Monday, May 11, 2020

#55 - Fazer Dumle original

Dreams are funny (as in strange) things. When I say "dreams," I mean the sort one has while asleep, as opposed to the goals and aspirations one has while fully awake (though those can at times be just as confusing and unrealistic, not to mention also funny (not necessarily as in strange)).

For instance, when I dream, I am a Dr. Who of sorts (I was originally going to link to information about Dr. Who here but decided that if you are not at all familiar with the character after 50+ years and 800+ episodes, you're on your own), traveling through space and time as if the laws of the universe did not apply to me (my subconscious self is such a rebel).

One instant I will be in an off-brand version of my childhood home with a combination of my brothers and/or sisters and any other random people who feel inclined to disturb my slumber, and the next I'll be driving on a road which is, for no apparent reason, several hundred feet in the air (and, as usual, my brakes don't work). And at the time it does not in the least strike me as bizarre that there was no explanation for how I got from point A to point B (which probably explains my writing).

It would be like my father-in-law and I watching a Charles Bronson film (don't judge me) which was missing thirty minutes of footage (cut so that two Charles Bronson movies would fit onto one budget DVD) and not being even slightly perplexed as to why there was suddenly a car chase scene involving antagonists we had never seen before (for the record, we were more than slightly perplexed and figured both of us had fallen asleep and then woken up synchronously).

But poorly edited (or, for that matter, poorly written) movies aside, I had always assumed that the sudden transportation phenomenon was exclusive to the realm of dreams.

Then I went to Ikea.

It being my first time and all (which you would know, if you paid attention), I was unprepared for the fact that walking through an Ikea store is an experience very much like my dreams: you find yourself trapped in a seemingly endless series of different (yet strangely connected) rooms and locations which seem real enough, but also seem to be just convincing facsimiles of reality (because that's what they are), and as you walk from one to the next, there is a sense of being transported into a different house altogether. Only it's not a house, of course. And there are people everywhere you've never met who don't live there (unless they've given up on ever finding the exit), yet they seem familiar, because perhaps you've encountered them in another room. Or in your dreams. And everything is for sale (okay, that bit's less like my dreams; also the brakes did not go out on the car).

It's all very surreal.

So you follow the arrows, because you've lost all sense of direction but trust there must be an end somewhere, and when you've all but given up hope and your belly is empty, you finally arrive at the cafeteria, which offers a selection of food items (which are admittedly quite good) to purchase, including Swedish meatballs (because, honestly, what dream ends without Swedish meatballs making an appearance?).

Anyhow, as much as I enjoyed the entire journey, my favorite part was probably the very end (and not just because it confirmed that there was indeed a "very end"), where I discovered a number of shelves containing international snacks and candies.

Naturally, I decided to reward myself for making it through the store without a single mental breakdown (thought I suppose what constitutes a mental breakdown is debatable) by shelling out some cash for today's test subject: Fazer's Dumle (original)!

I totally earned this.

My relationship (just friends) with Fazer goes way back to my sixth review, which featured the Kina Wafer (and in case you were wondering, I still cannot remember what the Finnish flag looks like). That was a solid product, so I had high hopes for Dumle.

The packaging is simple, but well done; after all, I ended up choosing it over a wide variety of competitors. I think part of what drew me to it was the combination of the color scheme and promise of toffee, which brought the delectable Daim to mind (though, to be fair, the use of the colors and overall style is not at all like Daim's when compared side by side). I do not understand the importance of the shooting stars, but maybe that has something to do with the Finnish flag (which, again, I cannot for the life of me remember; sorry, Finland!). Regardless, it all looks like good fun, and the graphic of the candy makes my mouth water with anticipation.

Now, according to Wikipedia, Dumle was originally a Swedish creation with hard toffee until Fazer took over, made the toffee softer, and rebranded it "Dumle original," which one has to admit is a rather ironic name, especially if Wikipedia is correct (and why wouldn't it be?) in suggesting the name "Dumle" was inspired by (i.e., stolen from) one of Sweden's earliest children's programs: Humle och Dumle, which, as far as I can tell, is about a Swedish serial killer/amateur mad scientist who somehow decapitates his victims without killing them and locks their heads in a cupboard, where they lament their mutual misfortune and discuss and sing about the possible future horrors they will be subjected to; keep in mind this was one of their first children's programs, meaning this was not the result of running out of ideas in a crowded market but rather one of the initial concepts dreamed up by the twisted minds in the Swedish broadcasting world (unrelated note to self: remove "visit Sweden" from bucket list).

But, really, Fazer has nothing to do with the nightmares I will certainly be having for the foreseeable future (and may in fact even be trying to distance themselves from the candy's disturbing link) so I will not hold it against them (their commercials, however, are another story).

