Author: Adam

REVIEW: Special K Pastry Crisps (Chocolatey Delight and Brown Sugar Cinnamon)

Adam 12 Comments

Special K Pastry Crisps (Chocolatey Delight and Brown Sugar Cinnamon)

I’m not going to lie. Being a 23-year-old dude does come with a certain amount of biological advantages. Chief among these, of course, is a metabolism fast enough it outrace the Millennium Falcon on the Kessel Run and still have time for a bathroom stop. Twelve parsecs? Please. I burn through Twinkies in ten.

Having said metabolism affords me quite a few liberties when wandering through Walmart. Endcaps and register lanes offering 99-cent fruit pies and bagged chips are child’s play for my appetite, which instead often leads me to entire family-size bags of potato chips and cookies. Now, I realize these little jaunts into junk food bliss will eventually take their toll on me, and in an effort to stave off the advent of full man-boobage development and male pattern baldness, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to at least peek into what any future “diet” might entail.

There are, of course, many options. The Paleo Diet and Atkins Diet are especially attractive to my inner sense of wannabe-machismo, but who am I kidding, I could never give up on the worthless carbs of packaged snacks. That brings up the intriguing option of Fiber One, if only for the shameful premise that eating 7,000 percent of my daily RDA in fake fiber wouldn’t endear me to my co-workers. With these options crossed off the list, I rounded the cereal aisle at Walmart thinking that my experiment in semi-healthy eating wasn’t going to happen. That’s when they hit me. Or rather, I hit them, thanks to dodging an aisle clearing drag race of old people in electric scooters. That’s right friends, Special K.

I have no idea what the “K” stands for in Special K (potassium?), and after more than a decade of eschewing their products, I still have no idea what makes them so special. But when finding myself suddenly facing the new Chocolatey Delight and Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pastry Crisps, I decided to take a little trip into the future and see if the coming years of man-boobage can be staved off with a little help from what looked to be a Pop-Tart in disguise.

I have good news and I have bad news. The bad news is I’m probably going to get man-boobs no matter what. The good news is that the new Special K Pastry Crisps will help me slow that ineluctable fate one portion controlled wrapper at a time.

Special K Chocolatey Delight Pastry Crisps Outtards

The Chocolatey Delight crisps taste somewhere between a chocolate fudge Pop-Tart and a Keebler Fudge Stripe cookie. There’s a pronounced shortbread crisp which lacks the heavy and dull wheat snack bread like crusts of a Pop-Tart, while a lickable portion of chocolatey “icing” provides added sweetness and pronounced cocoa flavor. Is it chocolate? I don’t know for sure, but it’s chocolatey, and hey, we’re not eating for man boobs, remember?

Special K Chocolatey Delight Pastry Crisps Innards

In any case, there’s enough of the sweet glycerin-based filling to keep each bite interesting and moist, and despite the relatively small size, I find myself preferring the crumbly morsels and sweet “crisp” to any ambiguously flavored chocolate Pop-Tart I’ve had in the past. My only complaint is that each wrapper contains two very small pastries. We’re talking slightly larger than a baseball card here and less than a half ounce each, so probably no more than a few man-chomps for a crisp.

Special K Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pastry Crisps Innards

The Brown Sugar Cinnamon flavor isn’t as good, although the smell alone makes it worth buying. It’s that intensely rich, buttery cinnamon sugar spread smell that wafts through malls across these here United States thanks to the Cinnabon franchise. A light drizzle of sweet icing won’t fool even the most diet-food inoculated eaters into thinking it could actually pass for cream cheese icing, but it adds a nice touch to the otherwise crispy pastry.

Special K Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pastry Crisps Wrapper

The taste is standard as far as brown sugar cinnamon goes, with a little extra emphasis on the cinnamon. Nothing life-changing, but at 100 calories per two pastries, one can’t set his sights that high. Again, my only complaint is the size, and in this case, the amount of cinnamon-sugar “goo.” The paste actually has a nice consistency, but it’s tough to appreciate when a scant teaspoon or so fills the shell.

