#17 - Usher Twisted Bongos (Chili Mango flavor)

Ah, Halloween...

As I am The Sweets Fiend, it should come as no surprise that I loved Halloween as a child. When the days grew shorter and the trees shed their golden vestments, my sweet tooth nearly rattled with anticipation... candy would soon be mine!

Some might even argue that the entire purpose of this blog is to continue the tradition of receiving free candy (minus the costumes and legwork). Who's to say (well me, but I'm keeping my mouth shut)?

Combing the neighborhood in a possibly uncomfortable costume was a small price to pay for complimentary sugary goodies. In fact, the more uncomfortable the costume, the better; it provided the illusion that I actually earned the candy. I would sit poring over the evening's haul, my feet sore and my head a sweaty mess, proud of all the hard work that went into knocking on doors and exclaiming "Trick or treat!" Ah, the delusions of youth (much more fun than delusions of adulthood)!

Like all holidays, Halloween has become more and more commercialized over the years, to the point where any original significance is overlooked in favor of dressing up and watching scary movies and eating loads of candy (my favorite part). Little thought is given to the fact that it is also known as All Hallows' Eve, which initiates Allhallowtide, the three-day celebration of remembering of the dead.

Even so, I appreciate the fact that Halloween brings communities together like no other modern holiday. After all, what other day involves visiting all of your neighbors (even if done in disguise)? A common illustration of the friendliness of people in days of yore involves one neighbor asking another for a cup of sugar. Halloween is that times 1,000.

Of course, Halloween is not the only celebration of the dead. It is well known, for instance, that our neighbor to the south, Mexico, celebrates the Day of the Dead (Día de Muertos). The United States has not yet managed to fully commercialize that holiday, but you can bet your bottom dollar we're working on it! I know that I have personally been seeing more and more merchandise with a Día de Muertos theme as of late (most of which was likely made in China).

But I guess some of it could have been made in Mexico. My last car was assembled in Mexico, so I know the country exports more than just people. As a matter of fact, I have within my possession at this very moment a product of Mexican origin: Usher Chili Mango Twisted Bongos!

Cobwebs added for effect. As a general rule, you should not buy candy covered in cobwebs.

This marks my first trip into the world of Mexican candy. I don't recall Mexico being a major force in the American candy market during my lifetime. With ideas like chili mango flavored licorice, I can't imagine why. Maybe it has something to do with the risk of lead poisoning or something.

Anyhow, as much as I do enjoy living on the edge with a diet full of lead-based delicacies, I decided to play it safe this time around and leave the initial inspection to my tried and true robot, TCR-FRESHY 5000 (he skipped a Halloween party for this but insisted on still wearing his costume). I sometimes don't know what I'd do without that little trash heap of aluminum.

The packaging is actually fairly well done. It's colorful, and Usher (which unfortunately has no affiliation with the singer of the same name) bravely chose to include a transparent window so the candy could be seen in all its terrifying glory.

I'm, like, TOTALLY RAD, man!

The  Twisted Bongos mascot is a dog/weasel creature of some sort. He looks very familiar to me; perhaps he's related (second cousin or something) to another mascot somewhere? Regardless, he is crazed with his love for mangos!

His glasses and overbite in conjunction with his backwards cap indicate that he is a social outcast trying his best to be one of the "cool" kids (as if his unnatural love of mangos were not evidence enough). I pity him, really, which I don't believe is the vibe Usher was shooting for. Or maybe it is. Maybe they're counting on guilt purchases. It's just that sort of out-of-the-box thinking that would lead to chili mango licorice, after all.

The art style reminds me vaguely (and bizarrely) of The Very Hungry Caterpillar. I may be alone in the feeling, but I could totally see Eric Carle doing a book about Weazel Dawg (I'm assuming that's the name of the mascot, because what else could it be?).

But enough about Mr. Dawg. He has served as a distraction for much too long (well done, Usher!). Why don't we see what the Twisted Bongos are all about, shall we?

In his eagerness to get to the examination, TCR-FRESHY 5000 tore into the package before I could get proper photographs of it, so please excuse any unsightly rips; I will try to remember to dial down his enthusiasm setting in future reviews.

Sodium? What sodium?

The Nutrition Facts panel shows that a serving size is four pieces, totaling about 86 Calories. That's not so bad. But the table also shows 240mg to be 0% of the recommended daily value (rather than a more accurate 10%). Are Mexicans immune to sodium, is it just a typo, or are Usher employees just sorely lacking basic math skills? It is alarming how often I come across errors like this in my sweets exploits. I'm starting to think "Nutrition Opinions" would be a more fitting name for such charts.

I was glad to see that the package included a nice, big "Best Before" date by the ingredients list, and that that date was far into the future:

If these ingredients were randomly selected, I would not be surprised.

