#37 - Hershey's Candy Corn Bar

With the approach of every holiday, I can't help but drool in anticipation of the seasonal selection of sweets announcing its arrival. Sure, the majority of it is subpar at best (eaten only when all better treats have been consumed), but there are the inevitable winners among the dross, whether they be deliciously unique products, temporary new shapes or flavors for old favorites, or a simple repackaging (notable only for the hefty markdowns seen afterwards).

Then there are those sweets that, while available all year, see a surge in popularity during a particular holiday. One such example is candy corn, which, despite being on pretty much every "worst Halloween candy" list I've ever seen, finds itself in candy dishes across the country when October rolls around (Halloween accounts for about 75% of the twenty million pounds in annual candy corn sales). I think it's a combination of the autumn-appropriate color scheme and resemblance to monster teeth; its usage seems to lean toward decorative as much as (if not more so than) ingestive. Rumors even suggest that, every year, a considerable portion of candy corn is discarded in the trash once the season is over, because people just don't like it.

That's what I hear, anyway.

Me, I like the stuff. I have been referred to as a candy corn connoisseur, and one of my proudest moments in life has been single-handedly finishing off a five-pound bag of the sugary bits (the key is pacing oneself; eat too much at once and the flavor mutates into something less palatable). Therefore, I would think I should be more than qualified to review a candy corn inspired take on a classic (and a few days after Halloween, no less; it's all coming together now), no?

And so I present to you the Hershey's Candy Corn bar:

Mediocre chocolate company + candy nobody likes = ?

You may have heard of Hershey's before.

Hershey's is a colossal candy company (it even has its own community) that has, in its more-than-a-hundred years of existence, become the dominant force in the North American chocolate manufacturing industry (selling in dozens of nations worldwide, to boot), with a variety of beloved products.

This is, in and of itself, quite a feat, but it becomes all the more remarkable when one considers that, to be brutally honest, their chocolate is just one step (maybe two if I'm being nice) above the bargain-basement type found in the cheapest of candies. I have seriously heard it described, on two separate occasions, by two people who do not know each other, as "wax painted brown." Or, to borrow an expression my wife might use, "It's good because it's chocolate, but it's not good for chocolate."

But they have no intentions of letting something so trivial as inferior chocolate get in their way. No siree! And now they've thrown their hat(s?) into the candy corn ring.

I'm not sure how I feel about that, but I suppose their attempt deserves a fair shot, and I'm nothing if not fair (well, maybe I'm lazy).

Okay, then. The packaging is simple, but effective, as one might expect from a company with Hershey's resources. They've made a wise decision in keeping the flashy hues to a minimum, bringing a tad more sophistication than candy corn is accustomed to. The bar and candy corn graphics are totally appropriate, and the overall appearance is, in a word, successful . Designing a package for a product such as this is an extremely tall order, and the artists at Hershey's have passed with flying colors (yellow and orange, to be specific). Well done, all around!

I may frame this and keep it on my wall.

This being a product of the U.S.A. and all, there were no surprises to be found in the "best before" section; it was not only clear (even with the abbreviation), but also encouraging, as my bar was months from going bad.

Devoted readers of this blog (hi, Mom!) know I do not always get to my reviews in a timely manner. Thus, it is always a relief to find I've not let another precious sweet into the wicked hands of Time (no, not THAT Time).

After a well-earned pat on my back (hold your applause, please), I decided to see what Hershey's had in store for me nutritionally.

The information was on the back of the package, partially hidden by the wrapper's flap (not to be confused with a flapper's wrap).

All the nourishment candy corn can provide, now in bar form!

I don't think anyone was expecting a candy corn creme bar to be the pathway to health (which is more than I can say for the Sportlunch), and it clearly is not. At least it has a bit of protein, I guess (and is low in cholesterol and sodium). And hopefully its lack of any real nutritional value bodes well for the flavor; tastiness and healthiness are not necessarily inversely correlated, but one can still hope, right?

Oh, and though it can't easily be discerned from the picture (as the panel wraps around the edge), the calcium is listed as "8%." I doubt that would change one's opinion of the product one way or another, but I'd be remiss not to mention it.

Perhaps a perusal of the ingredients list (also beneath the flap and running off the bottom of the bar) would shed more light on the situation:

WARNING: THIS PACKAGE MAY CONTAIN...

Well, that's certainly a list. I apologize for the allergen warning being cut off (the package certainly leaves one in suspense). Just assume that if you have allergies you probably shouldn't eat it. That'd likely be for the best even if you do not have allergies.

Carnauba wax (painted brown?) may be a familiar, if frightening-sounding ingredient. Less familiar (but even more frightening) may be "resinous glaze," which is described in the most appetizing way here. Combine that with such horrifying terms as "tocopherols" and "PGPR," and one has the makings for a terrifying Halloween tale.

Also of note are the colored circles above the list. I've found them to be quite common on packages originating in the United States, but not so much on imports. If you've ever suspected there to be a thrilling secret behind them (such as distracting one from the inclusion of resinous glaze), the (SPOILER ALERT!) answer  might disappoint you. So don't worry about them, okay?

Besides, it's time to unveil the Hershey's Candy Corn bar in all its glory!

Or something like that.

Look at me when I'm talking to you!

Peeling away the wrapper (following the helpful "lift and pull here" instructions), I was greeted by the backside of the bar (and an almost overwhelming aroma my wife described as "a bakery on steroids"). This never leads to a desirable first impression (especially given the appearance of the candy corn "pimples"), but it seems to be a problem unsolvable by the collective minds of the world's chocolatiers; even the best of bars suffer this fate.

It's a pity, too, as the face of the Candy Corn bar isn't too shabby; the Hershey's logo is delightfully imprinted on each breakable section, and there the "pimply" bits are not so unsightly.

Is it the best candy bar I've ever seen? No. But it's fine job, nonetheless. Hershey's knows how to put on a show.


Still, the real question is how it tastes.

It brings me great joy to say it tasted very much like it smelled! While I struggled to find any sort of recognizable candy corn flavoring, there was no denying that if an entire bakery's worth of sugary treats could take steroids and then be compressed into a single bar, the result would be Hershey's Candy Corn bar (my wife can be very perceptive at times).