I’m not going to lie. Buying a pack of Special K Pastry Crisps isn’t the most masculine thing I’ve done in the past week. But I can live with that. Just as a I can live with a slow metabolism when I get older, provided Special K continue to disguise Pop-Tarts in the guise of 100-calorie pack Pastry Crisps. Until then though, it’s full steam ahead down the cookie aisle, provided the scooter drag races don’t take me out first.

(Nutrition Facts – 2 crisps – 100 calories, 20 calories from fat, 2 grams of fat, 1 gram of saturated fat, 0 grams to trans fat, 0 milligrams of cholesterol, 80 milligrams of sodium, 25 milligrams of potassium, 20 grams of carbohydrates, less than 1 gram of fiber, 7 grams of sugar, and 1 gram of protein.)

Item: Special K Pastry Crisps (Chocolatey Delight and Brown Sugar Cinnamon)
Price: $2.54
Size: 5 pack
Purchased at: Walmart
Rating: 8 out of 10 (Chocolatey Delight)
Rating: 6 out of 10 (Brown Sugar Cinnamon)
Pros: Filling tastes just as good as a Pop-Tart. Chocolatey Delight reminds me of a Keebler cookie. No lame edges. No hydrogenated oils. Icing drizzle provides extra sweetness. Smells great. No toaster required. Portion control. Avoiding man boobs.
Cons: Small, very small. Not real chocolate. Needs more gooey filling. Icing could use more pronounced flavor. Avoiding death by electric scooter at Walmart. A future with a slow metabolism.

REVIEW: Herr’s Sloppy Joe Potato Chips

Adam 5 Comments

Herr's Sloppy Joe Potato Chips

I sometimes wonder if potato chip companies aren’t all guided by a collusion of meat company executives in a brilliant attempt to subvert the ideas of vegetarianism and tempt the herbavorically inclined among us to the joys of being a carnivore.

A far fetched conspiracy theory?

Perhaps, but perusing the Walmart chip aisle lends credence to my claim. There’s Chicken Barbecue chips. Baby Back Rib Chips. The proverbial [your favorite cheese here] and bacon chips, and, I’d be remiss not to point out, some horribly mediocre attempt at making chips into a BLT.

At some point one has to wonder if God had wanted fried potatoes to taste like meat, he’d have made them, well, actually meat. Come to think of it, maybe those chip companies are secretly plotting to turn us carnivores against meat by designing crappy “meaty” potato chips.

Which brings me to curious case of Herr’s Sloppy Joe Potato Chips. The All-American staple of thriftiness, the Sloppy Joe technically contains meat. Technically, because underneath all that gloopy “stuff” the lunch lady served to you in the fourth grade, was, I’m told, the denatured proteins of something that either went “moo” or “cluck.” I can’t remember the last time I had a Sloppy Joe, but I’m sure it was sometime during my less epicurean days of meat consumption. I’m also quite convinced it may have involved copious amounts of a canned sauce that rhymes with “Damn This!” If there’s one thing I am positively certain of, though, it’s that said Sloppy Joe tasted damn good, as in “damn my future pretentious affinity for paninis and designer burgers, I want some good old American loose meat!”

Given my more recent excursions into the world of meat flavored chips, I didn’t have the highest hopes for these. Right out of the bag, the aroma seemed to promise the kind of mediocre onion powder and salt infused taste one expects from a chip of wacky flavor designs, although the first bite revealed a tomato paste like sweetness combined with an altogether “mmm” quality one only finds in Woochestireshire sauce. Instantly I’m hooked, suddenly recognized a certain spicy sweetness.

Herr's Sloppy Joe Potato Chips Closeup

The chips themselves are much more oily than Lay’s chips, while the coating is positively dumped onto some chips. What ensues is a flavor and mouthfeel with the simple yet proven flavor notes of sweet, salty, acidic, and dare I say even a bit meaty, while also managing to convey the kind of sloppy and oily mess that a fourth grade fat camper can’t help but smile about. I especially liked the tomato powder element, and detected hints of cumin and some vaguely defined herb that probably works its way into any number of Sloppy Joe’s.

And the potato?

Hardly tasted it at all, but I’m not complaining. After all, I may not recall my last Sloppy Joe that clearly, but I’m pretty sure there wasn’t a potato thrown in there somewhere.

