#12 - Lucia Pastillas de Ube Macapuno

Whether or not you have played it, you have most likely heard of Dungeons and Dragons (it would be odd indeed to have played it without hearing of it at some point). Dungeons and Dragons (or D&D, if you're a fan of abbreviations) is of course the pencil and paper fantasy role-playing game popular with nerds, geeks, and other social outcasts, wherein the players can take part in adventures they'd probably not otherwise get to experience, such as fighting off a horde of goblins, or discovering a mountain of gold in a dragon's lair, or talking to a girl (who is, obviously, really another male player; it's not awkward at all)!

From the moment it was published in 1974, Dungeons and Dragons has been an object of controversy, being blamed for everything from suicides to murders to (perhaps worst of all) LARPing. Those allegations (aside from the LARPing one) have about as much to do with reality as the contents of the D&D Monster Manual, but at least they gave Tom Hanks his first starring role in Mazes and Monsters, the classic cautionary tale of a young man who has boundless potential but tragically finds himself in a terrible, terrible movie. Seriously, everyone should watch it once (and then never again).

Now, believe it or not, it was no accident that I brought up the Monster Manual. It is a well established fact that I am a nerd. Thus, I have spent my share of time playing Dungeons and Dragons, and I have some familiarity with the monsters of the game, so I can tell you firsthand: there are some real doozies! Many (if not most) of the monsters are taken from traditional mythology or legends, but there are also some original creations, quite a few of which I'm pretty sure were spawned from drunken sessions of Mad Libs (the raggamoffyn comes to mind, for instance). But, for sheer lameness, I'm not sure any compares to the gelatinous cube.

The gelatinous cube is more or less a large (10' per side) cube of flesh-eating Jell-O. While that is lame enough in itself, what earns it top prize in my book is that it somehow managed to be ubiquitous in early Dungeons and Dragons based computer games, ruining the word "gelatinous" for me forever.

How could an idea so bad be so widely accepted? Is there really anything frightening about something "gelatinous"? It is with these questions in mind that I approach my latest acquisition: Lucia Pastillas de Ube Macapuno:

Wait, WHAT?!

If you were to ask me what I know about the Philippines, I could tell you that it was home to the world's largest captive crocodile (at least until its death in 2013), and that would about end my knowledge on the subject. Sad, I know. However, upon reading "chewy milk candy with purple yam and gelatinous mutant coconut," I'm beginning to wonder if maybe I need to pay more attention to this often-overlooked country. Chewy milk candy? With purple yam? And gelatinous mutant coconut (now there's a D&D monster for you)? What is going on here? I never would have thought the Philippines could be the source of such a troubling description, but I stand corrected. Hats off to you, Lucia! I am equal parts intrigued and mortified!

Forgetting (or trying to, anyhow) for a moment the nightmares that may be contained within, the packaging isn't bad, giving a sense (as far as I know, which isn't very far) of the country of origin. The candy, however, is in no way appealing. The individually-wrapped pieces have the appearance of gelatinous creatures in clear body bags. During my initial inspection, the fact that they outnumbered me was at the forefront of my thoughts for some reason. I'm not a marketing expert, but I doubt that was the intended effect. I guess it is nice that the "candy" (if that's indeed what it is) is prominently displayed; if you purchase a package of Pastillas de Ube Macapuno, you have no one to blame but yourself.

By this time, I was hoping the back of the package would offer some comforting words (such as "Ha! We were just kidding about the purple yam and gelatinous mutant coconut!") or other means of easing my anxiety. Alas, this was what I saw:

There is no escape from the gelatinous mutant coconut!

Not only is half the description repeated in the ingredients section, but the ingredients are repeated again. They are not going to let you forget for a single instant that there is both purple yam and gelatinous mutant coconut (macapuno) inside. They are either quite proud of those ingredients, or they are trying to scare consumers away for some inexplicable reason. It is also stated one more time in bold lettering that milk is contained in the candy; you know, just in case the thought of milk in something bothers you.

The serving size is 6 pieces, making for an inconvenient 3 and 1/3 servings in the package, and there are 160 Calories per serving. There are candies with worse nutritional value, I suppose.

When will it go bad? Shh! It's a secret!

The "Best Before" area is also a bit of a puzzler, as there is no date to be found. Why include the space for a date if there is no intention of using it? Perhaps gelatinous mutant coconuts live forever? Is there some sort of reverse psychology going on here? Do I need to use lemon juice or some other trick to reveal the date? I am at a loss for an explanation, unless Aiza's Sweets has a twisted, sadistic side. It's enough to make me  question whether the "Sharing the Best" slogan is meant sarcastically.

To state the obvious, the package gives little reason for optimism. Between the lack of an expiration date and the unknown cause for the gelatinous mutation of the coconut, I felt it was best to once again call upon the talents of my faithful sidekick, TCR-FRESHY 5000.

TCR proved invaluable in reviewing Mrs. Annie's Jalapeno Peanut Brittle, and there was actually a positive outcome in that case, so my hopes were ever-so-slightly refreshed upon his arrival.

DOES NOT COMPUTE... DOES NOT COMPUTE...

I set up a secure environment for the candy extraction and let Mr. FRESHY 5000 get to work.

He had issues with getting the bag open; apparently it is no easy task. In the end, the package essentially "exploded," launching the gelatinously (not a word, but it should be) filled "body bags" in all directions. TCR quickly gathered the pieces together for examination.

It was at this point that I noticed the smell of the "candy." It brought back some fuzzy hint of a memory, but I couldn't place it. A relative later compared the odor to the smell of glue, but I would say that's far too kind. It was not a pleasant smell, at any rate, and any hopes I had remaining fled in a hurry. Things were neither looking nor smelling very good, and all the while I knew that in the end I would need to actually EAT a piece.

To his credit, TCR-FRESHY 5000 tried his best to cheer me up, but robot pep talks can only take one so far.

Commencing phase 2 (of 3) of candy opening.

TCR carefully selected the least repulsive of the candy pieces and gave it a brief scan. He detected no abnormal radiation levels, but neither could he determine whether or not the morsel was fit for human consumption. We would have to move forward blindly.