Really, it reminded me of grabbing a spoon and eating an excessively sweet frosting (Funfetti®, for instance) right out of the container. If that does not sound pleasant to you, you may wish to keep your distance; it is almost overpowering.

But as much as I enjoyed it, I could not help feeling that, for all its sweetness, it lacked substance. Yes, I was fond of the sugary intensity, but there was no depth to it, and I can't imagine feeling the draw to purchase another bar.

I therefore rate Hershey's Candy Corn bar an average 2. I liked it, I really did. But I feel I've already experienced all it has to offer. That doesn't mean I wouldn't gladly eat another one; I just wouldn't gladly pay to do it. And, no matter what it's called, it would in no way satisfy one's need for candy corn.

Not at all.

So if you're looking for an ultra sweet bar with unfulfilled promises, you might want to give Hershey's Candy Corn bar a try.

But if you're looking for candy corn, just eat some candy corn (or even make it yourself, if you're one of those crazy do-it-yourself types).

I won't tell.

Crashing from a sugar rush on steroids,
The Sweets Fiend

I can see more candy corn here than I tasted.

#36 - Philippine Brand Coco Mango Balls

Reviewing candy is a double-edged sword. I get a lot of free candy (much more than I'd expected when initiating this preposterous endeavor), but I do not get to choose said candy. Thus, I am at the mercy of my unpredictable benefactors, some with questionable intentions one might describe as "diabolical."

I have endured through chili mango licorice sticks. I have survived a form of chocolate (I use the term loosely) that first tormented its hapless victims over 250 years ago! And I have managed to somehow maintain my love for sweets despite a bout with candy so foul I still occasionally wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, the memory of its horrid taste lingering on my tongue.

Needless to say, my encounter with Lucia Pastillas de Ube Macapuno left me rather leery of the Philippines as a source of sweets. Then again, I'm all for giving a country a second chance; one never knows when one might find a diamond in the rough!

Nevertheless, I hope you will understand my reluctance in getting around to today's review, because it just happens to be Phillipine Brand Coco Mango Balls:

Introducing TTR-CRAB 900, the newest addition to my candy review team!

Now, I'm not a complete fool (that's a work in progress); I was not about to rush into a potentially disastrous situation alone (as everyone knows, "it's dangerous to go alone"). In a stroke of bad luck, my usual robot sidekick, TCR-FRESHY 5000, was on an extended vacation (personally, I suspect his fear simulators got the best of him; I don't know why I installed that bit), so I was forced to seek out another assistant, preferably one with experience in tropical climates.

Enter TTR-CRAB 900. Though originally from Hong Kong, he spent a couple of summers in the Philippines via some sort of robot exchange program. His resume was not exactly flawless (the section titled "Knife Skills" was disturbingly thorough), but he was eager, and I was desperate, and that elicited a prompt decision.

So let's commence the review, shall we?

First off, the package design is actually not bad. I don't know why that surprised me, but it did. It's not great, mind you, but neither is it terrible. The color palette and artwork are in line with the name/concept, and the font choices are acceptable, though not inspired. The package has two main faults, really: the phrase "EXPORT QUALITY" displayed on the front does not instill the confidence I presume was intended, and the little "window" exposes the "balls" in all their vile wretchedness. They in no way resemble the balls pictured on the bag (creating a ball that looks nothing like another is quite a feat indeed), and it causes one to wonder if perhaps "EXPORT QUALITY" actually means "NOT UP TO OUR STANDARDS." Otherwise, I shudder at the thought of what those poor Filipinos must be sold.

Let's just say that at this point I was glad to have TTR-CRAB 900 at my disposal.

O "best by" date, where art thou?

Moving on, I soon discovered that the "best by" section was completely worthless. If a printed date ever existed on the packaging, it was nowhere to be found now (much like my appetite). Maybe it was meant to indicate that the product was never any good to begin with. Or (fingers crossed) maybe the clever scientists in the Philippines have discovered a method of preservation which thwarts all of Time's nefarious schemes.

I could not be sure of the cause or meaning  behind the alarming omission (exposure to a light bulb offered no answer), but the multiple price tags (indicating at least one markdown) and visual appearance of the product were about as comforting as the "EXPORT QUALITY" pledge.

Now, Philippine Brand is a part of Profood International Corporation, which has no less than five certifications. One would think at least one of those certifications would involve suggesting dates by which to consume a product, particularly if said product contains a section on the package dedicated to such a date. I guess not. That would be silly.

Not particularly helpful in two languages!

At least the nutrition facts panel contains some information. I've doubts about its accuracy (they suggest 100 divided by 30 is 3.0, for one thing), but it's there. The values are given for one third of the package, which is mighty convenient, considering that there are sixteen Coco Mango Balls inside (who doesn't regularly stop after eating five and a third pieces of a snack, after all?).

I should probably mention that the panel wrapped around the edge of the package, and TTR-CRAB 900 thought it best to tear it open (at a handy "tear here" marking) in order to get a better photograph (the tear is visible in the resulting image). I'm not sure his recommendation was sound, but he's still learning the ropes, so try and go easy on him.

Anyhow, Coco Mango Balls are not frightening from a nutritional standpoint, as 130 Calories is about half what one would find in a typical candy bar. Eating all sixteen balls in one sitting would amount to somewhere between 390 and 430 Calories, depending on who's doing the math. But who would want to do that?

Meanwhile, the ingredients list is short and sweet:

If you've still got all your fingers, you can count the ingredients on one hand!
If not, I'm sorry to have reminded you.

Five ingredients. That's all. One could easily memorize everything necessary to create Coco Mango Balls. In fact, why don't you go ahead and do that? You've obviously got nothing better to do if you're sitting there reading about a pitiable man-child and his two-bit (I do not mean that in the digital sense; his processor is 8-bit at the very least) crab robot opening a package of (presumably) edible ball-like objects.

Okay, got it all memorized? Good. If Profood International Corp. should happen to lose the recipe, they'll have you to rely on (and won't you be so proud of yourself?).

