a group of kittens onto the front of a package is not the solution to... well, anything, really. The overall effect is more depressing than adorable, and I do not feel confident that the kittens pictured have happy lives or bright futures.

That impression is further supported by the collective body language and expressions of the kittens. The leftmost kitty seems slightly curious about the odd-shaped treats, but the one in the middle looks to be backing away in uncertainty (with a hint of horror?), and the feline farthest to the right looks to be giving the stink eye to an unseen individual to the left, who presumably left the candies at their feet.

Could their reactions be due to the fact that chocolate is dangerous to cats? Or maybe it's simply because cats do not have the ability to taste sweets? Sadly, the answer is far more nefarious: "katzenzungen" translates to "cat tongues." That's right, folks, this is a box of marbled chocolate "cat tongues" (which admittedly don't look much like real cat tongues; my wife thought they were supposed to be bones, which would be just about as accurate, appearance-wise).

Suddenly, it all makes more sense, doesn't it?

Believe it or not, cat tongue chocolates (and cookies) have been popular throughout the world for a long time. I'm not sure how anyone could have found the idea of severed cat tongues appealing, but, as I've said before, people will find inspiration for candies absolutely anywhere.

Anyhow, while my mind tries to make sense of the concept (a futile endeavor, no doubt), I might as well continue on with the review.

My, how time flies!

So here goes. The "best before" date can be found on the back of the box, with the obligatory additional information not meant for the consumer. Looking at the recommended date, it would be fair to assume I missed it. By more than two months, even. But, as it turns out, things aren't always what they seem. I actually consumed my samples on time, and the publishing of this review has just been delayed again and again (due to holiday festivities, bouts with illness, and general laziness).

Just pretend you're reading this two months or so ago (you know, before the thought of eating cat tongues had entered your mind) and everything will be all right.

The nutritional facts are also on the back, in so many languages that the panel practically doubles as a multilingual travel dictionary:

Learn to say "fat" in many tongues (feline variety excluded).

As is standard in Europe, the data is based on a serving size of 100g, and, as a very welcome surprise, the entire box is conveniently labeled as 100g. Nice!

Compared to other chocolate candies I've had, the fat content is slightly higher than average (with perhaps ever-so-slightly less sugar), but not enough to be a significant difference. Really, there's nothing noteworthy or unexpected here, though the panel does bring a (non-cat-tongue-related) question to mind: how many languages is too many to include on the back of a box of chocolates? I think Sarotti is really pushing the envelope here in that regard, and I suppose I ought to view their inclusivity favorably, even if it does make things a little messy.

The ingredients list follows suit, providing the buyer with several more words and phrases to add to his or her international vernacular:

The "all-caps" allergens just jump right out at you, don't they?

Honestly, the ingredients are neither unusual (no real cat tongues, for instance) nor very numerous, but the sheer number of languages provided creates a giant, unreadable word jumble unmatched by even the mighty Marinela Gansito. Common allergens are written in all capital letters with the intent that they'll stand out. I'm sure we can all agree that the effort is every bit as effective as the altering of Sarotti-Mohr's skin color.

Sarotti, you never cease to amaze me!

Needless to say, I was ready to be done with the exterior investigation and open up my box of marbled chocolate "cat tongues."

So that's what I did.

These must be formal cat tongues.

The front of the box advertises (at least according to Google Translate) "with foil sealing for the finest chocolate treat," and there was most certainly a seal protecting my chocolates. Things were off to a good start.

But then I noticed that something was amiss: the marbled design of my "tongues" was different from what was pictured on the packaging, with a milk chocolate band (a cummerbund - or "tonguerbund" - of sorts) across the middle. Now, I'm generally not one to complain about the appearance of my marbled cat tongues (you can ask anyone), but it did cause me to wonder what happened. Is the image of the product on the front so old that it does not reflect the current trend in cat tongue marbling (and has anyone produced a "Where are they now?" documentary about the kitten models?), or did the Sarotti marbler (I assume that's a job title) have a bit too much to drink before/during work the day my batch was prepared? Regardless, it probably doesn't matter, as I can't decide whether I prefer what I expected or what I received.

After removing the seal and giving the chocolates a closer look, I concluded that the photograph on the box was indeed a failure on Sarotti's part (to be fair, I don't think I did any better); based on their appearance I would not classify the tongues as "the finest chocolate treat" by any means, but they did seem edible, at least, and that's something. Still not appetizing (I don't know what it was about them), but edible.

Unfortunately, the flavor did little to improve my opinion of the "tongues." It was fine, just, again, not "the finest." Both the milk chocolate and white chocolate portions had tastes and textures so generic that I can not even find words to describe them (I guess you could say that the tables have turned and the cat's got my tongue). Seriously, I feel you can buy a box of marbled chocolates from any unknown manufacturer at your favorite discount store and get a similar product (flavor-wise, anyhow).

That's not necessarily a bad thing; I was just disappointed by the lack of uniqueness. I was, frankly, disappointed by Sarotti Katzenzungen altogether, and I can't put my finger on why. Sure, the packaging left much to be desired, but the taste was decent (if not special), and the whole "cat tongue" concept, while bizarre, doesn't bother me.

And so it is with confusion and reluctance that I rate Sarotti Katzenzungen (at least the marbled variety) a lowly 1. I've not doubt that on taste alone it should've been rated a 2, but something about the whole experience was off-putting to me, and I have no desire to relive it (the parameters of my rating scale are pretty clear). My capacity for sugar intake is too limited to use on candy that I don't enjoy. So, sorry, Sarotti, but it's going to take more than a picture of kittens (and cloned chocolates) to win me over.

I just wish I knew where things went so wrong. Who knows, maybe the thought of eating cat tongues does bother me more than I thought. Maybe it's the idea of the poor, traumatized kittens confronted with the tongues of their parents (hence the two on the box), which were cut out for incessant meowing (if you think I'm being overly dramatic here, you haven't read enough classic German children's stories).

Or maybe it's the fact that cats use their tongues to clean their butts.

I guess we'll never know.

With a renewed appreciation for toilet paper,
The Sweets Fiend

I'd have taken a picture of two "tongues," but... tradition and all...