Removal of the wrapper went off without a hitch. Actually, there was one hitch: there was a second wrapper under the first. That's right, each piece is not only individually wrapped, it is individually double-wrapped. If that's not a red flag, I don't know what is. I am not a fan of dual wrappers; I too often forget the second before placing it in my mouth, and it's just one more step between me and the candy I crave. Sure, that's on me, but I'd prefer a little help, Lucia!

Everything up to this point was warning me to turn back, with every new bit of information suggesting there could be no palatable result. But trudge forth we did, because that's how we roll (TCR-FRESHY 5000 rolls a little clumsily; so do I, if I'm being honest).

I think TCR-FRESHY 5000's expression says it all...

So the moment had arrived. It was time to see if the Lucia Pastillas de Ube Macapuno would live up to the expectations. It did. Oh, did it ever, and in the most awful of ways. The consistency did not bother me; it was a hard gummy sort of texture. But it tasted every bit as foul as it smelled. To give it a fair shot, I actually ate three pieces (half a serving), which I think is probably the most anyone has ever been able to get down (I offered pieces to several others, and more than half could not even finish one piece; the others had absolutely no desire for seconds). The second piece was not as appalling as the first (I believe my taste buds were in shock), and there was almost some sort of evil draw to the candy, daring me to try another. But, in the immortal words of Admiral Gial Ackbar, "It's a trap!" There were occasional hints of milk, yam, or coconut, but the prevailing taste was just plain terrible.

I am not sure what's going on in the Philippines to produce such an abomination, but I feel for its people, I really do. There needs to be some sort of telethon to bring proper candy to the region, or, at the very least, support groups for those who have suffered at the hands of Aiza's Sweets. I see no reason for such a candy to exist, and I'm pretty sure that the contribution of the gelatinous mutant coconut is abhorrent enough to cause even the Brotherhood of Mutants to reconsider their beliefs.

I have no choice but to give the Pastillas de Ube Macapuno my first 0 rating. Try as I might, I could find no redeeming qualities. I had to eat several pieces of REAL candy to try to cleanse my palate, but it did little good; the wretched taste kept finding its way back into my mouth, and, quite frankly, practically made me nauseous.

I do not recommend anyone ever eat this "candy" or even use it as a punishment (which would be both cruel and unusual). If you come across a bag, stay away. Run! Run away, and don't ever look back. Your taste buds will thank you.

And for the record, I still don't like the word "gelatinous."

With fear and trembling,
The Sweets Fiend

You'd better hope you make your saving throw!

#11 - Marabou Japp HazelNut

It is a sad fact that ignorance and bigotry are given free rein while reason and understanding are shackled to truth. That is probably not how one would typically begin a candy review, but there it is.

Political correctness aims to remedy the bigotry part, generally with ineffectiveness (I'm reminded of old cartoons, where the hapless hero is in a leaky boat, covering one leak with a finger, hand, or foot, only to find another leak spring up), and often enough going a step (or several) too far with ridiculous results. You can't force a hateful person to respect others any more than you can stop internal bleeding with a Band-Aid.

That being said, I do think we all need to be more respectful of others (particularly those we may not like for one irrational reason or another), because, really, respect says a lot more about the giver than the receiver.

Whew. Heavy stuff.

There are plenty of instances where offenses are legitimate. On the other side of the coin, we have imagined offenses due to ignorance. It is for this reason that you're not likely to find today's candy making a big splash in America, as it is Marabou's Japp HazelNut:

Perhaps the most affirmative candy you'll ever come across (with hazelnut).

Now, one might see this Swedish treat and think that Sweden is being culturally insensitive. After all, it wouldn't be the first product with a questionable name (Cherikee Red comes to mind). But there are no such shenanigans going on here. Most English speakers (I assume; I have not interviewed them all and taken a count) do not realize that the letter 'j' was originally just a form of 'i', and a good deal of languages still give it the sound of a 'y'.

In other words, it is pronounced more like "Yapp," and translates to "Yep," which may be just as offensive in its stupidity. I think "Would you like a Yep candy bar?" is bound to be followed by a "Nope." Even with the hazelnut.

Aside from the lameness of the name, the package has a pleasant design. The gold wrapper appeals to the greed flowing from deep within the heart of every consumer, and the artist's rendition of the candy shows some talent. Bad graphics of sweets are a surefire way to curb one's appetite. It's not the best wrapper design I've seen, but, all in all, a commendable job.

I've gotten used to ingredient lists making me feel stupid.

A quick glance is enough to let me know that my foreign language skills have failed me once again. I see percentages, so I know there's 50% of something, and I assume the 20% of hasselnötter refers to hazelnut (then again, it may nöt), but that's little to go on. At least the "best before" date is legible, and well into the future.

This amusing commercial would seem to indicate that the Japp HazelNut is meant to be an energy bar. Normally that would scare me, but I believe the Power Break 3 shared that intention, and that ended up being quite good, so I won't give up on Marabou just yet. To further its case, Marabou is owned by Mondelēz International, Inc. (formerly Kraft Foods Inc.), which has proven to put out some decent candy. Things are looking up!

While the ingredients still mostly elude me, I feel I should be able to read the nutritional information easily enough:

Chock full of energy! Or is that fat?

There are 155 Calories per 30g, and the package is 60g, so it is a total of 310 Calories. That's quite a bit for the size, but I guess that's where all the "energy" comes from, right? Why do they give the information for 30g rather than 60g? My guess is that (as seems to be common in my experience with Nordic candy), the "bar" is actually two sections. Either that, or I've got a broken candy bar, as a definite split can be felt in the package.

Did I receive damaged goods? Thankfully, no.

In America, this would be "fun size." I think that's an ironic term.

The Japp HazelNut does indeed come in two pieces, each generously sized with a traditional candy bar look to it. Looks-wise it would make a decent brick for a small house built of candy, though it would likely be lacking in structural integrity. Maybe the hazelnut would reinforce it. If you decide to make a go of it and build a house with Japp HazelNuts, let me know how it turns out. Thanks.

If my nose is any indication, the chocolate seems to be of a lesser quality; the way in which it cracks gives further cause for concern. However, in the end it's the taste that matters, and it does okay in that department. I don't think the chocolate is quite up to snuff, but the hazelnut is an interesting addition (the taste of it lingers when all the other flavors fade). My wife sampled one of the pieces and concluded it was like an inferior Ferrero Rocher. It wasn't bad; it just didn't live up to its potential. If you are a teacher with an underachieving student, you surely understand the frustration involved.