Concise though it may be, the list provides some new and vital information. Firstly, not all mangoes are suitable for use in Coco Mango Balls. I believe the implication is that only the best mangoes are selected, but that's not necessarily true; there is no indication of what the criteria for selection might be (but rest assured, the mangoes are all "EXPORT QUALITY"). Secondly, there is no secret Filipino miracle preservative after all; sulfites are commonly used as preservatives in dried fruits.

So the condition of my Coco Mango Balls remained uncertain.

TTR-CRAB 900 is not afraid to get his claws dirty.

TTR-CRAB 900 approached the tray and carefully selected what looked to be the least offensive of the malformed blobs. His initial analysis determined a high likelihood of staleness with a low risk of fatality. With an excitement that seemed unwarranted considering the situation, he offered me the dreaded morsel, his eyes shining with anticipation (remember, this was his first job and all).

 I had no excuse (other than my common sense) to reject his "gift," so I gently plucked it from his steely claws and gave it a quick sniff. As far as I could tell, there wasn't much to smell. The doughy ball did feel a tad stale, however (I can hardly be blamed for that, given their "best by" shenanigans). Tossing my reservations to the side, I sunk my teeth into it and...

Well, it wasn't horrible! Believe it or not, I actually enjoyed the first instant wherein the coconut flavor tickled my taste buds (I'm a pretty big fan of coconut; I ate a peanut butter, jelly, and coconut sandwich every day for a good portion of my childhood). The taste of the mango followed with little delay, and that was the moment I realized that coconut and mango do not make for a healthy marriage. Before long, the mango asserted its dominance and the coconut was a distant memory. It was an odd sensation; I think either flavor would have fared better on its own, to be honest.

Still, I didn't hate it. And perhaps I'm just in a generous mood, or perhaps I'm just relieved that it did not leave me clutching my throat and gagging, but I am rating Philippine Brand Coco Mango Balls a 2 (a very low 2, but a 2 regardless).

Sometimes, one is just in the mood to snack on something and is not too particular what that something is. I can envision Coco Mango Balls being that "something" under the right circumstances; I wouldn't choose them, and I wouldn't specifically want them, but if they were there (especially if they were fresh), I wouldn't be opposed to eating them (though that might say more about me than the Coco Mango Balls).

Do I recommend them? No. But neither do I condemn them. I am as baffled as you likely are by my decision and am convinced there was just enough decent flavor to fool me into thinking they were better than they actually were. Profoods International Corp. must have sorcerers on staff or something.

So, nice try, diabolical benefactors, but you'll need to do better than that to take down The Sweets Fiend!

And thank you, TTR-CRAB 900; your premier performance can only be described as "EXPORT QUALITY."

Grateful to be alive,
The Sweets Fiend

I'd like to tell you this tastes better than it looks, but I'm not sure it does.

#35 - Las Sevillanas Mini Oblea con Cajeta de Leche de Cabra

Once upon a time (July of 2013), I embarked on a weekend trip with my wife and her parents. My mother-in-law diligently researched the available lodgings in the general vicinity of our destination and settled on a quaint (I'm being kind here) motel harking back to the days of yore (i.e., mid-20th century). The place truly was a throwback, unfettered by modern constraints such as standards. But the two main draws to this singular humble retreat were the ridiculously low price (that wasn't a red flag at all) and the promise of a farm of sorts on the property, complete with a heaping helping of live animals!

In the end, we managed to enjoy our stay, despite having to share our rooms with rambunctious families of millipedes (I think there was a bug convention in town or something). Much of our enjoyment was due to the presence of the farm animals behind the motel, which included a couple of donkeys (one with a penchant for biting off fingers, we were warned), a variety of chickens and roosters, the mangiest group of stray cats I have ever seen (and that's saying something), and a small herd of friendly goats. The goats, in particular, were a big hit, so much so that my mother-in-law declared "Sometimes you're just in the mood for a goat."

I think we can all agree with that sentiment.

Now, to a good portion of the world, goats are a popular source of both meat and milk, but, somewhere in its short history, the United States has lost its affinity for the handy critters. While that may be changing, we Americans still outnumber our goats a hundred to one and simply don't seem to have much of a craving for goat meat.

Or goat milk, for that matter. In spite of an upward trend in goat milk production, cows still provide the vast majority of America's dairy needs, and that includes sweets and candies. Here, one doesn't really find treats utilizing goat secretions (an appetizing description, I know) outside of specialty stores.

But again, the U.S.A. is in the minority with its anti-goat bias. Cross the national border (just be sure to remember your passport), and one never knows what one might discover. Take, for example, today's subject: Las Sevillanas Mini Oblea con Cajeta de Leche de Cabra!

This packaging is about as enticing as the phrase "goat secretions."

This would be my fourth venture into the world of Mexican (or at the very least manufactured in Mexico) candy, which has thus far proven to reliably incite strong feelings one way or another. I see no reason to suspect this time will be any different, especially when Google translates "mini oblea con cajeta de leche de cabra" to "mini wafer with goat milk caramel." On the one hand, I love caramel; I mean, it's essentially melted sugar (and maybe butter and/or cream), so what's not to like? On the other hand (the left, in my mind), I have not had good luck in my limited experience with goat dairy products; I wouldn't say that all goat cheeses are bad, but I have yet to try one that didn't fit into that category.

Anyhow, the packaging of the wafer is about as dull as I've seen, with a plain tiled title/bar code graphic that seems more suited to an industrial product than a sweet. This becomes more understandable once one realizes that the samples I was sent were not necessarily meant for individual sale (something like this makes more sense), but I still feel Las Sevillanas dropped the ball on this one; any additional bit of artwork to emphasize the edibility of the product would go a long way towards making a favorable first impression.

Something has gone terribly wrong here...

The back of the wrapping is even worse, making the Lammes Candies Texas Chewie Pecan Praline packaging seem a masterpiece by comparison. It is a horrid mess of utter chaos, reminiscent of a failed mixed media art project. It's as if they didn't care at all. Not even one tiny little bit.