I do not, however, understand why the date was upside down or so carelessly placed. Too much tequila available in the Usher packaging plant?

I was almost shocked at how normal the ingredients list was. I don't know what I was expecting (lead, maybe?), but it was practically a disappointment to not see any disconcerting components (gelatinous mutant coconut comes to mind).

That being said, just because ingredients may sound innocent on their own does not mean I would necessarily consider combining them in a candy. Some pairings can be disastrous (take J.J. Abrams and lens flares, for instance), and I am really hoping that the creators of Twisted Bongos knew what they were doing here. I mean, the product must've gone through taste testing and everything, right? To be honest, I'm not holding my breath (my lung capacity is deplorable)...

One last note on the back of the package: between the recycling/anti-litter graphics and storage instructions, it says "THIS PACKAGE MAY NOY BE RECYCLABLE IN YOUR AREA." A small typo, perhaps, but TCR-FRESHY 5000 spotted it immediately. I'm just mentioning it in case Usher happens to see this and wants to correct it (along with the more glaring nutritional error) before starting production on a new batch of Twisted Bongos. You're welcome. Feel free to return the favor sometime.

 As there is nothing more of interest on the package, it is time to proceed within and explore the intricacies of the chili mango Twisted Bongos (vicariously, of course).

Don't open that... NOOO!

Upon removal of the outer wrapping, the candy gave off a familiar smell that I could not place; my wife suggested it smelled like her apple tea, and she may very well be right. I am personally not a big fan of tea, especially in my candy, so it did not bode well. I suppose it could have been a a chili/mango combo scent of sorts, but I'm sticking with my wife on this one.

Commencing extraction...

At a glance, the licorice sticks resembled beef sticks. A closer inspection revealed a coating (or "frost," if you will) of crushed red pepper flakes. I didn't find the look to be all that appetizing for candy. But it wasn't the worst I've seen, by any means. Not at all.

TCR-FRESHY 5000s chemical sensors detected no objectionable material in the sticks, which was promising. Then again, I don't believe they have EVER detected objectionable material, so they may just not work properly. Oh, well. I suppose it wouldn't kill me to try one either way. Would it?

I am happy to say that no, it would not. And it did not (though it would've made this blog entry a lot more mysterious if it had).

TCR-FRESHY 5000 has such a flair for the dramatic.

It was chewy and a little rubbery (as all licorice is) with a definite kick to it, and it wasn't nearly as horrible as one might expect. The ghastly ideas conjured up by my imagination were (mostly) unwarranted. The chili and mango flavors did not mix too well on my palate, but the mango flavoring itself was adequate (it was a tad more artificial-tasting than it should have been), and almost nice, even.

I believe my exact words to my wife were "I'm not hating it." But neither was I particularly liking it. I managed to eat two sticks (i.e., half a serving), but was satisfied with that and have no desire to take part in the Twisted Bongo experience again (sorry, Weazel Dawg). A little goes a long way.

But believe it or not, I would not call Usher's chili mango flavored Twisted Bongos a failure of a candy. I think it does have a place in the sweets world; I would, however, say that it is a niche product with a limited target audience (at least in the USA), of which I am not a part.

I therefore am rating the chili mango Twisted Bongos a 1. It was not my cup of tea (despite smelling like one), and it would take some extraneous circumstances to find me eating another one. If you are a heat fiend, you might disagree; you might even enjoy the unusual pairing. But I am not a heat fiend. I am a sweets fiend through and through, and this treat did nothing for me.

In short, if the thought of mango licorice covered in red pepper flakes does not appeal to you, don't worry that you're missing out. This candy is not for you.

Also, I do not recommend handing Usher Chili Mango Twisted Bongos out for Halloween, unless you want to be that house. Nobody wants to be that house.

Maybe give pennies instead. Those are always such a hit with kids.

Hoping for a hauntingly happy Halloween,
The Sweets Fiend

I could probably use some sun.

#16 - Lammes Candies Texas Chewie Pecan Praline

There is an old expression, "out of sight, out of mind," which implies that that which is not in one's sight is easily forgotten (not being on one's mind and all). Like other such sayings, it should be taken with a grain of salt (not literally), as there are naturally plenty of cases in which it is not true (particularly if you are blind). Alternatively, "out of sight" is an old slang phrase to describe something as wonderful or awesome, and to be out of one's mind is to lose control of one's mental faculties, so one could argue that the expression could rather be making the point that it's difficult to think straight while in a euphoric state. To my knowledge, it has never in the history of the world been used in such a manner, but it would be every bit as true, if you ask me (which you didn't).

Today, I refer to the expression in the more common (i.e., correct) usage, as I recently (as well as not as recently) have forgotten about a particular sweet given to me by one of my generous benefactors. Having been tucked out of my sight but in with the rest of my candy stash, it slipped out of my mind without the faintest warning and stayed there for several months.