I wouldn't exactly recommend going out of your way to pick up a Japp HazelNut, but if you're a big fan of hazelnut and are in the mood for an okay candy, knock yourself out. I won't stop you. I did enjoy it and would certainly eat one again, but there are plenty of superior candies that would call to my hard-earned (hyperbole intended) money first, even without a gold wrapper.

Marabou Japp HazelNut gets a 2 from me. It's your "average student" sort of candy.

Still, show it some respect; it'll be good practice.

Respectfully yours,
The Sweets Fiend

This does not do the package artwork justice.

#10 - Kabaya Saku Saku Panda Face Monaka Mix Cookie Chocolate White Air Chocolate

Confession time: I do not always eat things that are good for me. It's shocking, I know. It's not that I don't care about my health, it's just that the things I want to eat aren't always the things I should eat. If you are a human being, you can probably relate. But it could be worse: I could be a giant panda.

In case you didn't know, the giant panda spends anywhere from 10 to16 hours each day either looking for or eating food (the rest is spent sleeping, of course), consuming as much as 40 pounds of bamboo within a 24-hour period (fortunately, bamboo grows at crazy rates; you can practically watch it grow). Why the obsession with eating, you ask? Well, though the giant panda has a digestive system suited to carnivorous fare, it eats bamboo almost exclusively and thus must eat massive quantities for a sufficient amount of nutrients. In other words, much of what it eats is worthless, nutritionally speaking (if one can speak nutritionally). So, really, the only difference between me and a giant panda is that the panda's poor diet will make it more adorable, while mine will make me look more and more like Jabba the Hutt with hair and glasses. Oh, to be a giant panda!

It should be fairly obvious that candy is one of the less nutritious edible items I enjoy, but I occasionally am asked by one of my sweets blog benefactors a question like "Does it have to be candy?" No, it does not. Such was the case when a friend was shopping in a Korean market and texted that she had found a "Korean cookie?" It turns out it was not a Korean cookie; it was Japanese, and I'm not even sure about the "cookie" part. As this friend happens to be half Korean, I'm afraid the mistake has probably brought shame on her family for generations to come, but I got a cookie (of sorts) out of it, so I guess it evens out in the end.

Now, despite having watched my share of anime, I am unable to read Japanese, so I could not decipher the product name (though it does look like it contains "DEth"). Therefore, I had to put my trust in Google, which is always a frightening thought. I found a few matches but decided to go with the name given by Tsunami.hk, because Hong Kong (you may know it by its official name: Hong Kong Special Administrative Region of the People's Republic of China) is owned by China, and the giant panda is native to China, so they must know the proper English name, right?

And so it is with great excitement that I present to you Kabaya Saku Saku Panda Face Monaka Mix Cookie Chocolate White Air Chocolate:

No, you are not dreaming; this really exists! Oh, joy beyond joy!

Sometimes I think the strategy for Japanese package design consists of ingesting obscene amounts of sugar and sake, then multiplying the resulting feeling by a factor of 10,000 and trying to explain it with pictures. I mean that in the best possible way; it's like a celebration of all that is good and wonderful in the world! The cartoon panda is in a state of total euphoria at the prospect of a treat designed after him (or her; male and female pandas look an awful lot alike). The panda "cookie" is proclaiming with glee (and what appears to be stinky breath?) some new feature or other. I almost feel as if the product is throwing me a party just for selecting it. So, while it may not be the most elegant design I've seen, it is certainly fun and in keeping with the mood of the treat. I even think my inability to read the text adds to the charm in this case.

Japan loves pandas (I will be using "panda" to mean "giant panda," just in case there was any confusion here) and tends to paint them in as cutesy a light as possible. There's some sense in that. Pandas, after all, do have a natural talent for cuteness. But they are also tricky. For instance, scientists for years thought they (the pandas, not the scientists) were closely related to raccoons, until DNA testing showed them to be more like bears (to be fair, it seems a little obvious to me). In addition, pandas have pseudo-thumbs, which are actually extensions of wrist bones that help them hold bamboo while eating. Something just seems sneaky about that, so I find it difficult to fully trust a panda, even one who is so intent on getting me to eat sweets.

The anti-mullet. Party on the front, business on the back.

The back of the package is the more "serious" side, in the same way that TMZ is a more serious news source than The Onion (actually, that one may be up for debate). There are several friendly pandas trying to educate me on all sorts of important matters, but their wisdom is wasted on me; I have not the faintest idea what they're saying. Even so, I appreciate their willingness to help. A disagreeable cartoon panda would be a total buzzkill.

Finally, some Japanese I can read!

Thankfully, it does not take a Japanese scholar to recognize a "best before" date, and I am for once well within the proper time frame.

Above that (under the flap) is a drawing of a panda cookie with the ear bitten off and some writing on the side. Whether it is a recommendation or warning, I do not know. Just to be safe, I thought it would be best to avoid starting with that particular ear. I would not want to make any errors and sabotage my enjoyment of my Kabaya Saku Saku Panda Face Monaka Mix Cookie Chocolate White Air Chocolate. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time I've failed in attempting to eat a Japanese product.

Am I the only one who finds this alarming?

The other side contains more recommendations or warnings. At this point, it's anyone's guess as to where to start the snacking, but seeing the death of a panda cookie defined in so many ways brings the fun level down ever so slightly. In the end, I decided on the ear to the left (the panda's right), as that was not pictured. If I end up being wrong, so be it; I must live with the consequences of my choices.

The nutritional information (and possibly ingredients list) is also contained in this section, as well as a nice little diagram of the cookie's components. I see the mention of 120 Calories, but whether that applies to the whole thing or just a small section, I cannot say. If it IS the entire cookie, it's not too terrible, given the size.

With that, I had gotten just about all I could from the packaging, so there was nothing left but to open it up and see the treat with my very own eyes:

Could this be a prop from Indian Jones and the Cookie of Doom?

The cookie does bear a striking resemblance to the image on the packaging, albeit not quite so smooth. I do think, however, it could just as easily pass as a "Jack Skellington with Mickey Mouse Ears" cookie, a possibility made all the more plausible by the container's likeness to a tomb or coffin of some sort. Honestly, the overall appearance reminds me a bit of an archeological discovery, what with the hint of decay when compared to the glossy product shot. That's not necessarily a problem; things have just taken a dark turn since removing the cookie from its cheerful wrappings. Maybe it's actually meant to be a panda mummy cookie and the package is the "sarcophagus" relating the tales of the panda's extravagant life. I don't hate that idea, wrong though it may be. Regardless, I always prefer for my cookies to be shaped like things, so Kabaya's on the right track.