Bottom line: I like the packaging.

The "best by" date and production dates are clearly printed on the back of the bag:

Do you possess the skills to decipher which is the production date and which is the "best by" date?

This review was a long time coming, so I had actually done my sampling in plenty of time (I did save one piece to consume after the suggested date just to prove how much of a rebel I am, but I noticed no difference in either the flavor or texture). I did find the specific dates puzzling until I remembered that 2020 is a leap year, so April 14th represents the 365th day.

In other words, Dumle "original" (I felt the quotes were necessary) has a shelf life of one full year, which I would sadly wager is significantly longer than the shelf life of the true original Dumle (or Humle, for that matter).

But you have probably had it up to here ("here" referring to the bloody stumps upon which Humle and Dumle's heads once sat) with talk of severed heads (unless you happen to be Swedish), so let's quickly move on to the nutritional information, which will hopefully be less frightening.

Or at least we can hope...

No severed heads here! Whew!

Thankfully, the "Nutrition Facts" panel is fairly dull. Sure, there is plenty of sugar (and saturated fat), but what do you expect from chocolate-covered toffee (plus, it bodes well for the taste)? Besides, the Calorie count is actually a bit less than most candy bars I've come across when compared per gram, and portion control should be easier when one needs to unwrap each (approximately) 7.5g morsel of Dumle.

Then again, I have been known to lose track of how many small pieces of candy I've been eating, waking from my sugar-induced hypnagogia in a pile of wrappers and shame (I have a theory that candy wrappers multiply when nobody's looking; TCR-FRESHY 5000 and TTR-CRAB 900 have been diligently working together on testing it but have not yet produced any supporting evidence).

I get the feeling four pieces is going to be either three too many or nowhere near enough.

A perusal of the ingredients list should shed more light on the situation:

This is almost disappointingly tame.

Again, there is nothing of note (though the word "milk" appears more frequently than I'd have imagined), with most of the ingredients being readily recognized (or at least pronounceable) by even the most chemistry-challenged consumer. The only exception may be soy lecithin, which, depending on who you ask, can either be taken as a supplement as it's beneficial to your brain and liver or should be avoided at all costs as it's detrimental to your brain and can cause cancer. Aren't ingredients fun?

My take on the debate: "lecithin" contains the word "thin," and that's good enough for me.

Also, glucose syrup is the primary ingredient, so these things are sure to be delicious!

But are they? It was time to tear into my bag of Dumle:

Not a Humle in sight.

Upon opening the package, I was greeted with a pleasant but hard to identify aroma (probably something like chocolate-covered toffees) and about thirty-six individually-wrapped candies (I didn't bother to count, I am just trusting in Fazer's "servings per bag" estimation). The stars that had seemed slightly confusing on the big package added a hint of sparkle and excitement on the smaller wrappers, and I felt a sense of pure satisfaction with my acquisition even before eating a single piece.

And then I did eat a single piece.

My first impression was that it was indeed tasty, but I had had better. Something was just holding it back ever-so-slightly. And then I was done with it, and I realized I had been wrong: it was fantastic! As if I were in some wonderful candy-themed dream, the Dumle had somehow jumped from quite good to marvelous without any clue as to how it got from point A to point B (sort of like how a candy maker made the jump from singing severed heads to chocolate-covered toffees). I needed to try another.

And so I did. More than once.

Each time, I marveled at the way the flavor developed until the piece was gone and I was left craving more. Lest you think it's simply some quirk of my taste buds, my wife concurred with my assessment: the aftertaste is somehow even better than the already delicious... "during taste" (what else do I call the pre-aftertaste?).

I couldn't tell you how many servings I had that first day (nor would I want to even if I could), but I can guarantee it was more than one, and I therefore cannot rate Fazer Dumle original anything other than an outstanding 4! Dumle's flavor gymnastics are delightfully unique, and I would gladly advise anyone who enjoys chewy chocolate-covered treats to head to the nearest Ikea and buy a bag for yourself (and for me, too, if you're feeling generous).

While you're there, feel free to also pick up some furniture to build, such as a bedroom set or dining room table.

Or maybe a cupboard. You know, for your collection of severed heads.

Living the dream,
The Sweets Fiend

Nothing but YES!!!

Sunday, January 26, 2020

#54 - Ozmo Ogopogo

I have never been to Turkey. Once upon a time (twenty years or so ago, if you must know), however, my brother paid the country a visit and supplied me with a brief recap of his stay, so, suffice it to say, I have a fairly decent understanding of the country (also, loyal readers will recall that I have tried and sort of liked Turkish Delight; never mind that it was a British candy).