Hidden within the train wreck of confusion is what appears to be a "best by" date, which I have apparently missed. So there is plenty of failure to go around today.

Aside from that, I can't quite make out anything clearly. I'm guessing there is an ingredients list in there, but I would have to open up the wrapper in its entirety to know for sure.

So that's exactly what I did.

Well, I did it to the best of my ability, anyway. I defy any mortal to attempt to remove the wafer from its wrappings without a single unintentional tear. I could not do it. My wife could not do it. And I assure you, you could not do it, either (so wipe that smug smile off your face). It causes one to question the point of printing all the information on the clear plastic when it is bound to be mangled horribly in the end. I'm just not sure how well this plan was thought through.

But I did try, and this was what I managed:

Observe a  moment of silence for those ingredients lost in The Unwrapping.

The incomplete list contains unsurprising ingredients: goat milk, corn syrup, sodium bicarbonate (baking soda), and possible traces of walnuts, to name a few. There is also contact information. It's not a bad collection of data for an individual wrapper; it's just a shame one's unlikely to see it all.

I could find no mention anywhere of nutritional content, however. That's not alarming, since it was surely on the larger package from which the individual servings were taken. Fortunately, the internet can fill in the blanks for us. As might be expected, the wafers have very little nutritional value. And while 37 Calories might not seem like a lot, the wafers are so thin I'd presume one could, if not careful, down a dozen or so without giving it much thought.

But would one want to? That's the real question...

Picture probably not to scale. Probably.

Outside its nefarious trappings, the product is much more inviting. Disregarding their texture, the slim wafers remind me of tortillas, putting me in the mood for a true Mexican treat. Meanwhile, the caramel filling oozing out the sides cries out to my sweet tooth (teeth?).

But I'm not going to lie; I still had my reservations about it all. Would one of the unnoticed ingredients sabotage the treat, leading to an ordeal I'd rather forget?

Gladly, the answer was an undeniable no! While the wafers' consistency was slightly compromised because of my overdue consumption of the snack, their flavor still paired well with the creamy caramel between them. Sure, the aftertaste was a bit off from what I'm accustomed to (I suspect the goat is the reason; goats make for great scapegoats), but it was not unpleasant, just different. I even found myself thankful to have been provided two specimens to indulge in.

And I would happily eat another, too (or "another two;" either spelling would work here). I therefore am rating Las Sevillanas Mini Oblea con Cajeta de Leche de Cabra a 3. I really liked it, and, while perhaps not on my "must have" list, I could definitely see myself purchasing an entire bag at some point in the future. I'd just have to be cautious, because, as I'd feared, they would be easy to consume quickly and recklessly (that'd be about the only thing I might do quickly).

To sum it up, I guess one could say "Sometimes you're just in the mood for Las Sevillanas Mini Oblea con Cajeta de Leche de Cabra."

Rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it?

 Always a kid at heart,
The Sweets Fiend

So thin. So tasty. So likely to be the death of me.

#34 - Trebor Extra Strong Peppermint

I am a sweets fiend. I know this. You ought to know this (the title of my blog should have been a clue). I love sweets. But I am still a human being. Therefore, I have arbitrary likes and dislikes just as any other member of the human race does. This can be a problem when trying to review a candy fairly, since my tastes (and ratings) have no bearing on anything whatsoever.

For instance, mint is not one of my flavors of choice. I have mentioned this before, but it may be worth repeating (if I'm being honest, it probably wasn't worth stating the first time). It was never a wish of mine that mintiness should be so incompatible with my taste buds, but that's how things stand nonetheless. Consider it a weakness of mine: there is an abundance of sugary mint-infused treats I cannot enjoy as well as I'd like.

Peppermint, being one of the more potent mints I've encountered, tends to be unwelcome in large doses. Thus, when someone offers me a package of particularly ambitious peppermint candy, I can only assume it means one of three things:

1. He/She has not been faithfully following my blog
2. He/She is sadistic and takes pleasure in my suffering
3. My breath is rancid, and he/she is trying to be subtle about it

I'm not sure which is the worst.

Now, being a sweets fiend and all, #3 is not out of the question, but, knowing my friends as I do, #2 is just as plausible (I shan't even consider #1 an option). Regardless of the reason, I find myself today with a package of Trebor Extra Strong Peppermint:

Why? I may never know (hopefully not all of the above).

Trebor (based in the U.K.) is one of the many brands owned by comestibles behemoth Mondelēz International (formerly Kraft  Foods, Inc.), which seems to eat up companies like I eat up sweets. Thankfully, they've put out some fantastic products, so I'm hopeful this will be one to add to the list.

The packaging is fine but a bit run-of-the-mill, especially considering the creativity Trebor has exhibited in its commercials over the years (such as this one from 1985, or maybe this one for their Softmints). I suppose it gets the job done, but I would expect more from the "Masters of Mintyness" (to be fair, they never claimed to be "Masters of Package Design").

On the plus side, everything is clear and concise (unlike the phrase "clear and concise," which isn't very concise at all); I immediately knew what to expect from the product. That's not always the case.

The cylindrical format does not provide much real estate for information, so there is not a whole lot to see elsewhere on the package, aside from a slogan ("More than a hint of peppermint!") and a small section with all pertinent data, which on my specimen is covered by an Americanized sticker (since I guess Americans can't understand British English) of dubious quality.

It's always encouraging to see sugar get top billing.

Right off the bat, one notices that the suggested serving size is the entire pack. That seems a bit overzealous to me (the suggestion for Altoids is three pieces, after all), but perhaps that's just my ambivalence towards peppermint rearing its ugly head. The 170 Calories for 41g is pretty average for a mint, consisting mostly of sugars (music to my ears!). So far, so good.

The ingredients list is short but suggests that, while the sticker was placed for an American audience, it may not have been produced by an American audience; the use of E numbers (E415 is Xanthan gum, if you were wondering) is highly suspicious (if only "candy detective" were a job). But I do appreciate knowing that the gelatin (while I know the extra "e" is acceptable, it still seems wasteful, given the limited space) is of bovine origin, because nothing gets me more in the mood for a mint than being reminded that it contains the boiled ligaments, bones, and tissue of a cow. Yum!

