Tag: Trader Joe’s

Let me guess. It’s a weekday. You’re busy. Too busy.

If you’re lucky you have a whole extra 2 minutes and 45 seconds to put your lasagna in the microwave, take out the trash, put on a cleaner pair of pants, and water the petunias. Wait, do you have a garden??? Who cares. Dump some water somewhere. This is no day for stops. No day for gentle meandering. No day for the 2 hours and waaay too many steps it takes to make a macaron.

Nonetheless, you want one.

So it was for me last Wednesday. Thus, low on blood sugar and pressed for time, my hand did not hesitate when I saw my craving had been sloshed through a Dexter’s Laboratory ray to create some giganto incarnation that may or may not come alive and try to take control of the city. They were huge. They were chocolate. They would be mine.

First off, let’s get the overgrown, bloated elephant out of the room: the instructions suggest that the reader microwave these pastry beasts.

Resist.

Put your hand down. Step away from the cubic kitchen appliance. Look, I tried using el microondas with one of them and the thing came out with a half exploded, half burnt filling and a soggy cookie. In hindsight, this makes sense: microwaves cook the water inside the cookie. That water turns to steam. Steam makes soggy cookies. Soggy cookies makes puppies cry. Don’t make puppies cry.

Instead, I advise keeping these in the refrigerator and enjoying them at room temp. In this incarnation, the cookies are pretty boss. The outer crust crackles while the inside remains not too puffy and not too squishy in that “just right” way that makes Goldilocks wanna bust a move.

From there, it only gets better. The dark chocolate filling is piled in a hunk of nutty, roasty, fudgy goo whose depth contrasts well with the sweet cocoa cookies and whose richness could knock my Italian grandpa outta his pinstripe suit (love ya, grandpa!).

As if that weren’t enough, that filling is capped with a layer of some sort of nutty paste. Not Nutella, but rather some thick chocolate goo that, from what I can gather, has toasty nutty nubs (are they almonds?).

Sure, it may all be nothing beyond a glorified, high-quality chocolate frosting, but I’m admittedly a sucker for such things. Of course, the nuance of the filling is all lost if you slip these in microwave, so don’t listen to the instructions. The box tells lies. Lies!

There is an admirable pugnacity about taking something splendid in its ordinary form and making it massive, but, as I learned from that classic box office flop, Honey, I Blew Up the Kid, one must approach one’s gigantified power with caution lest chaotic, giant-baby-induced destruction ensue.

Similarly, these cookies have benefits and downfalls in their bulk. On the one hand, you get served an enormous, tip-top, mildly unorthodox chocolate cookie. On the other, said cookie can get overwhelming, overloading you with sugar and richness and lies about putting them in the microwave. Then again, these boulder-sized hunks become pretty grand when eaten defrosted at room temperature, retaining a crisp crust, soft cookie, and rich ganache filling.

Sure, they’re not too spiffy and won’t be replacing Francois Payard anytime soon, but did I mention they’re huge? Huge. If you eat one, you should wait 45 minutes before swimming or waive any complaints of digestive issues.

(Nutrition Facts – 1 Macaron – 390 calories, 180 calories from fat, 20 grams of fat, 9 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 5 milligrams of cholesterol, 50 milligrams of sodium, 46 grams of carbohydrates, 3 grams of dietary fiber, 39 grams of sugar, and 7 grams of protein..)

Item: Trader Joe’s Molten Chocolate Macarons
Purchased Price: $3.99
Size: 2-pack/7 oz.
Purchased at: Trader Joe’s
Rating: 7 out of 10
Pros: Massive. No oven required. Crust on outside. Sweet, soft cookie insides. Nutty, slightly bitter dark chocolate filling. “Pugnacity” is a lovely word. Will make my grandpa jump out of his pinstripe suit.
Cons: May be too massive. A little hum-drum. Microwave gives poor results. The box tells lies. Crying puppies. All that time I wasted watching Honey, I Blew Up the Kid.

There is particular group of human beings who cannot resist a product promising a peculiar outcome. The type who must buy the exploding gumball to see their tongue turn purple. The type who invest in Netflix socks that pause one’s TV when the viewer falls asleep. The type that bids on the 1972 Pinto to see if it really explodes.* These are the humans who see uncertainties and are triggered by both an infinite curiosity and nagging stubbornness that demands, “I must find out!”