By the way, it does not smell old or decayed by any means. It has a pleasant fragrance of processed chocolate and vanilla, just as it should.

How could you resist eating a face like this?

I expected the back to be flat and uninteresting, but I could not have been more wrong. The crazed panda face is an amusing bonus component to the treat, even with its decomposed (or possibly diseased) ear. Again, I could imagine it to be an artifact from some ancient civilization that valued cuteness above all else (we need more ancient civilizations like that).

In short, the Kabaya Saku Saku Panda Face Monaka Mix Cookie Chocolate White Air Chocolate is delightfully whimsical, knowing exactly what it intends to be (even if I don't) and embracing its purpose wholeheartedly.

So I'm a fan of its design, no doubt about it. But how does it taste? Well, first I feel it's necessary to explain that it's not what you would normally expect from a cookie; it is a wafer shell filled with vanilla and chocolate sugar "cream." As for the flavor: it tastes exactly as one would hope. Image eating a vanilla wafer cookie and chocolate wafer cookie at the same time, but with much more cream filling, and you've got a pretty good idea. It does not taste expensive, nor luxurious, but neither does it try to. It is simply processed sugary goodness in a fun-shaped shell, and it earns my respect for being true to itself.

I rate the Kabaya Saku Saku Panda Face Monaka Mix Cookie Chocolate White Air Chocolate (still sticking with that name) a 3. It is not a top-of-the-line candy, but, to repeat myself, it doesn't pretend to be, and, by golly, I like it! If you enjoy an occasional wafer-and-sugar treat, give one a try yourself.

Just be sure to ask for it by name.

'Til I'm back (with some sweet snack),
The Sweets Fiend

Pandas are an endangered species. Maybe it's because they're so delicious?

#9 - Cloetta Power Break 3

Sequels are all the rage nowadays. Why bother trying to come up with something new when you can just rehash the same idea again and again, laughing all the way to the bank? While the movie industry is very much guilty of this, I would say that the video game industry takes the cake (sadly, the cake is a lie). Whether talking about Mario Brothers, Sonic the Hedgehog, or any title with the word "final" in it, video game companies like to stick to the old "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" train of thought. I can't really blame them; they are, after all, in the business of making money, and familiarity sells.

When I was young, I dreamed I might one day be a cog in that machine, creating video games for a living. That didn't quite pan out, as you may have guessed, though I've never had a really serious job, so I guess I came close enough. Anyway, my wife's cousin has a husband. Relatively speaking (pun intended), that makes him nothing to me. But he does work in the video game industry, so he's got a pretty cool job for a "nothing." He occasionally gets to (or, depending on how you look at it, has to) travel the world for his job and was kind enough to collect a sampling of foreign candy to send my way (I think that's probably the main reason he took the job, actually). It was quite generous, considering I am "nothing" to him, as well.

Now, I clearly brought up video games to explain how I acquired my latest sugary treat, but why did I bring up sequels? Why, because today's review concerns Cloetta's Power Break 3:

Power Break 3, bringing the Power Break trilogy to a thrilling conclusion!

I have come across many variations on candy bars over the years, but never have I seen an actual sequel! I think Cloetta is on to something. Why does this not happen more often? Why is there no Snickers 2: Full-Blown Laugh? How about Zero Bar 2: More than Nothing? The candy bar sequel market is largely untapped at this point, and whoever leads the inevitable revolution is sure to make a killing!

But let's take a closer look, shall we? The packaging is all right, I guess. There's a definite comic book vibe going on, which kind of works, since comics are another area in which originality is frowned upon (old characters are just "reinvented"). There's also a serious attempt at expressing excitement; if Power Break happened to be a series of movies (admit it, you'd watch them), they would most certainly be in the action genre. However, I don't feel the attempt was entirely successful in achieving the desired effect. I would suggest that the wonderful (I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt here) folks at Cloetta watch some footage of Kool-Aid Man for inspiration on compelling "break" visuals.

If you've watched any series of action movies, chances are you are aware that the protagonist generally discovers a new love interest in each one. The same is true of the Power Break series. Power Break 1 is described as "Chocolatebar packed with crunchy wafers and boosted with toffee and hazel nuts..." Meanwhile, Power Break 2 is "Chunky chocolatebar with chewy choco nougat and almonds," and Power Break 3 is "Chocolatebar packed with juicy raisins and serious crunch..." Note that the text marked in red is also red on the packaging. Just trying to be authentic here. I do like that the descriptions are in a comic book style text box, though I'm not sure the quotation marks are needed. Who is saying this about the Power Break bars? Cloetta, I guess.

It is often said of trilogies that the first is the best, followed by the third, with the second being the worst of the three. I don't know who came up with the theory, but I do recall reading that somewhere online, so it must be true. If that's the case here, this should be right smack in the middle, quality-wise. So at least my top secret video game industry candy supplier didn't send me a completely inferior Power Break bar. I appreciate that.

A look at the back of the packaging reveals some items of interest:

You want to know the Calorie count of a Power Break 3 bar? Figure it out yourself, you lazy bum!

First off, I want to say that the back of the wrapper is more a very dark green (with lighter edges) than black, but as I am convinced that Power Break 3 is the "dark" themed bar in the series, I wanted to emphasis the darkness in the pictures. Blogger's prerogative, after all.

The "best by" date is August 13th, so I just barely made it. Whew! The package informs the consumer that Cloetta supports sustainable cocoa farming (and elsewhere sustainable palm oil). While perhaps not as noble a cause as the anti-choking campaign of the Walnut Whip, it is still very honorable. What the package fails to include, though, is nutritional information for the bar itself. There is information provided per 100g, but the Power Break 3 is only 48g, meaning one must do a little math to figure out the correct values. This wouldn't fly in America. People would look at the Calorie count and freak out, their non-Nordic brains unable to (essentially) divide by 2. I say this with confidence, as I did just that in my Fazer Kina Wafer review. I am a failure as an international candy consumer. But I refuse to throw in the towel, and I vow to continue with my sugary adventures in blissful ignorance!