Last but not least, the "best before" date indicates that I've made it just in time. I'm so proud of myself, I think I will reward myself with an extra strong peppermint!
 

Collect four of these, and you've got one Trebor dollar.

 Removing a piece of the candy from the package revealed a pleasant surprise: the Trebor logo is imprinted on each mint. Granted, the composition of the mints does not seem well suited to such imprinting (they look as if they've seen years of wear/erosion), but the signature star and name are not beyond recognition.

Not a bad try, Trebor.

Each mint is about the diameter of a quarter (maybe that's where the U.S. Mint got its name), albeit much thicker, and a package of Trebor Extra Strong Peppermint is roughly the size of a roll of quarters, but only about 18% of the weight (so it'd be less useful for self defense). The weight difference is probably for the best, though, as it should eliminate accidental quarter consumption by those who make a habit of carrying both mint packs and rolls of quarters in their pockets/purses (swallowing coins is not a recommended pastime).

I only hesitated a moment before popping the first specimen into my mouth, and I must say Trebor makes good on all of their promises (well, I suppose they've really only made one promise). It is indeed an arguably extra strong peppermint; I wouldn't say it's the strongest in the world (it's by no means unbearable), but it is definitely not mild. The texture is slightly grainy, and the mint is not so hard that one can't chew it, releasing the peppermint "flaviring" with reckless abandon. Really, as far as I could tell, everything was spot-on, if a tad unexciting.

Unfortunately, my taste buds had no love to offer Trebor's accomplishments. As I've said, peppermint just isn't my jam (coincidentally, I don't mind mint jelly when used properly), so an extra-strength peppermint candy has little chance of winning me over. It didn't exactly wow my more peppermint-receptive friends, either; the general consensus seemed to be that the product was okay, but nothing special (a couple even hinted that the "extra strength" moniker might be unwarranted).

In the end, I am rating Trebor Extra Strong Peppermint a 1. I would not be adamantly opposed to eating another piece under the right circumstances, I suppose, but neither would I initiate it.

Do not let the low score dissuade you from trying it yourself, however; it is actually a fine product, and its score is more a reflection of the faults in my rating system than any true fault on the part of Trebor. If you love mints, Trebor Extra Strong Peppermint could very well become a staple in your life. Or not. Who knows? Stranger things have happened.

As for me, I'll be off enjoying some candy having nothing to do with mint. And then I'll be brushing my teeth.

Just in case.

With minty-fresh breath (one can hope),
The Sweets Fiend

Frankly, I'd rather not put either in my mouth.
(More observant readers might note that the quarter is from the same year as the Trebor hot air balloon commercial; is this merely a coincidence, or have I been saving it for just such an occasion?)

#33 - Klik Kariot-Pillows

As a sweets fiend, I am introduced to an extensive assortment of candies (insert a sincere thank you to all my generous benefactors here). There is a whole lot of sugary goodness out there, and it is easy for a perfectly fine product to get lost in the sea of options. Thus, manufacturers must find creative ways to allow their offerings to stand out. One simple method is to model a candy's appearance after some intriguing object or animal. I am a fan of said method. In fact, readers who follow my blog with any respectable amount of commitment (and I truly feel all my readers should be committed) might grow wary of my incessant babbling on the topic.

Be forewarned: there will be no respite from the issue on this day.

So I continue...

I have eaten many a candy with more than a passing resemblance to something else, from hippos, to ice cream cones, to just about everything in between. Sometimes they even had a pleasing taste! But in every case (successful or not), I appreciated the attempt.

It does cause one to wonder, however, which designs didn't make the cut. Is there a landfill somewhere overflowing with sketches of candy based on items or creatures that were, for one reason or another, just too awful (or bland) to consider? I mean, surely the bar must be set somewhere, right?

I would have thought so, but then I was introduced to today's specimen: Klik Kariot-Pillows!

I've finally found what my life has lacked: miniature chocolate pillows!

If I were to be tasked with suggesting the worst possible source of inspiration for a chocolate treat, I don't think I could best pillows. Seriously, what could be more dull (I welcome your answers)? Granted, the name may have been inspired by the candy's appearance rather than the other way around, but I'm not sure that improves the situation any; the fact remains that a pillow makes for a baffling muse when it comes to a product of this sort. But, then, Klik Kariot-Pillows is a product of Israel ("Under the supervision of the Rabbinate of Safad & the Orthodox council of Jerusalem Eda Charedith."). Maybe (just maybe, mind you), to a people who've endured hardships (not to mention more than their fair share of prejudice) for thousands of years, there is no thought as enticing as a peaceful nap.

Who knows? Certainly not me.

Lame idea aside, the packaging isn't so bad. The chocolatey brown of the photographed "pillows" works nicely against the blue backdrop, and the "burst of light" graphic adds some much needed oomph to the lackluster concept. Unfortunately, the Klik logo (which is bright and informal, if a bit amateurish) and artist's rendition of the candy lack harmony with the more realistic background. Pick a style and stick with it, please; either would do fine on its own, but together they clash in a battle not unlike those peppering Jewish history. Perhaps a pair of contrary designers was assigned to the packaging, and the end result was a forced lose-lose compromise. I believe there's some talent there, but it missed its mark this time. Such a pity.

Oh, and, by the way, though my internet research on the meaning of "kariot" has not been entirely conclusive (Google guesses it is Samoan for "kariot." Thanks, Google), sources suggest it might translate to "pillows," which would essentially mean the candy is named "Pillows-Pillows." From the bottom of my heart, I hope that it's true, because nothing livens up monotony like redundancy! And just in case there's any doubt that Klik would be so redundant, the front of the package actually says (albeit in a very small font): "Picture for illustration only."

Additionally, my investigation revealed that Kariot is also the name of a popular cereal in Israel (with a commercial that's really heavy on the pillow motif), upon which our candy in question seems to be based. That's right, folks: the pillow theme is so successful in Israel that it has spawned at least one spinoff. I am completely dumbfounded and beginning to doubt everything I thought I knew about sweets.