*Exploding not advised.

I am one such human. Perhaps you are, too? Being such, I was thrilled/terrified to spot these Chocolate Raspberry Tamales. Having never encountered a sweet tamale, I presume they could be wonderful. They also could be horrendous, but, as I learned when Fluffy the Cat exploded the tree in Christmas Vacation, what’s the holidays without a little strategically placed suspense?

To wit, sweet tamales are on the reg in many regions of the world, especially in Mexico and spots of South America. They’ve been celebrated, steamed, and rustled up in variations ranging from rum raisin to dulce de leche and don’t look like they’re on any cusp of endangerment. Nonetheless, I had my hesitations. My bold and stupid hesitations.

Trader Joe’s was generous in putting instructions for steaming these in a boiling pot of water or slipping ‘em in the microwave for two minutes on half power. Wanting my journey into chocolate consumption to be swift, I opted for the microwave, buzzing one inside a damp paper towel as the apartment became infused with the smell of chocolate.

Three microwave beeps later, I unrolled the tamale from its husky shell to find what looked like a holiday fudge. Indeed, one bite was enough to convince me that someone had taken the middle of an undercooked brownie (my favorite part) and smooshed it with chocolate fudge. Avoiding the grit of hand-ground cornmeal, the masa dough is smooth and pillowy as a $2500 memory foam mattress, a texture that avoids the mealy taste of corn and allows the cocoa and semisweet chocolate to pop right out.

If this was Star Wars, those chocolate chips would be on the Dark Side. Because this is not an alternate fictional universe with evil Sith Lords, this Dark Side is for the best as the nutty, roasted coffee-like notes of the dark chocolate chips allows the sweet, fudge-like richness of the dough stand out. I’m relieved to discover that Trader Joe’s avoided the messy goop that a raspberry jelly filling might’ve entailed and instead blended the raspberries right in the dough. What they ended up with is a tamale that has hint of tart fruitiness at the end and a little warmth from the cinnamon spices they pinched in there, but, on the whole, this is all chocolate, all the time.

No question: compared to fruitcake, this wins. Compared to the toil of making sugar cookies with festive sprinkles laboriously hand-cut into shapes of magical woodland creatures, this wins. Compared to what my mind thought this would be versus what it actually is? Oh, buddy, this wins big time, thus reinforcing, again, that the presumptions of my brain are not trustworthy.

These tamales tie in flavor with fudge, ping in with a bit of fruity variation, avoid the gloopiness of raspberry filling, and nail it on ease of preparation for a festive treat. Take note, small children: Santa Claus is coming to town and he wants some tamales, stat.

(Nutrition Facts – 1 tamale – 230 calories, 120 calories from fat, 14 grams of fat, 4 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 15 milligrams of cholesterol, 220 milligrams of sodium, 26 grams of carbohydrates, 3 grams of dietary fiber, 12 grams of sugar, and 3 grams of protein.)

Item: Trader Joe’s Handcrafted Chocolate Raspberry Tamales
Purchased Price: $3.99
Size: 4 tamales/10 oz. package
Purchased at: Trader Joe’s
Rating: 9 out of 10
Pros: Like a gooey brownie. Melty semisweet chocolate chips. No obnoxious raspberry jelly blobs. Butter is involved. Chocolate, chocolate, all the time. Strategically placed suspense. Netflix socks.
Cons: Want to eat the whole bag. Try to expand patience by putting bag away. Still want to eat the whole bag. Limited time. Will not appease raspberry lovers. Limited time. Exploding Ford Pintos. The unfortunate demise of Fluffy the Cat.