Maybe this would make sense if I'd eaten the prequels first.

As is often the case, the ingredient list is hidden under the flap on the back. And as I've come to expect from Finnish-based candy, the list is exhaustive (not to mention exhausting). It is thoroughly incomprehensible to me, so I'll just have to have faith that Cloetta is not sneaking any broken glass or raw sewage (or even non-raw sewage) into the Power Break 3. Perhaps I'm being too trusting, but I have a hunch they'd prefer for their consumer base to be as sustainable as their cocoa farms. However, something about the wrapper and name together causes worry on my part that the bar may be meant as a "healthy" candy bar. Attempts at healthy candy generally have no success in either the health or candy part, so I hope my worries are unwarranted.

Upon opening the package, I learned that the Power Break 3 actually comes in two separate pieces. This is always handy for portion control (particularly when the nutritional information makes one's head hurt), or sharing. Each piece is molded, which is usually a plus for me, but, in this specific instance, somebody in the department clearly dropped the ball.

I feel like a scatologist. That is not a good thing.

In keeping with the comic book theme, I am going to say that the bar segments look like Marvel's Thing took a summer job at a chocolate factory and had a terrible accident (keep in mind he only has four fingers per hand to begin with). I am going with that because I favor that explanation to what it also reminds me of, and I'd just finished writing about trusting that sewage was not in the ingredients. If a consumer is hoping that your candy is meant to resemble severed comic book character fingers, you may want to rethink your mold design.

The "finger segments" are thick and solid, and the smell falls somewhere between a Nestlé Crunch bar and a Kit Kat. So, in other words, it smells much better than it looks, which is hardly an accomplishment.

I cannot believe this was the attractive side.

The back of the candy looks remarkably like the back of a Nestlé Crunch bar, which should not be a shock, as it's a similar idea; I mean, it boasts a "serious crunch," after all! It is also far more appetizing than the front. Again, not really an accomplishment. It's rather sad, to be completely honest.

To say I had mixed feelings about my taste buds exploring the flavors of the Power Break 3 is an understatement. In addition to any previously mentioned concerns, chocolate covered raisins are just all right to me, and I was frankly expecting this to be a poor example of a chocolate-raisin partnership.

Crunchy, chewy goodness! What?!

Against all odds, I was proven wrong. The raisins really worked surprisingly well; they did not overpower the taste, just added a sweetness and pleasant chewiness. They had the ratios down pat. The only part that fell short for my tastes, tragically, was the chocolate. It was just okay. That's too bad, as it was otherwise a delightful treat. With some A+ chocolate, we'd have a real winner on our hands (well, on my hands; you haven't been eating a Power Break 3, have you?).

Due to its less-than-stellar chocolate, I am rating the Power Break 3 a 3 (isn't that convenient?). I did enjoy it, and it left me with a full feeling most candy bars do not achieve (which may mean I should not have eaten both pieces in one sitting). Unless one has a strong aversion to raisins (or sequels), the Cloetta Power Break 3 is a worthy addition to any candy "bucket list."

But you don't have to take my word for it; let Swedish music group De Vet Du do the convincing with their commercial (?) or whatever THIS is (WARNING: It cannot be unseen).

Not too shabby, Cloetta.

May your days be as sweet as your candy,
The Sweets Fiend

This makes me ever so thankful for my other four senses.

#8 - Nestlé Walnut Whip

Great Britain is a pretty good sport about things. I mean, there was the whole American Revolution thing (which included the stealing of many a British drinking song for our own purposes), yet today Britain is one of America's strongest allies. I suppose it could all be an elaborate plot to build up trust while devising a fitting revenge, but I really find it much more likely that they've just decided to let bygones be bygones. No hard feelings and all that. Or maybe they've just come to realize that acquiring America's money via Downton Abbey, Simon Cowell, and whatnot is easier than ownership and taxation ever was.

Whatever the reason(s), America and Britain have a pretty friendly relationship going (excluding, of course, the recent inexcusable Cadbury ban by Hershey), which is good news for British candy lovers.

As you may know (if you are one of those rare individuals who has adequate reading comprehension skills and has been following my blog from the beginning), my journey into the realm of candy reviewing started with a bag of European candy, a great gift from some great friends who had taken a great trip to Scotland. Great stuff all around. It is therefore fitting to review a product that was born in the land of kilts and bagpipes, even if said candy is not necessarily manufactured there nowadays. One such treat is the Nestlé Walnut Whip:

Pro product-naming tip: If a clever name eludes you, alliteration will suffice. 

At a glance, one can see that the Walnut Whip package is a shiny metallic blue color. That's about it. The name "Walnut Whip" suggests there should be something pertaining to a walnut within, and something whipped (can a walnut be whipped?), but is otherwise vague and bland. For all its sheen, I don't find that the packaging catches my eye, nor do I have any immediate feelings or real expectations about the candy. In short, nothing would really draw me to this if presented among competing products. In fact, I believe this particular item was selected by my wife. I guess shiny objects have a greater impact on her.

What happened to the walnut? Where did it go?

 The package is also an unusual, nondescript shape. This further confuses the matter of what a Walnut Whip truly is, until a look at the side reveals that it is a "milk chocolate whirl with a fondant cream centre." That is not exactly what I would have imagined (nor how I'd have spelled "center," but I'm not British). Neither walnuts nor whipping are referenced in the description of the candy. Who can know what to believe at this point? If I were to be given a test in matching descriptions to candy names, I would probably miss this one.

A quick look at the Nestlé webpage explains that the Walnut Whip is Nestlé Rowntree's oldest current (isn't that an oxymoron?) brand, created by Duncan's of Edinburgh in 1910. It also goes on to claim that "Almost one Walnut Whip is eaten every 2 seconds in the UK." This brings up a slew of questions: What does "almost one" mean? Do people not finish the candy? Is there a reason for that? Will I be able to finish one, or will I too settle for "almost"? Is it a very popular candy in the UK, or is there just a small handful of very dedicated fans intent on creating a bizarre statistic? Who conducted this study?

I may be too late. Then again, I may not.

With these questions in mind, I checked the "best before" date, which is an indefinite August of 2015. Much like the rest of the packaging, Nestlé does not seem to be able to fully commit here. I get the impression that with such a history behind the Walnut Whip, they felt they could phone this one in. Perhaps the word "almost" was the all-around inspiration.