But, lest this discovery lead me down a deep, dark path to depression, I am going to alter my trajectory and resume examination of the packaging...

Generally, I would discuss the "best before" date at this point. The problem is, I'm not sure where it is. Hidden behind the bottom flap in tiny, tiny (oh, so tiny!) letters is the phrase "Best before:," but nothing is beside it. However, if one follows a straight line halfway across the packaging, one finds this:

I have no idea what these numbers are about. Probably something to do with pillows.

Is there a date in there somewhere? If so, it would take a better man than I to identify it. My wife thought it might be the "16:08," which is not a bad guess (whether that makes her a better man than I is up for discussion). If so, the date is vague enough that I may or may not have been too late when I first opened the bag. I don't know anymore; I'm living in a world where pillows are appetizing, after all!

 Fortunately, the nutrition facts panel is clear as day:

For a more satisfying experience, imagine Morgan Freeman reading the ingredients list aloud.

The bag comes in at a whopping 360 Calories, 140 of which are from fat, so this may be the sort of candy to enjoy through multiple sessions. But at least there's some fiber in there; wouldn't want my bowels getting all plugged up with chocolate "pillows," now would I?

All in all, it's pretty standard, which is comforting (like a pillow?) considering how things have been going thus far.

The ingredients list is noteworthy only for its size (much like my stomach). There are no particularly interesting ingredients (though if you find pillows interesting, you may disagree), but there sure is a jolly good bunch of them! Who'd have thought chocolate pillows would prove to be so complicated? Due to the use of such a wide variety of components, the allergen information is also of a considerable length, with half a dozen entries to be aware of. If I ever find myself involved in allergen-based warfare (hey, anything is possible), Klik Kariot-Pillows will be high on my list of "weapons."

As far as I know, I have no allergies to worry about, so I'm free to eat Kariot-Pillows with impunity.

Well, then, let's get to it!

Need reasonably-priced throw pillows for your doll house? These just might do the trick!

My initial thought upon opening the bag was that the aroma of chocolate filling the air was more potent than I'd expected. It was not necessarily a bad thing; it just caught me off guard.

The pieces did an acceptable job of representing miniature pillows, though the texture was noticeably off; they looked as if they had come from a war zone (which, given Israel's present situation, is understandable), with dents and dimples aplenty!

But I have to admit, there was something mildly comforting about the shape of the candy. Maybe I was too quick to judge the whole "pillow" thing. And maybe one bite of the sweet morsels would hook me for life.

Sadly, that was not the case. Based on the package artwork, I expected a creamy sort of filling in my Klik Kariot-Pillows. There was none to be found (which begs the question: what was the picture an illustration of/for?). There was a thin layer of what I think was the nougat (thin enough that biting the outside properly to get a picture was difficult), but the candies were hollow. I've never been to Israel, so I couldn't say how they make their pillows, but I'm fairly certain it's customary to fill them with something other than air. Frankly, I can't help feeling cheated. Why would you do this to me, Klik? Why?

On the plus side, the pieces had a nice crunch to them, and the chocolate flavor was decent. But the thin inner coating left a less-than-pleasant aftertaste (the hazelnut may have been partly to blame) lingering in my mouth. It might have been fine had it not been so persistent, but it would just not let up (this wouldn't be the first time hazelnut has done that to me).

Overall, I was underwhelmed. One might even say eating pillows had left me feeling a little down in the mouth (feel free to groan). Therefore, I rate Klik Kariot-Pillows a mediocre 2. They aren't without merit, and I wouldn't mind accepting a piece or two (or even more) from a friend, but I see no compelling reason to expend energy in seeking them out.

Sorry Klik, but I still do not understand the appeal of memorializing the pillow in chocolate. I cannot wrap my head around it. I just do not get it (I hope that was redundant enough for you). Better luck next time, though. Maybe pick a more exciting muse, something outside of the bedding department. The results might surprise you.

As for me, I think I'm ready for a nap now.

I can't imagine why.

With a hearty "Shalom,"
The Sweets Fiend

Picture for illustration only.

#32 - Orion King Jelly

When I was a mere child (considering I'm writing a blog about candy, I most likely am still a mere child, mentally), I read the book "How to Eat Fried Worms," by Thomas Rockwell, wherein one boy challenges another to eat fifteen worms in as many days. I think I enjoyed it well enough, though I don't remember too many of the details. Regardless, it has maintained a degree of popularity through several decades (even inspiring a movie of the same name). This is probably due to the fact that there is a certain intrigue to "icky" things, and worms and other creepy-crawly creatures are generally viewed with disgust in the good ol' United States of America, despite being a culinary staple in much of the rest of the planet (then again, there are reasons to not ingest worms).

Considering the "gross out" factor and worms' natural gummy consistency (I would guess; I haven't tried one, myself), it was only a matter of time (1981, if my sources are correct) before candy companies put two and two (or, in this case, one and one) together and began producing gummy worms. Today, they are a popular item, not just for eating, but for enhancing the visual appeal of lighthearted desserts, and it should come as no surprise that there are now a plethora of companies worldwide offering their own version of the wriggly treats.

 Today's candy is just one example: Orion King Jelly!

Packaging done to perfection. Nestlé, take note, please!

Upon handing me this product, my candy procurer explained "I don't know what this is, but I think there's a king worm and other worms," or something to that effect. Though I was impressed by her ability to draw conclusions from the colorful artwork (and suspected she might even be right), her theories have not always panned (or should I say panda-ed?) out, so I wasn't entirely sure what to anticipate. For all I knew, there could be honest-to-goodness worms inside.

And I wouldn't even be winning a bet by eating them. Candy blogging is a thankless endeavor.

Mysteries aside, the packaging is brilliantly done. The bright colors, the lustrous material, and the comical art style all work together to make the tiny bag of worms an enticing prospect. That is no small feat, and Orion should be applauded for their efforts; they've really hit this one out of the park!