Instructions for Sadness:

Don’t think about brownies.
Mmmmm…
Or fudge chunks.
Chunks?
Or crispy edges.
Edges!
In fact, just throw all the chocolate near you away.
(Slow motion:) Nooooooo!!
Your only thoughts should be about canned beets.
Ew.
And standardized tests.
Please. No.
Maybe stare at a broken clock, read a self-help book, and reflect on your recurring nightmares about the one-eyed, door-to-door orange juice salesman.
BAH!
But not brownies. Or cookies. Or both.
Mmmmmm…

Promise me something: if you like chocolate, crispy bits, fudge chunks, and crumblies, ignore the above instructions. I know I did as I grabbed these Brownie Crisps from the shelf, puzzling over the image on the polymer bag. “Is that a Brownie Brittle replica? Or just an ugly cookie? Perhaps some mutant Cocoa Puff?” Only one way to find out…

Before we get going I feel the need to talk about the original Brownie Brittle. By now, you might be familiar with those slivers of chocolate crunchies, but, if not, allow me to introduce you. Brownie Brittle is a crispy, crunchy creation, much akin to a very, very thin chocolate cookie. The cookie-like shards are pummeled with teensy round chocolate chips, broken up, and served up in wackadoo shapes.

As you can see by my poorly constructed tent resort camping facility, the structural integrity of these brownie crisps rivals that of Lincoln Logs. The Original Brownie Brittle was a bit thinner and more delicate, breaking into shards at the ill-angled toss of a bag. Not so with these chunks: they’re sturdy, yet also crumbly, holding an integrity that transmogrifies an Oreo with a graham cracker with an especially wonky-shaped Tollhouse. Basically, it’s a giant, thin brownie-cookie hybrid that’s been baked on a sheet, sent through an identity scrambler, and smashed by Thor (that’s how they do it in the production facility, right?).

Of course, the hybrid’s success hinges on said brownie-cookie’s execution. This one? Is splendid. The outside base starts crunchy, then disintegrates into a dutch cocoa, sugar-filled crumble. None of my crisps are burnt, avoiding the charcoal bitterness that so easily throws off a brownie corner’s game. I’m working to eat the crisp alone, but it’s hard to get a bite without konking into a chocolate chunk.

And those chunks? They’re everywhere. Scattered on top. Scattered inside. Moderately mammoth-sized. Peewee mammoth-sized. These chunks are special in their flavor’s capacity to complement the cocoa base. The chocolate here is nothing exotic. No citrus or nutmeg or hints of pine. Just some very simple pudding, butter, and coffee notes, maybe a hint of vanilla, all of which contributes a dark, melty bitterness that rounds out the sugary grit in the chocolate crisp base. I ate them. I ate them all. My regrets are nill.

Of all brownie’s transmutations, this is surely its most hardship-free: crunchy, crumbly, cocoa buttery fragments scrambled with chocolate chunks. If any of that sounds like something you might enjoy, hustle on over to Trader Joe’s. While extremely similar in concept to Brownie Brittle (i.e.: shards of a brownie-cookie hybrid), these crisps are a bit thicker with chocolate chunks the size of a small child’s eyeball. I’m knocking them a few for lacking ingenuity, but, between the chunks and the crispy crumblies, these are downright delicious.

If you enjoy the last crumbs of brownie corners, make haste to your Trader Joe’s. To hesitate? Means one would miss out. This would make one sad. One might cry. One might cry a river so deep, one’s Industrial City Planners would have to construct a new bridge to redirect the water hazard created by one’s tears. Save yourself from sadness and city tax dollars. Get the brownie crisps. Nothing about brownie cravings should involve delayed gratification.

(Nutrition Facts – 3 crisps – 100 calories, 35 calories from fat, 3.5 gram of fat, 2 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 0 milligrams of cholesterol, 35 milligrams of sodium, 17 grams of carbohydrates, 2 grams of dietary fiber, 11 grams of sugar, and 2 grams of protein..)

Item: Trader Joe’s Brownie Crisp
Purchased Price: $2.99
Size: 5 oz. bag
Purchased at: Trader Joe’s
Rating: 8 out of 10
Pros: Crispy. Crumbly. Lots-o-chocolate chunks. Chunks’ flavor complements crispy cocoa base. Structural integrity of a Lincoln Log. Chunks the size of small child’s eyeball. Smashed by hammer of Thor.
Cons: Copycat of Brownie Brittle. Won’t appease anyone looking for chewy/fudgy brownies. Bag empties quickly. Standardized tests. Recurring nightmares of the door-to-door orange juice salesmen.