After all, how much can a country change in twenty (or so) years?

To be honest, though, I basically remember two things he told me:
  1. Inflation in Turkey was (and is) out of control (as high as 70% at its worst). This is why, upon his return, my brother generously presented me with 250,000 Turkish lira, which seemed like a small fortune to me (emphasis on the "small", as it equated to just over 3 USD). Today, my 250,000 Turkish lira note is worth... well, nothing, really, because starting in 2005, Turkey redenominated their currency so that what was formerly 1,000,000 Turkish lira became a single Turkish lira (which, at the time of this writing, is worth seventeen cents). I guess my "fortune" could make for an interesting bookmark or something.
  2. Turkish drivers are insane, and if you're a pedestrian you're as good as dead. I also have a distinct memory of researching the statistics and finding that they supported his assessment. Curiously, current research leads to no such conclusion, and I cannot even find evidence to support his claim that pedestrians have no rights in Turkish traffic. So maybe I just imagined this bit, but it seems like an odd false memory for younger me to have wasted time and brainpower on, so I'm going to propose the possibility that it was all a Turkish conspiracy started over two decades ago with the intent of making me look foolish (I'm not sure whether the lack of Turkish interest in my blog strengthens or weakens my case here).
Okay, so I most likely only remember one thing about Turkey (that my money's no good there; perhaps another component of the Turkish conspiracy against me), but that's not going to stop me from reviewing my first treat from the land of Turks: Ozmo Ogopogo!

In case you hadn't noticed, "ogopogo" is a palindrome.

Now, "Ozmo Ogopogo" might sound like a preposterous and nonsensical secret word of the day at Pee-Wee's Playhouse (speaking of things that happened over twenty years ago), but it's actually a preposterous and nonsensical chocolate cream filled cake bear which may or may not be a panda (I honestly cannot tell, and, trust me, I know my pandas).

Anyhow, Ozmo is just one of the many brands from which Şölen ("Turkey’s leading exporter of chocolate") is obtaining power in order to take "firm steps towards the future," and if those words don't cause you to suspect a Turkish conspiracy, I don't know what will (except maybe this: 2020 marks Ozmo's 20th anniversary - there's that "twenty" number again, thrice; numerologists across the world are surely jumping on the conspiracy bandwagon at this point).

Wild stuff.

Conspiracy theories aside, the packaging is executed pretty well, provided one does not pay too much attention to the (panda?) bear, whose totally unbearlike (is that a word?) face (frankly, the dark "panda" eye patches look more like bug eyes here) and strangely prominent belly button make me more uncomfortable than I'd like to admit publicly (lest that be part of the whole "making me look foolish" scheme), or the red (could the designer be colorblind, or is the grass just blood-soaked?) grass. The colors are bright and appealing, and the font choices reinforce the overall atmosphere of "fun" (assuming one finds bug-eyed mutant bears frolicking about bloody landscapes fun). The front also clearly states the contents of the package (three individual packs, for instance). That's always a plus.

In other words, we're off to a reasonably positive (or disturbing, depending on your point of view) start.

The "best before" section was not as promising:

Ozmo likes to think outside the box...

What is distressing is not that the date is two weeks ago (I had started this review three weeks ago, so it was fine; I've just been moving at a snail's pace lately). No, what bothers me is the lackadaisical attitude with which the date has been stamped. The target box seems large enough to accommodate a decent margin of error, but the implementation is not even close.

Perhaps Ozmo employs bug-eyed mutant bears to do their stamping. Or perhaps they are just lax in their standards (which would contradict Şölen's manifesto). I will leave it up to you, dear reader(s), which is a more frightening prospect.

Maybe a look at the nutrition panel will ease my mind:

Add a pinch of sodium, and you've got five-sevenths of a Twinkie!

First of all, kudos to Ozmo for the sensible decision of one cake for the serving size, rather than, say, one-third of a cake as others have been known to do. Second of all, the stats look very much in line with what one should expect from a cream-filled snack cake. In fact, when you take the size difference (30g vs. 43g) into account, Ozmo Ogopogo's nutritional data is extremely similar to Twinkies.

Hopefully this bodes well for the bear cakes; while I don't eat Twinkies all that often (at least not enough to make a defense of it), I do thoroughly enjoy them, so any similarity is welcome in my book.

Thus, with renewed optimism, a look at the ingredients list was in order:

It took only three ingredients to go wrong.