Since August has not yet become a memory, there should be no worries about spoilage here, though I guess one could say that it has almost expired...

By the way, on one side of the wrapper is the slogan "Lose yourself in a..." I think we can all agree that's a pretty weak slogan. Again, it tells you nothing about the candy; it is totally generic. It isn't actually certain it's even referring to the candy. I know a lot of the better slogans are already taken, but come on, Nestlé, make an effort and take some pride in your products!

Don't let your child eat all of your Walnut Whip.
Save some for yourself.

 The back contains the nutrition information. Each whip is only 171.1 Calories, which is not bad at all. I would like to point out that since I've begun my candy blog, I've lost around ten pounds. I'm not suggesting a diet of candy can help you lose weight (my legal team is adamant about that), I just wanted to let you know how awesome my life is.

Anyhow, I like the fact that the panel mentions adjusting portions for children of different ages. They may not seem to care much about their candy, but at least they are concerned about children.

Did I mention I took the nutritional panel picture after the candy was opened? Due to the design of the packaging, it was difficult to read the information on back, and just about impossible to get a decent picture of it. In other words, you may not realize what you're getting into until it's too late. Or after some unspecified time in August, which I guess is also too late (and thus redundant).

These are a few of my favorite things.

The ingredients list contains quite the assortment of vegetable fats and a surprisingly insignificant amount of walnuts. If 95% of a product is NOT a walnut, "Walnut Whip" may not be the most suitable name. Just a thought.

The panel also contains some great allergy advice (i.e., read the ingredients). Thank you, Nestlé, as I never would have thought of that myself. I see also that the product may contain traces of other nuts, which makes me wonder why the candy isn't titled "Possible Mixed Nut Whip."

Below that is a scathing commentary on the eating skills of those aged 3 and under. Apparently the portion should be adjusted to 0% in their case; as I am against children choking, I have no problem with their suggestion. And it does provide one extra piece in the walnut mystery: "the walnut" implies that there is a single walnut inside. You really make me work for it, Nestlé!

Above the list of ingredients is the Nestlé logo with the "Good Food, Good Life" motto. While I get that the mother bird with her babies is meant to imply some good old family values (such as advocating against the choking of children), bird appetites do not signify good food (nor good life, for that matter) to me. Worms and bugs are rarely on my menu (and never intentionally). Also, I just don't find the artwork that interesting. Sorry. But it's what Nestlé has decided on, so I must respect their decision.

Upon opening the package, I saw this:

Attack of the chocolate space slug from Planet X!

Huh. Hmm... Admit it, you did not expect this any more than I did. You would never have expected this in a million years. Its resemblance to a whirl is sketchy at best. I'd say it looks more like either a failed attempt at a sea urchin or some kind of chocolate space slug. I'm leaning more towards the space slug theory, because "Lose yourself in a... Chocolate Space Slug!" would actually be a pretty cool slogan. Bravo, Nestlé, you have taken me entirely by surprise and left me speechless (fortunately, I don't need to speak to write). It makes the lackluster (though entirely lustrous) wrapping all the more disappointing, really.

The solitary walnut responsible for the name.

There is something whimsical about the design of the candy, and that's something I can get behind. Candy should not be taken too seriously; that defeats the purpose, no?

I started with the walnut at the top. I couldn't actually remember whether or not I really liked walnuts; I know I've eaten them, but my taste memory was a little fuzzy at the time. As it turns out, I do enjoy a good walnut. Or, at least I thoroughly enjoyed this one. I was off to a great start. Or maybe I should have finished with the walnut. Maybe this was where the "almost" would come in.

There was only one way to find out (eat it, obviously; if you didn't get that, you are possibly who the "allergy advice" was written for)...

Shockingly close to how I'd expect space slug guts to look.

Surprise, surprise! The "whip" portion (I assume that must be what it's called) of the Walnut Whip was just as good (in fact, better) than the walnut. Milk chocolate and a fondant cream center, just as promised!

To be perfectly honest, I found the taste to be almost generic, but somehow in a very good way. The chocolate and filling complemented each other quite nicely, and though I've had similar candy (in concept) before, this was definitely one of the better ones; it was certainly the one with the most interesting shape! The walnut was a welcome addition, too.

There is an old adage about not judging a book by its cover. That really applies here. The Nestlé Walnut Whip turned out to be an unexpectedly fun treat in a not-so-exciting wrapper. I'm glad I gave it a chance; I'm already thinking it might be nice to pick up another one sometime!

To sum it up with a single number, I rate the Nestlé Walnut Whip a 3. I do not think I could eat "almost" one every couple of seconds, but I could without a doubt find a place for one now and then. And at less than 80% of the Calories of a standard candy bar, I wouldn't have to feel too bad about it. Unless you are a child of less than 4 years of age (you poor thing, but what are you doing reading my blog?) or are allergic to nuts (or one of the other ingredients in bold letters), you ought to give the Walnut Whip a chance. You might just find yourself liking it. A lot.

I am pleased, Nestlé. It may have been a long-winded journey, but it concluded with the classic "...and they all lived happily ever after."

Good life indeed.

Possibly full of surprises myself,
The Sweets Fiend

Seriously, what is this supposed to be?

#7 - American Heritage CHOCOLATE Chocolate Stick

Earlier this month, America celebrated its independence (July 4th; I seriously hope you knew that). This was an important event, of course, transferring the power from one corrupt individual far, far away to a multitude of corrupt individuals much closer to home. I think the general idea is that some corruption will cancel out other corruption, leading to a better overall result (i.e,  the "two wrongs make a right" philosophy). One important aspect to the new government was that anyone (which in those days meant "white males") could be a part of it, regardless of his background. One could even aspire to some day become president, a principle that holds true today, assuming "one" refers to a millionaire backed by one of two political parties. It was a magical time!

Anyhow, though America has had its faults over the years, there is still plenty to love about it; much of the world's best has been poured into this "melting pot" of a nation, and the American Dream is still alive and well. Many a brave soul has fought (and too many have died) to defend our freedoms, regardless of how stupidly we sometimes choose to use those freedoms. It is a sobering truth which I'll admit my consciousness does not acknowledge nearly enough. Fortunately, there are plenty of monuments and museums to keep the struggles of history from being forgotten.