As a potato chip connoisseur, I’m a bit ashamed to admit how much I like these. There’s a great snackability element, and no pretentious “all natural” claims that hinder the enjoyment of a good junk food session parked in front of the NHL playoffs. Herr’s clearly put some thought into these, and judging by an ingredient list which features tamarind and Woochestireshire sauce, it’s apparent that the Pennsylvania-based snack company didn’t just dump a bunch of salt and dextrose on some oily chips.

A few minor complaints, including only being able to find these at Walmart and a less than optimal ridgy crunch, but nothing to the extent that would make me throw caution to the wind when plowing through an entire bag.

Healthy? Maybe not.

But considering this dastardly chip company’s collusion to subvert the influence of actual meat in my life, I might as well get my kicks where I can.

(Nutrition Facts – 1 ounce (about 13 chips) – 150 calories, 70 calories from fat, 8 grams of fat, 2 gram of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat,  0 milligrams of cholesterol, 279 milligrams of sodium, 16 grams of carbohydrates, 1 gram of fiber, 1 grams of sugar, and 2 grams of protein.) 

Item: Herr’s Sloppy Joe Potato Chips
Price: $2.58 (on sale)
Size: 10 ounces
Purchased at: Walmart
Rating: 8 out of 10
Pros: Defies reason by tasting like an actual Sloppy Joe. Enjoyable mix of sweet, salty, and spicy, with a zippidy-do-da tang of Woochestireshire sauce. Better than Lay’s BLT chips. Possibly better for you than an actual Sloppy Joe, provided you don’t eat the whole bag.
Cons: Dastardly chip company collisions. Actually sloppy. More “ground turkey” sweetness than beefy richness. Only available at Walmart?  Correctly pronouncing and spelling “Woochestireshire”

REVIEW: Limited Edition Birthday Cake Golden Oreo Fudge Cremes

Adam 7 Comments

Limited Edition Birthday Cake Golden Oreo Fudge Cremes

The way I see it, turning 100 is a pretty big freaking deal. Unless you happen to be a member of the Yoda species, in which case turning 100 is something to the equivalent of turning 15. Stuck somewhere between the celebratory awkwardness of entering the teen years that comes with a 13th birthday and the license to act like an idiot of the 18th birthday, turning 15 can be pretty mediocre.

I don’t look for mediocrity in my cookies (I leave that for granola bars and Subway sandwiches), and I sure don’t expect mediocrity when it comes to my all-time favorite brand of cookie hitting the century mark. So when I missed out on being invited to the party of reviews for the Limited Edition Birthday Cake Oreo, I was pretty perturbed. Fortunately, Oreo’s slightly younger brother Golden Oreo Fudge Creme is also celebrating the brand’s 100th birthday, although I’m not sure how that exactly works when I consider I’m 23 and have no recollection of the Golden Oreos or Fudge Cremes from my elementary school days.

Limited Edition Birthday Cake Golden Oreo Fudge Cremes Open Package

I also don’t recall resealable packages, but hats off to Nabisco for standardizing this marvel of cookie engineering on their products. As anyone who has ever eaten stale Oreo crumbs will tell you, a chewy Oreo is a soulless Oreo, not to mention one which loses its trademarked cocoa smell. Even before fully unveiling the “lift here” tab on my box, I was immediately greeted by a slightly different aroma, although one no less nostalgic or pleasing. The cloying fragrance of sprinkles (‘jimmies’, to you old folks) is approaching sticking a funfetti cupcake up your nose territory, but nearly a decade and a half removed from Discovery Zone birthday parties, so I’ll take it. Like Qin Shi Huang’s army of terracotta soldiers the Fudge Cremes are unchipped and arrayed in perfect order, inviting the kind of unabashed ebullience of digging in that you’d expect from a six year old beholding said birthday cupcake.

Limited Edition Birthday Cake Golden Oreo Fudge Cremes Layers

I may not be six years old anymore, but I can still work my way through a box of cookies like one. The first taste, however, is more dull sheen than chocolate frosting, with the fudge creme and sprinkles tasting decidedly like fake fudge cream and tasteless morsels of dextrose and chemically engineered sprinkles. The cookie base is a weak crisp of shortbread flavor but little more, while the creme — that deliciously smooth yet somehow fluffy blanket of rich white synthetic filling — is lost within a crater of shortbread and filling of fake fudge.