The human brain is like that.

Then, just as rapidly (and again without warning), it popped back into my mind with a sense of urgency. The human brain is like that, too. So fickle!

Anyway, I wasted no time in seeking out the neglected candy, which turned out to be the "world famous" Lammes Candies Texas Chewie Pecan Praline (you may clap in excitement if you wish)!

A real celebrity in my home! I'm so starstruck!

Despite having lived in this world my entire life, I had never heard of this candy (nor Lammes, for that matter), though both have been around for more than a century (130 years, to be exact). Lammes has a pretty awesome (one might even say "out of sight") history, having been lost in a poker game (never bet your candy, folks) and bought back by the founder's son for a cool $800 (both in 1885; what a year!). The Texas Chewie Pecan Praline is currently their best seller, so I'm sure to be in for something special.

The Lammes logo is what I presume to be a lamb dreaming of being whatever the sheep equivalent of Superman or Supergirl is (based on the "flying" pose of the front legs). He or she seems to be enjoying the dream quite a bit, in fact; I'd like to think the dream also involves delivering chocolates to good children and adults alike. Aside from that, there's not much to the packaging, but that's okay with me. A minimalist approach to design is perfectly fine for a product like this.

First place in the "scary costume" contest.

A comparison to images on the Lammes Candies website leads me to believe my candy endured untold hardships on its journey to my mailbox. If he were alive today, I'm not sure even David Lamme, Sr., himself would recognize the object in the wrapper as a Texas Chewie Pecan Praline (though the text might give him a clue).

It is unfortunate, not only because I am unable to experience the praline in all its glory, but because it has severely hindered the readability of the wording on the packaging (though I would guess that it would be difficult to read in any condition).

The back side looks no better than the front. It exhibits the wretched state of the confection in tragic clarity and contains a crimson rectangle of mysterious origin and meaning. Was my sample tagged for some reason? Did it win a red ribbon for some accomplishment (such as surviving the arduous voyage)? In the immortal words of the riveting Alien Storm conclusion, "nobody knows and there is no way to find out."

I could find no expiration date anywhere on the wrapper. This was a big part of the reason I had forgotten about this particular candy, actually; I have my candy (or rather, my wife does) organized according to expiration date to eliminate the risk of spoilage, but the Texas Chewie Pecan Praline, having no such information, was off in limbo (just like the Alien Storm "tremendous three").

Therefore, it could very well be past its prime. Or it could (more likely) be just fine. A quick unwrapping should settle that in a jiffy!

I can't believe it's not butter! Oh, wait... it is!

Removing the wrapper allows one to actually read what's written on it. Of course, it would be too late for the consumer to change his or her mind at this point; smart move, Lammes Candies! Another example of their cleverness is the requirement of a phone call to obtain nutritional information. When one is considering the purchase of candy, calling customer service tends to be low on the list of priorities, and I would be surprised if they've ever actually received even one call from a consumer regarding the nutritional information. I know they have received no such call from me. As such, I have no ideas or thoughts concerning the nutrition facts of the "Texas Chewie" (out of sight, out of mind, after all). I will therefore eat it under the assumption that it is a healthy snack, because, hey, why not?

The package does, however, include the ingredients list, which is fairly standard, although I find it interesting that both butter AND margarine (the invention of which, believe it or not, was commissioned by Napoleon) are used. Who knew the two could live together so harmoniously? It's a lesson in peace for all of humanity.

Imagine this throbbing for greater effect.

 As I said earlier (you WERE paying attention, weren't you?), my praline appeared to have been through a lot during its lifetime and was not showing itself in the best light (says the man who provided the lighting). Its malleability allows it to be deformed with ease, almost like silly putty (but probably much more edible). I could see this being a huge hit with children because of it.

My specific specimen resembled some undefined organ from some currently unknown creature (terrestrial or otherwise). Even so, it seemed to be in decent condition to my untrained eye (and nose). I do have to admit, there was a brief moment when I considered I should have enlisted the help of my trusty robot assistant, TCR-FRESHY 5000 (who has helped me in the past once or twice), but what was done was done, and I had no choice but to continue on my own.

So I ate it, and Lammes Candies did not do me wrong.

The Texas Chewie Pecan Praline was not the best pecan praline I've ever come across, but it hit all the right marks. It was good and chewy (as suggested by the name), apart from the pecans, which obviously had the consistency of pecans (also suggested by the name), and it tasted... well, like a pecan praline should!

So, all in all, I liked it, but I don't think it quite lived up to the hype. If I were to purchase a selection of chocolate goodies from Lammes Candies, I would certainly include the "Texas Chewie" in the mix, though I might not purchase one on its own, and I doubt it would be my favorite of their offerings.