A closer examination reveals a possible backstory: is this a kingdom of space worms (one of whom is either hypnotized or drunk; such a rich plot!) intent on claiming Earth as their own? There is definitely a vibe containing both military and galactic elements, so it's quite possible. I've mentioned once or twice before my thoughts on personifying things one is meant to consume, but if we are at war, that's an entirely different matter. Once again (assuming I'm correct), Orion has exhibited a wisdom not often possessed by candy manufacturers. Defend my planet by eating candy? Sign me up!

Additionally, Orion has made the bold decision to display the nutrition facts on the front of the package:

King Jelly lacks a great many things I cannot comprehend.

As Korean is not one of the languages I am capable of reading (to be fair, anything other than English fits that description), the panel is of limited use to me, although I can deduce the Calorie count (152 for the whole baggy) and guess (based on my vast knowledge of gummy candy nutritional information) that the 8g and 6g probably refer to carbohydrates and sugars, respectively. That's pretty much on par with competing products, so, unless I've made a fatal error in my assumptions (for instance, if the product is real earthworms or related creatures), everything's looking just as it should.

What could go wrong?

My failure expressed numerically.

 That question can be answered with a quick glance at the "best before" date on the back of the package (which is thankfully conspicuous and easy to read and might even include the precise time the candy was created).

I have missed the date by more than three months. That is an unacceptable error on my part. Of course, I don't know what the extra "1" is in the date, but I doubt that makes things any better. However, as the given dates are simply general guidelines, my King Jelly may still be just fine; Orion's done so well up to this point that I suspect their recommendation is a bit on the conservative side.

Thus, the review continues...

If you can read this, I envy you.

 I like a product that adds a little color (both literally and figuratively) to the description or instructions (if instructions are needed). King Jelly does not disappoint!

I've no clue what is being explained (though I'm now very much convinced the soldier worm is drunk and the aviator character is an inch worm), but it sure seems entertaining!

There is also a small panel which I'm pretty sure is dedicated to proper storage conditions (unless it refers to optimal worm eating temperature, but that would just be silly). 30ºC translates to 86ºF (thought I'd do that calculation for you; you're welcome), and this summer's been particularly warm, but I've tried to keep my house at a reasonable temperature (if you don't believe me, just ask my electric bill), so I think I should be okay. I'd hate to have made two tragic mistakes on one candy.

But let's not dwell on my blunders; we have an ingredients list to get to:

I've had dreams (or were they nightmares?) like this.

At least I think it's the ingredients list. I'm skeptical that even a full-blooded Korean could make sense of it all. We have the strangely precise "11.3668%" marking (I'd love to learn what that refers to), a phone number (or two), and a "1399" with no discernible (to me, anyway) unit of measurement. There are other hidden gems if one looks long enough, but all in all it is a total enigma to my ignorant eyes, and I can make no worthwhile comment regarding it (I suppose that hasn't stopped me before).

But the main takeaway is that I still don't know whether or not I'm about to eat real worms.

Thus, the moment of truth has arrived, and I have no choice but to open the beautiful shiny package and release what lies within...

If we were at war, I think I know who won.

 And my greatest fears have been realized. No, there were no actual earthworms (or inch worms, for that matter) inside, but I clearly dropped the ball when it came to storage.

I still have doubts about the temperatures reached in my sweets stash, but somewhere along the line something obviously went very wrong. I have witnessed some rather horrendous candy accidents in my day, but this takes the cake (I do love cake); it is a mangled mess (I should have seen the foreshadowing in the ingredients list) of gumminess the likes of which humanity has never known.

It's terribly unfortunate, too, as a quick Google search reveals that King Jelly worms are made with a variety of molds a step above the competition. Orion takes its gummy worms very seriously, and it shows. I feel I need to offer my sincerest apologies to Orion founder Lee Yang-gu (described by Orion as "a man we feel greater as time flows") for my wrongdoings.

Now, at this point one might think it unfair to carry on any further with the review. Expired, overheated candy hardly seems a legitimate representative of a product. But the smell was normal and the consistency seemed on point, so carry on I did, vowing to not let my missteps skew my rating.

How was it, you ask?

Despite all the circumstances working against it, I quite enjoyed King Jelly. I'm not big into gummy candies, but I felt the gelatinous jumble of worms was pleasantly flavorful, well above average in taste. My wife disagreed, making a face and claiming it tasted like a Christmas tree (as if that would be a bad thing), but she only had a small piece from the edge (which may not have accurately portrayed the flavor profile), so you may take her judgment with a grain of salt.

In the end, though, gummy worms (and gummy candy in general) just aren't my thing, and even a wildly successful execution is not enough to convince me otherwise. I just don't appreciate the way it makes my mouth feel, and "mouth feel" is a vital component to satisfaction in any comestible.

Therefore, I rate Orion King Jelly a 2 (albeit a high 2). Aside from a desire to see the worms as they were meant to be, I feel no sense of longing for another package. This is in no way a criticism against Orion; quite frankly, I honestly believe they've hit the mark in all areas and have really raised the bar in the gummy candy world (one might even say this product is "out of this world," if one wanted to reference the purported space theme). The product simply isn't my cup of tea (and I'm not much of a tea drinker in the first place).

But if you ARE a fan of gummy candy (or even just worms, you weirdo), I highly recommend Orion King Jelly. In a world with no shortage of mediocre sweets, it is our duty to support those who aim for excellence.

So do your part in the Space Worm War and give King Jelly a try.

Just be sure to store it in a cool, dry place.

Skulking in the shadows of shame,
The Sweets Fiend

Really, this is a more convenient way to eat gummy worms.

#31 - Meiji Yan Yan

Like any normal human being, I am in many ways abnormal (not that I'm claiming to be a normal human being, mind you, just like one). One idiosyncrasy of mine, for instance, is that I do not generally dip or dunk foods into sauces or other liquefied flavorings. Whether I'm eating chicken tenders, pretzels, or french fries, I eat them dry. However, I have no issue with said items being covered in sauce during preparation. This might seem like utter madness on my part, but I do have my reasons. Two, in fact. For one, I am lazy. Dunking is just an extra step between my plate and my mouth, and who needs that? Secondly, I am ill-equipped to handle the responsibility of applying an appropriate amount of sauce to comestibles (I'm even iffy when it comes to checking my car's oil). Will I accidentally administer too much? Too little? And, unless I double dip, I will end up with some portion bone dry anyhow; the inability of a dunking to cover an object in totality is a problem that has plagued mankind for all of history (and mythology).