While sharing some important ingredients with a Twinkie, Ogopogo deviates quite a bit throughout the list. A few of the differences are likely simply due to different countries using equivalent (but different) ingredients, probably (if I had to guess) based on the present public opinion of said ingredients. But there are other reasons, as well. For one, Ogopogo has a much longer shelf life than Twinkies (which do not stay fresh for nearly as long as urban legends suggest), which could very well serve some unknown (to me) consumer need (e.g., in a zombie apocalypse situation, you should eat your Twinkies first and save your Ogopogo for later). For another, unlike Twinkies, Ogopogo is halal certified, so Muslims can eat them to their hearts' (or stomachs') content.

The presence of hazelnut flavoring came as a bit of a surprise to me, as it was not indicated elsewhere on the package; in my experience, hazelnut flavoring tends to get a lot of attention on candy packages. Also of note is the third entry, in which the word "vegetable" is misspelled. This reaffirms suspicions of quality control issues (bug-eyed mutant bears are notoriously poor spellers) and once again dampens my enthusiasm for the cakes.

Nevertheless, it's possible Ozmo put the bulk of their resources into the manufacturing of the product itself and therefore lacked the appropriate funding for such trifles as proper spelling and accurate date stamping.

I guess we shall see when we rip into the package!

We meet again, bug-eyed mutant bear!

As promised, the cakes are individually wrapped. Furthermore, the wrapper includes all of the nutritional/ingredient information, which is an uncommon but very nice feature, as it makes the treats ready for individual sale or sharing. Ozmo won back some points with this move, though I do have to admit that the bear and miscolored grass seem somehow more unsettling without the additional space to serve as a distraction.

Ozmo was really toying with me, what with its "good news, bad news" approach to packaging.

But I had no time for mind games; I had a review to finish, and that meant I needed to take out a cake (or two, rather, to check for manufacturing consistency). And so I did:

Please rescue a poor, mistreated bear cake today!

Greeting me were two of the saddest specimens I have ever come across (and I have come across some pretty sad specimens); my discomfort upon seeing them was not due to a lack of ursine countenances (or even the belly buttons, which weren't so bad in cake form) but their heartbreaking, hopeless expressions. These bears had seen some unforgettable horrors in their short lifetime, and they were not handling it well. One's nose was so dislocated that I could not determine whether it was a birth (i.e., manufacturing) defect or a part of the aforementioned unforgettable horrors.

After taking a moment to quietly weep for their suffering (like a fool; well played, Turkey!), I took a step back (figuratively speaking) and examined the cakes more objectively. While there were definite quality control issues, I had to concede the fact that they truly did resemble the bear on the packaging, in the same way that parents resemble the portraits their four-year-old children draw; the effort was there, but the execution was lacking. Nice try, anyway, Ozmo!

The backs of the bears were less interesting (though no less depressing), being plain aside from the telltale chocolate cream injection sites.

I opened the third package and discovered what could arguably be described as the best-looking of the bunch, though its nose, too, had wandered far from home (and seemed to be bleeding, to boot):

I named this little guy "Handsome George."

On the one hand, it is obvious that the Ogopogo manufacturing equipment cannot consistently reproduce the desired design, and that's a crying (again, well played, Turkey!) shame. On the other hand, it gives each snack bear its own unique set of struggles and tale of woe. What tragic story awaits you inside your package of Ogopogo? No one knows. And perhaps, in its own way, this makes each miniature bear more beautiful.

Or maybe Ozmo was just overly ambitious and dreadfully unaware of their limits.

Regardless, the bears smelled pretty good, and they felt like snack cakes should, so I gave one a try...

Much to my delight, it was rather tasty! The cake, compared to that of a Twinkie, is denser and a tad drier (which my wife suggested pairs very well with coffee) and flavorful, with the light and dark portions of cake having their own tastes. The chocolate/hazelnut cream filling is everything one would hope and expect from such a treat. Ozmo has seriously put out a quality product here!

I truly enjoyed consuming my Ogopogo bears (and putting them out of their misery was the icing on the cake, so to speak) and would highly recommend them to anyone in the mood for a chocolate cream snack cake with hazelnut flavoring.

There is only one problem: I'm not that into hazelnut. As much as I'm a fan of the bears in spirit (though I wouldn't go so far as to say a bug-eyed mutant bear was my spirit animal), I cannot see my taste buds requiring hazelnut flavoring anytime soon, and so I must sadly rate Ozmo Ogopogo a 2. You might feel differently if you were to try one, and if you're into hazelnut and chocolate, I'd suggest you do just that.

Then feel free to let me know just how wrong you think I am. Conspiracy or not, I don't mind; looking like a fool has never tasted so sweet.

Taking firm steps towards the future,
The Sweets Fiend

Are Ogopogo bears filled with sadness? No, chocolate and hazelnut filling (and probably at least a little sadness)!