Therefore, I rank the Lammes Candies Texas Chewie Pecan Praline a 3. It's a good product from what seems to me to be a good company, and I'd recommend checking them out if you happen to be in Austin, Texas (or order from them online, even; you can't go wrong!). I know I wouldn't mind crossing paths with them again.

Until then, I bid Lammes Candies a sweet adieu, with wishes for another 130 years of success.

And I suggest they refrain from playing poker. That'd just be best for everyone.

Out of sight but never out of mind,
The Sweets Fiend

There are two sides to every Texas Chewie Pecan Praline. This is not one of them (it's the other).

#15 - Nestlé Violet Crumble

There is a well known poem which goes something like this (or exactly like this, even):

  Roses are red,
  Violets are blue,
  Sugar is sweet,
  And so are you.

While I'm all for mentioning sugar in poetry, the poem is a failure on many levels. For one thing, the first half has no bearing at all on the second half. It's as if the author lost his train of thought in the middle of the poem. For another, I'm pretty sure violets tend to be violet, hence the name; it's just not so easy to rhyme with "violet," which makes me wonder why the author chose violets to begin with. I'm guessing he began the sentence without considering the end and realized too late that "violet" has no rhyme. It brings me back to my childhood, when I would try to create a comic strip and draw the word bubbles without taking into account the text that would need to fit within them. I would find myself in a situation I think we have all been in at one time or another (perhaps metaphorically), where the writing would need to become smaller and smaller as it approached the impending edge of the bubble (some people continue outside the edge, but that just makes things worse). It seems my characters had the tendency to trail off as they talked...

Anyhow, as I've written a poem or two in my lifetime, I figured I'd try my hand at constructing a poem with similar sensibilities to the one above. So here goes:

  Apples are red,
  Oranges are orange,
  Candy is good,
  Oops, I can't make this rhyme.

Wow, I guess it's more difficult than I thought to account for the end of a poem like this. I mean, it involves thinking ahead TWO WHOLE LINES, and who has time for that?

But speaking of things with the word "violet" in them that seem to lack focus and have not been thought out too well, today's candy is the one and only Violet Crumble by Nestlé:

Everything you see here is essentially incorrect.

I have tried several Nestlé products at this point with various levels of enjoyment, but, to the best of my knowledge, this would be the first hailing from the Land Down Under. Australia is known for unique animals, like the vicious koala, the wacky (and venomous) platypus, and the mischievous kangaroo, just to name a few. Therefore, I'm hoping for a unique experience here. However, Australia is also known for Vegemite, which I don't think anyone outside of Australia is capable of comprehending. So this could go either way.

I think everyone's initial thought upon seeing the Violet Crumble package is this: "Violent Crumble" would be a much cooler name. While that is naturally true, it may not be accurate; maybe the candy is made of violet powder or something? I don't know. I prefer flour to flower, but I will give it a chance.

A quick look on the edge of the package reveals the slogan "It's the way it shatters that matters." Kudos for rhyming, Nestlé, but shattering and crumbling are two very different things, so I'm a little confused by the slogan. I would also have to disagree with the general sentiment, because, call me old-fashioned, but I believe taste matters as much as shatterability (I'm thinking of trademarking that word). To further confuse the issue (and consumer), the product is described as "Delicious shattering choc covered honeycomb." Yes, "Violet Crumble" explains that with foolproof clarity. I think maybe the name was chosen before the candy bar was created and they just stuck with it. The not-very-appetizing artist's rendition of the bar looks like it may have a slight violet tint to it, so it's possible that's where the name comes from, but for now, I'm assuming it is just another poor packaging job by Nestlé. I've often criticized the lack of effort put into Nestlé's packaging and am afraid this is just one more unfortunate casualty (as opposed to a fortunate casualty, of course).

Not quite 24601, but it'll do.

Thankfully, I've just made the "best before" date. There are actually two strings of numbers in the section. I guess one is in a unique Australian dating system or something. Or it could be the prison number of the convict who packaged the candy. After all, Australia is also known for its convicts (which may or may not have been a factor in Hugh Jackman being selected for the part of Jean Valjean).

Regardless of their meaning, I doubt the extra numbers are any cause for concern, so I will (like the aforementioned poet) forget what I was talking about before continuing on to the next line.

By the way, did you know that sugar is sweet?

Don't let the box on the left distract you from the bright and shiny red one!

The nutritional information is pretty normal, except that Australia has decided to measure the energy content in kilojoules rather than kilocalories. This means an American consumer must divide by 4.184 (or 4, if you're lazy) to get the Calorie count, so the Violet Crumble is about 237 Calories. That's not half bad, given the size of the bar. However, the protein total is surprisingly low, even for a candy bar.