Whew, I'm breaking out in a sweat just thinking about it.

So, it being far too much to worry about while stuffing my face with junk foods, I have decided to forego the extra step and consume things sans dipping (Fun Dip being the exception; sugar is always an exception). Imagine my mixed emotions, then, upon receiving today's candy: Meiji's Yan Yan!

Uh oh, this looks like there is going to be some work involved.

Meiji is a Japanese brand (perhaps better known for the fanciful Hello Panda biscuits my wife adores), but my package stated in no uncertain terms that this it was a product of Singapore. At any rate, it was purchased in the USA, so it took at least three different nations to get this candy into my hands. That seems like a lot of coordinating, so I hope it was worth it. Anyway, Yan Yan apparently means "elegant" in Chinese or something, so I shall try my best to maintain an air of elegance through the remainder of the review. We'll see how long that lasts.

The package design is (unlike a dip) a total success! The color scheme and art style are attention-grabbing and informative with a whimsical flair. The top of the package explains the product with a simple, efficient clarity of which other designers should take note; it's brilliantly done!

Nothing says "fun" like words! Literally.

On the side is a graphic challenging the consumer to "look inside for fun words." Challenge accepted! I can only imagine the joys awaiting me due to Meiji's lexical tomfoolery! I should note that, while it certainly seems like an open invitation to all, I believe it to be implicit that the challenge applies solely to the owner of the Yan Yan container in question. Please do not peer into containers not belonging to you, spoiling the fun for everyone.

The side artwork adds an additional identification of the "crispy cracker sticks," too, in case one overlooked the seemingly foolproof description on the top.

Everything's looking hunky-dory so far, though I must say I would not use the word "elegant" to describe anything I've thus far seen. Maybe the name's ironic?

Bottoms up!

The "best by" date is on the bottom of the Yan Yan "cup" (and very easy to read, which is not always the case). Once again I am flirting with expiration, assuming American dating protocol is being used (and why wouldn't it be?).

The placement of the date (and other secret codes) shows a real confidence in the packing of the crispy cracker sticks and "smooth chocolate crème," since it forces one to flip the container upside down. I am therefore counting on my sticks to be completely intact upon the grand opening! If not, I expect Meiji will accept full responsibility for their negligence. Don't let me down, Meiji!

Look, it's cholesterol free!
(ignore all the other information)

The nutrition facts panel takes up a large portion of the package and continues the Yan Yan trend of clarity and readability. I cannot stress enough how nice it is when a product's provided information does not strain one's eyes. It's almost as if Meiji actually wants consumers to be able to see the data; what a novel concept in the world of candy! The container's shape does hinder that goal ever so slightly (as does the mild deformation of my particular sample), especially for photographic purposes, but it is a valiant effort nonetheless.

Also refreshing is the serving size; Meiji has no delusions that its customers will consume only a portion of the contents in a single sitting. The Calorie count and fat content are about 20% higher than a typical candy bar, but one could easily eat several candy bars in the time it would take to finish sixteen crispy cracker sticks (not to mention the additional time for dipping), so if one is on a binge, Yan Yan might be the better option (aside from its significant sodium content).

Yan Yan also contains a surprising amount of vitamin A and calcium, as well as more iron than a cup of spinach (Popeye would approve). All in all, though, it would not be considered a healthy snack by any means. That's okay, as it does not masquerade as one (as opposed to some other candies that will remain nameless).

The ingredients list is below the nutrition facts (both on the package and in this blog):

Cheddar? American? Gouda? I don't know.

I was struck by how few of the ingredients had scientific-sounding names (though "artificial flavors" is a tad vague). This has got to be one of the most straightforward snacks I've yet reviewed. Bravo, Meiji! But I do have to admit I did not expect to see cheese of any sort in the list. How did that get in there? No matter; I do so like cheese!

Deconstructed candy?

Peeling off the thin foil lid revealed a configuration not unlike that of the Obol (which, for the record, is no better than two standard bowls), though in this case it makes sense. The chocolate side was deceptively shallow but proved to be sufficient for its purposes.

The cracker sticks (fully intact, by the way), as promised, contained a variety of words and phrases (and graphics!) which were every bit as educational as they were fun (which is not necessarily a compliment). I learned, among other things, that a beetle's lucky color is brown and that a whale is a/the "biggesy mammal." I thoroughly enjoyed this aspect of Yan Yan; it's a simple matter, yes, but one that provides a little entertainment to each draw of a cracker stick. Again, Meiji should be commended for their efforts here. Sure, I got a couple of duplicates (it seems a crime to include two "duck" sticks but no "goose" stick; they don't even make a "goose" stick), but that's all part of the game. There are even two special stick types ("gold egg" and "golden log") to enhance the excitement. And like all other aspects of the design, the printing was expertly done; the text was as crisp as the cracker was crispy.

But how did they taste?

Well, I would say they tasted exactly as one would expect. The cracker sticks were crunchy but bland, and the chocolate "dipping sauce" was predictably adequate but unremarkable. In short, if you think you will like Yan Yan, you probably will (my wife was an instant fan). I was more or less impartial to the flavor and had my typical problems with the dipping/dunking portion. I also found the chocolate-on-a-stick visual to be less than appealing; it reminded me of some medical test swab or, even worse, a rectal thermometer incident (so much for elegance, eh?).

Therefore, I give Meiji's Yan Yan a score of 2. It was a pleasant/amusing experience (as far as dipping snacks go), but I can't see myself purchasing another container, particularly when Hello Panda exists, which has all the flavor and none of the dipping.

Still, it's a fine, honest product, and, if dipping sticks in chocolate is your thing, I wholeheartedly recommend you try Yan Yan to satisfy that craving.

You weirdo.

Sweetest regards (with a disproportionate coating of chocolate),

The Sweets Fiend

Sadly, I would have to disagree.