Limited Edition Birthday Cake Golden Oreo Fudge Cremes Melted

“Fudge” might not exactly be what I said to myself after this first and certainly lackluster taste, but there is redemption of momentary disgruntledness. Should you leave your entire box in a hot car during this fit of It’s-my-birthday-and-I’ll-cry-if-I-want-to-rage, only to later return, you’ll find the sheeny, tasteless fudge to have melted into the kind of finger-licking chocolate frosting goo that comes from putting a chocolate donut in the microwave. Melting into the still crispy golden base, it’s somehow full of an admirable synthetic flavor that even the folks at a Whole Foods would find tempting.

Limited Edition Birthday Cake Golden Oreo Fudge Cremes On Package

Right off the store shelves, the Oreo Fudge Creme’s 100th birthday is a lot like celebrating your 15th birthday. But with a warm car and a little time, it’s a chocolate frosting coated treat that recalls the best of bygone birthday parties, minus the actual presents, of course.
 

(Nutrition Facts – 2 cookies – 130 calories, 60 calories from fat, 6 grams of fat, 3.5 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat*, 0 milligrams of cholesterol, 40 milligrams of sodium, 25 milligrams of potassium, 18 grams of carbohydrates, 0 grams of fiber, 13 grams of sugar, and less than 1 gram of protein.)

*made with partially hydrogenated oil

Other Limited Edition Birthday Cake Golden Oreo Fudge Cremes reviews:
Foodette Reviews

Item: Limited Edition Birthday Cake Golden Oreo Fudge Cremes
Price: $2.99 (on sale)
Size: 11.3 ounces
Purchased at: Safeway
Rating: 7 out of 10
Pros: Fudge coating smells just like chocolate frosting, and once melted, tastes like it too. Finger licking goodness of melted fake chocolate. Resealable packaging kicks the heck out of cookie jar freshness. Smells like a birthday party at Discovery Zone, minus the crappy pizza. Oreo still going strong at the big 1-0-0.
Cons: Sprinkles that taste too much like sprinkles. Creme filling that made the original Oreo so great is overpowered. ‘Fudge’ coating is tasteless sheen of palm oil when not melted. Cookie base is less than memorable. Smelling like cupcakes for an entire day. 15th birthday blues.

REVIEW: Blue Ox Beef Jerky (Original Smoked, Peppercorn, Honey BBQ, and Cherry Maple)

Adam 4 Comments

Blue Ox Beef Jerky

Having spent the better part of eight years attempting to grow a massively intimidating if not Al Borland-esque mustache, I couldn’t help but release a manly grunt when Blue Ox Jerky Company offered to send me a box of their products to try. Promising to add three inches to my beard, the box of jerky also came with an affirmation that the smoky-sweet snacks are eaten by real men, and not, I should add, fanciful hairless woodland pixies. Seeing as though I live in perpetual fear of spontaneous woodland pixie transformation, this was quite welcomed, as was the bumper sticker included in my package that asks, “got balls?”

Blue Ox Beef Jerky Bumper Sticker

I guess they’re not exactly courting the females demographic, huh?

No bother. After a steady diet of Special K and Luna bars I’m entitled to a snack worthy of only the highest degree of chauvinism. Provided, of course, it actually delivers, and doesn’t taste like some soy-sauce laden, gas-station monstrosity that’s been pieced together from the remains of a dilapidated cow from Brazil. Fortunately, Blue Ox promises to punch said “gas station jerkys” in the face. Here’s a rundown of the results.

Original

Blue Ox Beef Jerky Original

The jerky looks impeccable right out of the package. There’s almost no fat and zero gristle to be seen, while a meaty aroma strikes you as unmistakably backwoods Americana (as opposed to, you know, gas station bathroom). Unfortunately, the texture is subpar for a small-batch jerky company. It’s chewy and dry, with the striations of muscle tissues splintering rather than cleanly tearing.