To the right of the nutritional panel is a "life's all about balance" motto with Nestlé's creed regarding a healthy lifestyle, which could be summed up with "You should not be eating this candy bar." I'm glad to hear that Nestlé is willing to believe what is so obviously true. I would be very concerned indeed if Nestlé believed that sitting on a couch all day eating junk food was the way to perfect health (though how I wish that were the case).

Déjà vu all over again!

Under the flap, the wrapper contains an additional, though more concise, nutritional chart. I guess it's a nice touch for consumers who are too busy to look at an entire chart with columns and all. It's like the CliffsNotes of nutrition!

The ingredients list can be found to the right of the Nestlé manifesto:

Is the glucose syrup in my bar derived from wheat or corn? Nobody knows.

I can find nothing frightening in the ingredients list, which is always a positive sign. The Violet Crumble is 59% compounded chocolate and honeycomb, which fits the description nicely. It may also contain trace amounts of peanuts and tree nuts. That's right, the Violet Crumble is more likely to contain peanuts than anything related to the word "violet." I defy anyone to look at the list of ingredients and explain how the name "Violet Crumble" could be derived from them. Like rhyming with "orange," it simply cannot be done.

Below the ingredients list is contact information for consumer services. I would bet the majority of their time is spent attempting to answer questions about the name of the product.

But the packaging doesn't really matter so much; the important thing is how it shatters, right? To be honest, I wasn't very interested in shattering the Violet Crumble, nor did I know whether or not shattering was meant to be done before unwrapping the bar (as no instructions were included), so I just opened it up and...

Well, Nestlé has surprised me in the past upon opening one of their products, but never before have I been so baffled and disturbed by a candy bar. I don't know if the look was intentional or I just received a defective bar, but it did not look right to me. To be frank, I do not find the design to be appropriate for all ages (or any age, for that matter), and as this is not that kind of blog, I will leave it at that and move along...

I do have to say it oddly smelled better than most Nestlé products I've come across. I guess that's something.

This is called a Violet Crumble. No, really.

Unlike the artwork on the front of the package, there was no hint of a non-chocolate tint to the candy. In fact, there is still no sign at all as to how the name has any relation whatsoever to the candy bar, which makes me wonder if the name were conceived in a game of Apples to Apples.

A quick internet search finally puts the mystery to rest, revealing that the "violet" in the name refers to the favorite flower of the candy bar creator's wife. Well, that makes plenty of sense, then. Additionally, the search reveals that the original slogan was "Nothing else matters," which is a very sobering thought (I think Metallica did a song about the Violet Crumble a while back). I am grateful for the slogan change, as I do not think I would want to live in a world where the only thing that matters is the Violet Crumble.

That's the way the violet crumbles...

I tried breaking the bar in half to see how it shattered and was surprised how cleanly it broke. I expected dangerously pointy shards to take flight in all sorts of directions (potentially at my face; I was taking a big risk), but there was very little shattering going on. It did give me a decent look at the honeycomb within.

To be fair, whacking the bar against a hard surface would likely exhibit the shattering properties more accurately, but I was in no mood to make such a mess while hungry for some candy.

And there was, in fact, a cross between a crumbling and shattering effect as I bit into the Violet Crumble. I was rather impressed by that, given how low my expectations had gotten. It wasn't an entirely welcome surprise, however; it brought to mind the last time I went on a bicycle ride and the brakes fell apart while I pedaled. I prefer my treats not try to escape while I'm eating them. Just one of my quirks, I guess.

Despite the claims, that didn't matter to me much. As I said before, it was the taste I cared about, and sadly, I was not wowed by the Violet Crumble. It was just... okay at best. I've had competing products before, and all were better (in my opinion, anyway) than Nestlé's attempt. My wife did not care for it at all.

It had chocolate. It had honeycomb. It shattered/crumbled. But I was underwhelmed in all it had to offer.

Still, I do think I might eat one again if I were in the mood for a sweet and one was offered to me with no better alternatives. Thus, I rate the Nestlé Violet Crumble a disappointed 2.

I feel like a broken record saying this, but I think Nestlé needs to up their game. Too often have I found their candy to be flirting with mediocrity rather than smashing it in a violent crumble (see what I did there?). There's a lot of potential to the company, though, and I wait eagerly for the day Nestlé will shock me with greatness. It could happen!

So, Nestlé, if you're listening, I still believe in you. Really I do.

Just not in the way that you believe proper nutrition and physical activity combined with positive lifestyle choices are important in maintaining good health.

With wishes as sweet as sugar,
The Sweets Fiend

You've never seen such shattering!

#14 - Cloetta Sportlunch

On July 7, 1999, Moroccan Hicham El Guerrouj ran a mile in just 3:43.13 seconds, setting a new world record, which he holds to this day (Noah Ngeny, one of his opponents, finished with a laughable time of 3:43:40). The guy is FAST.