Now, I do not think anyone would describe me as a history buff (though, perhaps just "buff"). I know my fair share, and maybe a little bit more, but most of my schooling in history (as far as I can remember) consisted of memorizing dates, which I am frankly terrible at. I am more interested in people than events, really, and that extends to things of the historic nature.

That being said, several weeks ago I visited Fort Meigs with my wife and her parents. You may have never heard of Fort Meigs (I know I hadn't). It was built in 1813 to protect the Maumee River (in Ohio) during the War of 1812 (Ohio was a little late to the party, I guess), and named after the governor at the time, Return J. Meigs, Jr. Yes, his name was really Return, and yes I think it's about time that name makes a return to popularity (even I'm groaning). While the fort site was a decent strategic location, it was a total disaster in terms of comfort; I have read multiple accounts of the terrible, terrible conditions. I have not heard of such a harsh environment since the Oregon Trail (I'm referring to the computer game, of course).

To be totally honest, I didn't actually step foot in the real Fort Meigs. It was torn down not long after to build a smaller fort, then torn down again, then reconstructed in the 1970s, and then again in the early 2000s. So basically, Fort Meigs refuses to stay down, which I guess is a good thing, because I otherwise would not have ended up with my latest candy, the American Heritage CHOCOLATE Chocolate Stick:

I question the authenticity of the sticker.

This little treat of yore was purchased (from the gift shop) as a surprise (to me) by my mother-in-law (who is the exact opposite of every mother-in-law stereotype you've ever heard; I really lucked out there). It is manufactured by the Historic Division of Mars, Incorporated. I wish the text had stopped at "MARS," because the idea of extraterrestrials documenting the candy of earthlings through the ages intrigues me. Alas, it was not to be.

According to the front sticker, the chocolate stick is created using an "AUTHENTIC COLONIAL Recipe." A brief internet search reveals the recipe is from 1750. I don't know if the recipe was still in use by 1812 or not, but I have learned over the years that historical site gift shops are not too particular about how closely the gifts relate to the actual period or theme of the site itself. It's much like the way ethnic grocery stores usually include items from countries or regions that are "close enough," because who's going to notice, right? Still, I like to imagine a soldier, knee deep in the mud of Fort Meigs, finding some small solace in a chocolate stick.

Overall, the front of the packaging is underwhelming, though I'm sure that's intentional. Early colonial chocolatiers probably had more important things on their minds (such as dysentery) than eye-catching stickers. But it still does not make one excited for the chocolate contained within.

I bet they'd make lovely dinner guests.

 Even the two characters featured on the sticker do not seem very enthusiastic about the prospect of ingesting a chocolate stick; the woman appears to passing judgment on the consumer, and, if I had to guess, I would say that the man is worried about some bad investments he made (probably in the Historical Division of Mars, Inc.). If your spokespeople cannot muster up a fake smile, you may have a problem.

An old ship makes an appearance on the front, too, because, hey, it's historic!

Candy, moist towelette, or... ?

If the front of the package lacks appeal, the back is far worse. I do not know why, but it reminds me of litter. I do not mean cat litter (naturally), but general refuse - something you'd find discarded on the floor, maybe in a public bathroom. It just does not have a positive effect on my appetite.

I understand that the intent of the product must be kept in mind, but my brain and my salivary glands are at odds here, and I cannot see a resolution approaching in that disagreement. If this is what passed for marketing in colonial times, it's just one more reason to be grateful I live in the present (they did, too, perhaps, but that was then).

 As you may have noticed, there is no sign of nutritional information or a "best by" date anywhere on the wrapping. I suppose with all the diseases running rampant and whatnot, Americans from colonial times had little interest in Calories or food spoilage; they were likely to die before getting too fat, after all.

My new email password.

I did, however, discover some secret code under the wrapper's flap. As it has no meaning to me, I've theorized it is the email password of a Mars, Incorporated employee, printed on a sticker and carelessly misplaced on the back of my candy. If this is in fact true, and you happen to be that employee, let me know, and I will send the sticker back to you at no charge.

But that's enough about the packaging; too much time has been spent on too little. What does the chocolate stick actually look like?

You are meant to put this in your mouth. I am not kidding.

It would seem that colonial chocolate bears a striking resemblance to rusted metal. Oh, joy. With each new development, I find the chocolate stick less and less inviting.

The smell was no better. It smelled more or less (mostly more) like cocoa powder. As a child, I had a traumatic experience in which I mistook the container of cocoa powder for chocolate milk mix. You can imagine how that went (sadly, I do not have to imagine it). Don't get me wrong; I have nothing against cocoa powder. It is obviously an important ingredient in much of what I eat. But I would not want to eat a spoonful of cocoa powder.

A childhood nightmare relived.

Much to my dismay, the stick tasted like it smelled. It lacked any sweetness whatsoever (not a good quality to a sweets fiend). It was also as hard as a rock (or rusty piece of metal, if you prefer). To be blunt, it was an assault on every aspect of consumption.

Early Americans had a long list of troubles to endure, what with all the battles and frigid winters, not to mention (once again) all the disease. I would now add chocolate to that list. If this was how their candy tasted, I shudder to think what their health food was like. This was easily the worst "treat" I've been subjected to yet, and I question the lack of a warning label on the package (unless the "AUTHENTIC COLONIAL Recipe" is meant to suffice).

Still, I feel I need to rate the American Heritage CHOCOLATE Chocolate Stick a 1 for two reasons:

1. Believe it or not, I did manage to finish it.
2.  It does have some historical significance, and it made me as glad as ever to have access to a world of modern candy.

I wouldn't recommend you try it (it might make a good gift for a frenemy), but do try to keep in mind those courageous individuals who've come before us and braved such lousy candy so we wouldn't have to.

Our debt to them is immeasurable.

Here's hoping history will stop repeating itself,
The Sweets Fiend

Candy "Cat Scan." Cats should not eat chocolate, by the way. And nobody should eat this chocolate.

#6 - Fazer Kina Wafer

I am a computer nerd. There's no point in mincing words or trying to deny it. A good portion of my childhood was spent in the glow of a monitor attached to a Commodore 64, through which the foundation of my cultural consciousness (be it what it may) was laid. My first exposure to classical music was via early computer games (I guess original music had not been invented yet), a fact that my classically-trained musician of a wife is thrilled about. I think we can all agree that Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, and all the gang intended for their orchestrations to be performed via two or three glorious channels of bleeps and bloops; the technology was just not there yet!