Blue Ox Beef Jerky Closeup 3

The taste is heavy of black and white pepper, and I find myself enjoying the kick on the back end, which intensifies to tickling proportions. But the sweetness is inconsistent, with some pieces displaying a more pronounced level of brown sugar than others. I don’t find myself missing the soy sauce on the ingredient label (something many beef jerky makers use in their marinade) but I don’t recognize the taste of honey either. The beef flavor is good, but it’s not exceptional. All things considered, it may punch gas station jerky in the face, but it’s more like the punch of your baby sister connecting every so often with a random uppercut than what you’d expect from a knockout fighter. 

Peppercorn

I normally prefer black pepper jerky, and judging by the coarse ground black pepper specks all over the jerky, I thought I’d be all for this flavor. The only problem is that in terms of black pepper flavor, it doesn’t just punch you in the face; it kicks you in the balls as well. It’s single and intense, far surpassing a slight tickle and reaching “make you run for a glass of water” variety. Nice if you like black pepper, but without balance of even a moderate sweetness, it’s just too intense for most people. That it doesn’t tear cleanly isn’t much help.

Blue Ox Beef Jerky Closeup 1

Honey BBQ

Now we’re talking. I liked this flavor best. It’s lighter and moister than the Original flavor, and the spices aren’t as prominent on the back notes. Still very lean, it has a light amber sweetness and a more assertive savory flavor to balance the sweetness. Finally, we’re connecting with a solid right, if not a Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robot uppercut.

Maple Cherry

Blue Ox Beef Jerky Cherry Maple

A close second to Honey BBQ, this was another moist flavored jerky with a subtle smoke flavor and a hint of fruity sweetness. Again, fat and gristle is almost nonexistent, and the sweetness does well to cut the obviously salty taste. Even the beef jerky layman will recognize he’s eating only a prize-fighting cow here, and one which no doubt could have kicked those dilapidated Brazilian steers in the face. 

Blue Ox Beef Jerky Closeup 4

Did Blue Ox Jerky add three inches to me beard? Not exactly, but I did feel a touch of masculinity while chewing on the Honey BBQ and Cherry Maple flavors.  But judging by some of the beef jerky I’ve had from gas stations, the Blue Ox wouldn’t be able to last more than a few rounds in the ring. Still, it’s better than what you’ll find at the Dollar Store. Maybe they should change their slogan to “Punches Dollar Store Jerky in the Face.”

(Editor’s Note/Disclaimer: We received these samples for free from Blue Ox Beef Jerky in order to review them.)

(Nutrition Facts – 1 ounce – Original – 50 calories, 0.5 grams of fat, 0 grams of saturated fat, 480 milligrams of sodium, 5 grams of carbohydrates, 3 grams of sugar, and 6 grams of protein. Peppercorn – 50 calories, 0.5 grams of fat, 0 grams of saturated fat, 470 milligrams of sodium, 5 grams of carbohydrates, 3 grams of sugar, and 6 grams of protein. Honey BBQ – 60 calories, 0.5 grams of fat, 0 grams of saturated fat, 260 milligrams of sodium, 8 grams of carbohydrates, 5 grams of sugar, and 6 grams of protein. Cherry Maple – 70 calories, 0.5 grams of fat, 0 grams of saturated fat, 430 milligrams of sodium, 5 grams of carbohydrates, 5 grams of sugar, and 6 grams of protein.)

Other Blue Ox Beef Jerky reviews:
Scott Roberts Web
Best Beef Jerky

Item: Blue Ox Beef Jerky (Original Smoked, Peppercorn, Honey BBQ, Cherry Maple Smoked)
Price: FREE ($6.50 for a 4 oz. package online)
Size: 2 oz. samples
Purchased at: Sample provided from Manly, non-pixie marketing team
Rating: 6 out of 10 (Original Smoked)
Rating: 5 out of 10 (Peppercorn)
Rating: 8 out of 10 (Honey Barbeque)
Rating: 8 out of 10 (Cherry Maple Smoked)
Pros: Honey Barbeque and Cherry Maple flavors have nice, subtle sweetness that compliments meat. Both flavors are moist and tear easily. No fat and little gristle to be seen. ‘Meaty’ smelling hands. Free bumper stickers. Unabashed chauvinism. Dominating Brazil.
Cons: Original Smoked and Peppercorn don’t taste particularly smoky. Inconsistent tearing. Meat isn’t tender. Death by black peppercorn. Free bumper sticker I’ll never use. Facial hair inadequacy.