In high school (circa 1991-1992), one of my physical education class demands was running a mile in under ten minutes. I cannot remember how many attempts I was forced to take before my teacher finally gave up on me and waived the requirement, but it was plenty enough for me. Suffice it to say, I am NOT fast. In fact, I have been told by more than one individual that I am the slowest person he/she has ever met (is it any wonder that The Poky Little Puppy was one of my favorite books as a young boy?).

Clearly, sports aren't my thing. I have never participated in any organized sport, nor do I follow sports, really; my wife jokes that I can name more current fashion designers than athletes (which, at any given time, tends to be more true than funny). I even once seriously injured myself playing a game of pool. It's bad.

I am just not an athlete, nor am I likely to become one as I age. Perhaps my sedentary lifestyle is the culprit, but I'd rather place the blame on a lack of nutritious sweets (because that requires no change on my part). If there were a candy bar that could turn a sluggish klutz of a man into a superhuman athletic machine, surely my story would be completely different.

Fortunately, the cries of the sluggards have not gone unheard, as my good friends at Cloetta (okay, I don't actually know a single Cloetta employee) have promised a solution to the problem: the Sportlunch candy bar!

Who needs exercise when you've got milk chocolate and crispy wafers?

The Sportlunch (formerly "Mellanmål," or "snack" - I prefer "Sportlunch") apparently comes in at least two forms: the wider six-pack and the two-bar version I am reviewing today. It is not the first candy bar I've come across to allegedly offer miraculous nutritional qualities; the Japp and Power Break series share similar claims (I'm still waiting for their effects). It seems that in Sweden (and neighboring countries) candy bars are considered very nutritious for you, which means that either Nordic people do in fact obtain their ideal nutrients from candy (in which case I should've been born a Swede or something) or their usual culinary fare is (somehow) far less nutritious than candy. I mean, they wouldn't allow so much blatantly misleading advertising, would they?

There can be no doubt that candy bars are low on the nutritional totem pole, because G.I. Joe's Lifeline (the wimp of G.I. Joe, really; he was a lover, not a fighter) says so, and, with his medical training, he ought to know (and knowing is half the battle)! Before I go on, please view the video and explain to me this: is Lifeline a contortionist, or is he being fed the apple by an off-screen friend? Seriously, I do not think it is humanly possible for one to hold an apple as he does, though I would gladly be proven wrong. I offer this challenge to my reader(s): take a video of yourself (or a friend, preferably dressed up as a G.I. Joe character) attempting to eat an apple (or any edible object, for that matter) in the style of Lifeline. Anyone brave enough to accept the challenge may be featured in a future blog entry, which is likely to be viewed by at least two people (including me and the challenger)! What have you got to lose, other than some pride and self-respect?

This is no apple, folks!

Anyhow, Lifeline's denouncement of candy bars was obviously a blow to many of my dreams (to say nothing of his encouraging kids to eat apples without paying for them). It was also when I realized that food substitution suggestions rarely make sense ("Instead of a double cheeseburger, have a stick of celery!"); if my taste is for a candy bar, an apple (even a "free" one) will hardly satisfy my needs.

But enough about tragic memories, there is candy to be eaten! The packaging is well done, being colorful and eye-catching while giving off a "fitness" vibe. If it were not for the candy graphic on the right, I might mistake the product for an actual health bar. Luckily, it is no such thing. It is honest-to-goodness candy, and, if the artwork is to be believed, it looks to be a good one!

If you can read this, your candy's still fit to be eaten.

On the back of the package, the "best before" date can be found, if you look closely. It is faded badly, but not yet beyond legibility, and it seems everything should be just fine. Generally speaking, I would expect ink to have a larger shelf life than chocolate, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Maybe the Sportlunch just has an abnormally long shelf life. I am tempted to call one of the numerous phone numbers provided to get an answer, but it seems like an awful lot of effort, and, as has already established, I'm a lazy bum.

A slight look to the right of the contact information reveals the nutritional information.

Eat two packages of Sportlunch, and this information is correct!

I didn't realize at first that it was in fact the nutritional information, because I'm used to seeing a chart or, at the very least, a box. Cloetta has decided on a more subtle approach with the Sportlunch, maybe to hide the fact that it is not the world's healthiest snack?

As is usual for candy from the region, the data is based on 100g, which rarely corresponds to the actual mass of the product. Fortunately, this particular Sportlunch is 50g, making calculations a simple division by two (or a single bit shift to the right, if you're a computer programmer). There are thus 263 Calories of pure athleticism inside. That's on the higher end for candy bars, as is the amount of protein therein. I suppose one could argue that the Sportlunch is indeed packed with energy, but I still have my doubts that any G.I. Joe representative would recommend it over an apple.