My computer was also my introduction to national anthems and flags, through the still-marvelous Olympics extravaganza Summer Games. In addition to teaching me that Epyx was a country (it's not, by the way) as well as a game company (it no longer is, by the way), it instilled in me a sense of empathy and camaraderie among the nations of the world. The images of the flags and melodies of the anthems have (for the most part) stayed with me lo these many years, and my affinity for foreign countries remains. I am even one of those rare individuals who appreciates the It's a Small World ride at Walt Disney World, song and all (I'll spare you a link to it)!

Unfortunately, Finland was not among the available countries in the game. I say it's unfortunate because, despite its simplicity, I cannot for the life of me remember what Finland's flag looks like for more than a day or two at a time. This is in spite of me having done a report on Finland in seventh (or maybe eighth) grade, creating a copy of the flag with construction paper (at least I think I did; as I've said, there's some sort of mental block there) for a school musical (which included "It's a Small World After All," naturally), and corresponding with a friend in Finland for several years (who taught me that "burning one's sleeves" means to get all riled up; imagine a hooligan rolling up his sleeves to engage in fisticuffs and you'll get the idea).

I generally have a vivid visual memory, so I cannot explain the Finnish flag phenomenon. Perhaps one day science will provide the solution, but in the meantime I will have to offer my apologies to the fine country, especially as my next treat hails from The Land of the Thousand Lakes.

So here it is, the Fazer Kina Wafer (New!):

So many questions, yet so few answers... It is the Lost of candy bars.

Okay, let me get this out of the way: the name is an enigma to me. The lettering and conical hat (which may or may not be racially insensitive) scream "CHINA!" That would make sense, as "Kina" is the name for China in most of Scandinavia. BUT... "Kiina" is the Finnish word for China. In Finnish, "kina" refers to a quarrel or argument (or, strangely, according to Google's translator and no one else, "market"). Could it be a play on words, a political statement on the seemingly friendly Finnish-Chinese relations (in other words, is someone burning his sleeves)? Or is it pretty much just "China Wafer," which, if I may say so, is a pretty lame (not to mention nondescript) name for candy? It is a mystery to me, which, like the baffling Finnish flag conundrum, will remain unsolved for the foreseeable future.

Aside from that, the package is decent. It's colorful, the spots mimic the texture of the candy inside, and the "New!" leaves no room for questions about the newness of the Kina Wafer. I don't know how well it would stand out against competition, but it's not a failure. Or maybe it is. I'm still confused.

Is this an ingredient list? A ransom note? A binding contract? All are equally plausible.

The back of the packaging contains an ingredient list so exhaustive that I don't believe anyone has ever read the entire thing. Go ahead, try it yourself! It may be multiple languages, or it may be utter nonsense. Either way, it's too much for my simple brain to bear after the whole name thing. I have been defeated. Well played, Fazer!

But wait, what is this under the flap?

This makes a little more sense. Just a little.

It's nice of Fazer to include an English list, inconspicuous though it was. Most of the ingredients are familiar; two standouts are the horrifyingly named rapeseed and the mysterious E 500 (may be of some relation to TCR-FRESHY 5000). Other than that, it's pretty typical stuff, but I get the feeling I'd rather not know the particulars of the Kina Wafer manufacturing process.

The side of the bar contains both a "best before" date and a production date (always nice to know that).
 

The candy bar equivalent to a tombstone?

You may think that "080615" means August 6th, in which case I'm well within the time limit and there is cause for rejoicing. But you would be wrong. Like most of the world (aside from America, where we prefer to do everything our own way), Frazer is using the day/month/year format, meaning the actual date is June 8th, and I have once again failed to consume my candy in a timely manner. Oops. This also suggests that the average life of a Kina Wafer is nine months, which just happens to coincide with the average human gestation period. I am not suggesting that the two are in any way related (I certainly hope not), but it may help one to better judge just how long (or short) nine months is, minimizing the all-too-real risk of his or her candy going bad.

So much fat in such a thin bar!

The nutrition facts also hide beneath the flap, and probably with good reason: the bar is a whopping 525 Calories! It's a good-sized bar, though, so the Calorie count, while high, is not in the realm of ridiculousness. It is, however, definitely something to keep in mind while contemplating consumption (edit: my bad, the 525 Calories is for 100g; the bar is about half of that).

One thing I have not mentioned so far is that my specific bar seemed to be broken a little off from the halfway mark. Whether it happened during shipping or was intentional (a kina at the Fazer factory?), I can not ascertain; it is just one more sad statistic in the world of candy.

Opening the wrapper revealed the underbelly of the Kina Wafer with its lamentable crack:

Kina Wafer, we hardly knew ye.

I also became aware that the chocolate had melted some in the heat of the summer. Was there no end to the suffering this treat would have to endure? I resolved to put it out of its misery as quickly as possible.

The top of the bar exhibited prior melting, as well, muddling the desired look, but the bits that were less affected showed a sensible texture. Under normal circumstances, I would expect it to have a certain appeal.

Chocolate crime scene photo.

I could also see that the Kina Wafer was divided into four breakable segments, which eased my mind a little regarding the previously mentioned crack. This makes rationing the Kina Wafer more manageable and provides a convenient way to share, if one is so inclined. It also reminded me of a Kit Kat, and the similarity did not end there: it actually tasted very much like a Kit Kat, to boot! The chocolate was slightly different (and the thinness of the bar makes for a different chocolate-to-wafer ratio), but if I had been told this was a Kit Kat product, I would not have been the least bit surprised.

I enjoyed the Kina Wafer. I shared a piece with my wife, and she enjoyed it, too (though she prefers a Kit Kat). Seriously, what's not to like about a chocolate-covered wafer bar? It wouldn't normally be my first choice when seeking out candy, but if I were to purchase more than one item (or selection was limited), it could very well make the cut.

Therefore, I give the Fazer Kina Wafer a 3. It's probably at the lower end of the 3's, but that's okay. I liked it (you may very well like it, too), and that's all there is to it.

So thank you, Finland, for your crunchy (and thought-provoking) wafer bar treat. And sorry again about the flag thing. I really don't know what's up with that.

'Til we sweet again,
The Sweets Fiend

Wafer strata. I feel like a geologist!