REVIEW: Subway Smokehouse BBQ Chicken Sub

Adam 12 Comments

Subway Smokehouse BBQ Chicken

I have good news and I have bad news when it comes to Subway’s new Smokehouse BBQ Chicken sandwich. The good news is that’s it’s significantly better than just smearing BBQ sauce over Subway’s “Oven Roasted” Chicken. The bad news is that you may very well incur the wrath of an esteemed sandwich “artist” in ordering one.

If the guy smoking freshly-killed chicken with Applewood out back in his shack in the North Carolina woods is the Rembrandt of the barbecue universe, then I suppose we should extend the metaphor and proclaim Subway’s very own “artists” as the equivalent of first graders during arts and crafts time.

I knew the sandwich was new and expected some kinks going in, but the look of befuddlement I received when asking for the sandwich (despite, I should add, several prominent displays in the windows for it) was enough to make me wonder if my artist had even brought her brushes to work. That she continued to refer to the meat as “pork” and asked me if I wanted cheese with it made me question if it wasn’t “switch place with your spouse at work day,” but the real kicker was when she proceeded to grow noticeably angry at my polite insistence that she construct this masterpiece to include whatever the picture called for.
 
Clearly, I must not understand tasteful art.
 
But I do understand barbecue, and when it comes to something you can order at a suburban fast food restaurant, this is about the high point. Obviously that’s not saying a lot should you live south of the Mason-Dixon Line, but who are we kidding, this is a Subway review. The chicken itself is an admirable stab at smoked and pulled chicken. Despite coming from one of those dreaded pre-portioned containers held in a refrigerator, it manages to convey a certain less-than-cloying sweetness with an unexpected lightness of acidity and tang of apple cider vinegar.

Subway Smokehouse BBQ Chicken Innards

The shredded chicken has a mild spice and hint of smoke flavor, which, I’m almost 100 percent certain, was conveyed in the meat and not just the sauce. The meat avoids any fatty strings or cartilage, and has a succulent taste about it which could pass for the kind of really solid imitation pulled chicken BBQ your Weight Watchers Aunt (or Charles Barkley) makes in the slow cooker. Above all, it’s a step up from Subway’s floppy Oven Roasted Chicken, which, even with barbecue sauce, mostly just tastes like rib meat and salt.

Subway Smokehouse BBQ Chicken Next To Oven Roasted Chicken with BBQ

That said, the portion is meager and looks nothing like the advertisement. Crunch (like slaw) is needed on top, while a potato bread base could go a long way to imitate the authentic barbecue experience. Some shaggy interior decorating and southern rock music wouldn’t hurt to inspire the faux atmosphere either, although something tells me that may clash with the artist process.

Subway Smokehouse BBQ Chicken Portion

If you prefer chicken to beef, have exactly four dollars (plus tax) to spend, and decline to dine outside the confines of fast food restaurants, I can see this being a frequent purchase. If, however, you happen to just be some schmuck who’s running late for work and falls victim to unrealistic advertisements (like me), then I would suggest passing. That is, unless you insist on some finger painting and stick figure drawing, for which I’m sure your sandwich artist would be happy to provide on your complimentary napkin.

(Nutrition Facts – 6-inch sandwich – 380 calories, 60 calories from fat, 6 grams of fat, 1.5 grams of saturated fat, 30 milligrams of cholesterol, 950 milligrams of sodium, 57 grams of carbohydrates, 5 gram of fiber, 8 grams of sugar, and 32 grams of protein.)

Item: Subway Smokehouse BBQ Chicken Sub
Price: $4.00 (6-inch)
Size: 6-inch
Purchased at: Subway
Rating: 5 out of 10
Pros: Chicken gets good BBQ sauce coverage and has a nice smokey-sweet flavor. Not too salty. Better than Oven Roasted Chicken. 32 grams protein (allegedly). Fingerpainting.
Cons: Getting yelled at by a sandwich artist. Holding up the line at Subway. Too little meat. Needs crunch. Bring your own Skynyrd. Admitting I don’t dislike healthy crock pot “BBQ” chicken.