I don't know about you, but I'm a fan of helmjölkspulver's recent work.

The ingredients are hidden under the flap (surprise!) and of no help to me whatsoever, since I don't read any of the languages provided. However, the very first ingredient is "socker," which I imagine translates to "MaD Socc3R Ski11Z." Maybe the Sportlunch does indeed make one an instant fitness superstar?

There is really just too much to go through here, so I will just pretend it is a credits list and be done with it.

The external examination being completed, it was time to dig in and see what the Cloetta Sportlunch really had to offer. My first impression was thankfully a positive one.

VROOM VROOM?

 The "chocolate brick," for lack of a better word, has a nice Formula One racing motif to it. I am assuming it is an F1 motif, at least; I could be horribly wrong. I know it's not Nascar, that's for sure, but it certainly does seem to have something to do with racing, which I know precious little about. I once received a call asking if I had some free time to take a survey. As chance would have it, I did. It turned out to be a survey about Formula One races and international soccer tournaments, and, in particular, the brands associated with and advertised during said events. As one might guess, I was not the ideal candidate for such a survey. What followed was nearly half an hour of me repeating either "I don't know" or "I've never heard of them." Still, it passed the time.

As I've often said, I always appreciate additional design details to candy, so I was pleased with Cloetta's efforts. It was a thing of beauty. However, the chocolate was quickly beginning to melt in my hand, so I thought it best to initiate Operation Consumption with no further delay.

Sun? Octopus? You be the judge!

 Imagine my joy and surprise when I pulled out the second "brick" and discovered a totally different look to it! This one appeared to be a sun, perhaps setting on the last race of the day or something (it was either that or the last view of someone being killed by a giant octopus). It was a fitting conclusion to the candy, and I will admit, I truly enjoyed it (both the candy and the look of it).

The milk chocolate/crispy wafer combo is a popular one, with varying degrees of success. I would personally place the Sportlunch slightly ahead of the more famous (at least around here) Kit Kat. The chocolate was mighty tasty (and in a thicker layer than most of the competitors), and I found no fault in the wafers. All in all, it met (and perhaps exceeded) any expectations the artwork on the wrapper may have inspired (and it was filling, to boot).

It was close to a complete winner. Unfortunately, like Noah Ngeny, it fell short of the highest ranking. I can't exactly explain why, to be honest; it didn't necessarily do anything wrong. But neither did its memory stick with me afterwards. I thought "Hey, that was good," and then went on my merry way without a thought of whether or not I'd ever meet another Sportlunch.

Therefore, I give the Cloetta Sportlunch a very respectable 3. You can't go wrong with it, and I wouldn't mind buying one sometime (not even a little bit), but it is unlikely to haunt my dreams (or turn me into a superhuman athletic machine).

Even so, Cloetta is to be commended for putting forth such a solid offering. Don't hesitate to pick one up if you happen to be in Sweden (or Norway, for that matter), and as the slogan (which is nothing at all like Nike's slogan) goes, "Just eat it."

Just keep an eye out for any pesky G.I. Joe members in the vicinity.

Until the Sportlunch promise comes to fruition, I remain
The Sweets Fiend

Now that's what I'm talking about!

#13 - Nestlé Aero 2 in 1

I have never been a superstitious individual (knock on wood), and that can come in handy at a time like today, when I am poised to review my thirteenth candy (particularly after my last debacle). The fear of the number thirteen (or "triskaidekaphobia," if you want to sound like you know what you're talking about) is a puzzling one, with uncertain origins but some odd consequences over the years.

For instance, most people have heard of buildings "without" a thirteenth floor (just don't try and count). Less well known is the quatorzième (literally "fourteenth"), a professional dinner guest in nineteenth century Paris whose job was to bring an unlucky party of thirteen up to a more fortuitous fourteen. If that ever makes a comeback, I may apply for the position; getting paid to fill a seat and stuff my face sounds like my kind of career!

The point is, some people take their numbers very seriously. Consider the legend of poor Hippasus, who may or may not (though most likely not) have been drowned by the Pythagoreans for proving the existence of irrational numbers (which, ironically, would have been an extremely irrational reaction).

I reiterate: some people take their numbers very seriously.

As for me, I take my candy very seriously. But today's candy happens to include two numbers in one name, for it is none other than the Nestlé Aero 2 in 1:

"Two can't fit into one; it's twice as big!" - irrational and imaginary number fanatic

This one caught my eye while browsing through a store containing foreign candies, so the package design obviously works well, with chocolate and white chocolate bubbles and an effective, albeit plain, color scheme. Having never had an Aero before (2 in 1 or otherwise), I can only assume that the texture of the font is representative of the product somehow. Either way, it intrigues me and raises my expectations, which is really what packaging is all about.

Seeing the words "Bubbly Milk" takes me back to my childhood, where I (like any normal child) would blow into my milk, spawning a multitude of milk bubbles. Oh, the power I wielded! Even so, it is my opinion that "feel the bubbles" does not belong on any sweet, and certainly does not necessitate a trademark. Is the phrase really so highly coveted in the candy world? I am not a player in the cutthroat world of chocolatiers, but I would think not (if you happen to be a chocolatier and know me to be wrong, I'd love to hear from you). Even if the bubbles play a major role in the Aero experience, the Nestlé wordsmiths could have aimed for a bit more creativity. This isn't the first time they've let me down with a slogan; the Walnut Whip wasn't any better. Try harder, Nestlé; I know you've got it in you.

I don't trust this one bit...

The back of the wrapper continues the "bubble" motif, and a sticker was haphazardly placed over the foreign information for the convenience of the American consumer. The "best by" date indicates the product is still in its prime, though I am interested in the numbers covered up by the sticker; if they make up a date, it is a very different date. Hmm...

A quick glance at the nutritional information concerns me. The Calories from fat and total Calorie count are listed as the same, but that is clearly wrong. The fat content is 11g, which should make for 99 Calories. Also, the front of the package suggests that the total Calorie count is 194, not 182. Where did those extra 12 Calories go? You're not fooling anyone with your sloppy sticker work! In Nestlé's defense, I don't believe the sticker was their doing, but it's a shame nonetheless.

Added bonus: in the ingredients list, "flavour" ranks lower than "hazelnut paste." Oh, joy.

Anyhow, if you want the REAL nutritional information, you need to lift the back flap (always a good idea with candy). Sneaky, sneaky!

Tip for Nestlé: hiding the "nutritional compass" under a flap defeats its purpose.

That's much better. As the Nutritional Compass® says, "It's good to know." Indeed.

This chart is actually accurate, aside from a little misspelling and the lack of an Oxford comma ("depennding" on whether you feel an Oxford comma is necessary or not, I suppose).

I'd take accurate information in a foreign language over inaccurate information in English any day. Importers, take note!

Maybe it's just me, but I'd make flavor a priority.

 Also hidden under the flap is the real ingredient list. "Flavour" still ranks poorly, but the hazelnut paste is nowhere to be found. I'm beginning to think that the Americanized sticker is truly worthless.

Additionally, Nestlé gives out some contact info, because they believe it's "good to talk" (and if you can do it without moving your mouth, or, rather, moving it just a little, that's even better).

Upon opening the wrapper, I was greeted with the familiar Nestlé chocolate smell. It's all right, but it has always seemed sort of cheaply processed to me, and the Aero 2 in 1 is no exception.

I figured I should give the bottom side of the "bar" a viewing, because once in a while one finds interesting features there. That did not happen this time. The bottom of the bar reminds me of a thoroughly rusty sheet of metal, though more "chocolatey." But hey, it's my fault for looking, right? It would be best to not dwell on it.

The front is an entirely different story:

This bar is ready to party!

I am a fan of fanciful designs in my sweets, so I fully appreciate the bubbly stamping on the Aero 2 in 1. It shows effort and just all around adds to the appeal of the candy. After all, who doesn't like fun? I recall "I like to have fun" appearing on nearly every Myspace profile I've ever come across (especially girls; Cyndi Lauper called that), so that's more or less an ironclad confirmation: people like fun, and whimsical chocolate is fun! To facilitate sharing, the bar is split into several segments. Encouraging generosity is always a plus.

There was a sort of "fun" factor to the texture within, too. The airiness allowed the insides to collapse in my mouth. That sort of thing could easily go wrong, but I'm glad to say it succeeded here.

It's just too bad that the taste wasn't quite as fun. There was nothing wrong with it, per se; the promised tastes were present, with the white chocolate flavor being prominent. As much as I enjoy white chocolate, it just didn't move my taste buds in any meaningful way, and when I was finished with the bar, my sweet tooth was not fully satisfied.

I therefore am regretfully giving the Aero 2 in 1 a 2 (a very rational number). It's an okay treat, and I'd eat another if it fell into my hands (candy falling into my hands is always a dream of mine), but I have serious doubts about whether I'd purchase another one for myself. It was a valiant effort that just failed to hit the mark for me.

I'd recommend trying some iteration of the Aero bar if just for the textural experience, but wouldn't suggest trying too hard to get at one; there are better ways to spend your time (such as confounding a group of Pythagoreans with mathematical proofs).

Definitely not a fail, Nestlé, but I still believe you can do better. I'm patiently waiting for you to prove me right!

'Til my sweet tooth beckons again,
The Sweets Fiend

Can't you just "feel the bubbles?"

#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!