2010 will renew my snobbery in snack

It's been four years since I've written for Snack Snob. The following story should explain my return.


I was eating at Akasha in Culver City with my brother and Trish Stone. My brother said, "I know this sounds crazy, but I just ate a Heath bar for the first time."

- pause -

The Heath bar is a Hershey chocolate. This means, of course, that it is not high-quality chocolate, but serves the kind of immediate chocolate craving that someone with low self-worth might find satisfying. The Heath bar is better as a "mixer" snack, rather than a "standalone" bar of craven consumption and shame. It's like gin, I guess. Heath bar is great in ice-cream or smothered around a caramel or chocolate based truffle. The Heath bar really sings when it is crushed. It recalls a discussion of "non-self" we can find in the 5th Century c.e. Buddhist philosopher Nagarjuna, in which we find the "self" of the Heath bar is really understood when we look at the infinite causes and conditions that allow the Heath bar to arrive and be understood as "Heath" "Bar." When crushed, or crumbled, we consume Heath, chanting under our breath "there is no bar, there is no bar, there is no bar."

My brother said, "I know this sounds crazy, but I just ate a Heath bar for the first time." Trish Stone follows this with a "I don't eat Heath bars."

I looked at them both like they had lost their minds, or perhaps, I felt a loss of my own. Is it possible they do not like any toffee-based confection? Are they unhappy with toffee? Why is the room spinning?

So, of course, I responded, "Have you ever had a Skor bar?"

This is obviously where I turn into the crazy person. Because I continued, "You take a Skor bar and set it in the freezer for about 15 minutes and then take it out again. Let it sit on the counter for about another 5 minutes. Then unwrap it and break it in half. It's thinner. . . . it's thinner than a Heath bar. There's nothing like a nearly-frozen Skor bar."

A nearly-frozen Skor bar provides solace and comfort, and "we give [it] thanks and praise."

Why does Hershey make two toffee bars?

Insecurity.

Glam Slam, Pt. 2

Right now I'm eating Starburst "Fruit & Creme" fruit chews. They're new.

I've noticed that snack makers have jumped on the practice of adding some flavor or texture to their original snack. These Starburst are apparently meant to taste like one of the original Starburst flavors (originally they are cherry, orange, lemon and strawberry), but with an added flavor of "creme." I assume they mean "cream" but, because of the success of those giant Starbucks coffee milkshakes called "creme-something," StarBURST wanted to hook us up with a little poorly thought-out pretension.

Here's the rundown:

The first one I ate was called Peaches & Creme. I'm going to criticize this one. And I'm going to embarrass myself, also. It tastes like one of those little Strawberry Shortcake toys little girls used to play with when I was a child. "But Snacksnob, how do YOU know what a little Strawberry Shortcake doll TASTES like?" Um. . . . er. . . . okay, here's the thing: I always wanted to eat those little dolls. Remember, I WAS VERY YOUNG. I had never heard of oral sex, much less Sigmund Freud. I just remember I had cousins who had those little dolls (with names like Blueberry Muffin, Cinnamon Bun, and Vanilla Muffdive) and I loved to smell them and I was so distraught that they couldn't actually be ingested. It seemed SO UNFAIR.

Well, that's what the Peaches & Creme Starburst tastes like. And it's really upsetting.

The second Starburst was Strawberry & Creme. It tasted pretty good at first, but once going soft in my mouth, I actually thought I was tasting milk. That's a pretty disgusting taste when you think you're just eating strawberry candy. I am not a fan.

Orange & Creme was great. Really good. You know how sometimes you go to a diner or an ice-cream shop and in the menu they have some drink called an "Orange Freeze" or "Orange Dream" or something? Usually, it's just orange sherbet and 7-Up blended like a milkshake. A great idea, right? And it tastes great at first. It doesn't become a revolting nightmare of a concoction until you're about halfway through and it's gotten a little lukewarm and flat. You realize that really, you're drinking sherbet and 7-up and that's pretty decrepid. Luckily, the Orange & Creme Starburst gives the mouth all of the up-front excitement and flavor of the "Orange Freeze" without any of that mid-meal remorse.

There is another flavor of Starburst "Fruit Creme" called Mixed Berries & Creme. I opened the little paper wrapper and sniffed it, so suspicious was I. Fuck that shit; I'm not putting that in my mouth. I welcome readers to try it out and post your comments.

In my next post, I'll talk about candy bars proper. Promise.

Glam Slam, Pt. 1

Throw any two random flavors together. See what it tastes like. Sell it.

This was the flavor-making policy of Snapple back in the early-to-mid 1990s. Strawberry-kiwi-apple juice. Watermelon-lime tea. Green tea with mushrooms and dingleberries. It was a difficult time to be a snacksnob. Of course, this trend continues today, only with beloved soft drinks like Coca-Cola. The main offenders are Vanilla Coke and Lime Coke. Now that Vanilla Coke is seeing the end of its days, Coca-Cola has introduced a new Black Cherry Vanilla variety, something Dr. Pepper did last year. I'm so appalled by all of this grandstanding that I haven't even tried this new abomination. Maybe it's delicious? I'll be sure and let y'all know. . . . in the meantime, check out the amazing folks at Salute to Soda for more info about any and all of your soft-drink questions.

Here's my point. I have to seriously curtail my soft drink intake. I'm just emerging from a 2-week bout of flu, during which I only drank one Coca-Cola (my dearest friends understand the significance of this ). I've thought long and hard, looked deep into my soul, considered my lifestyle and the indulgences I still enjoy, and have concluded that a changes have to be made vis-a-vis my lifelong addiction to sweet, adorable, precious Coca-Cola. I know I may regret this decision in a few weeks when I'm sitting down to pizza or enjoying a bag of the new Black Pepperjack Dorito's. Perhaps, for the first time in a very long time, I'll get back in touch with my Texan roots and investigate the refreshment of iced tea. Or maybe I'll just drink liquid cocaine. Something. Stay tuned, obviously.

By the way, Lebron's Lightening Lemonade Bubblicious gum tastes like lemons soaked in pine cone with a hint of Vietnamese temple incense. I was really disappointed because I wanted it to be tangy and mouth-watering. Instead, I almost threw up my dinner.

I'm Cleanin' Out My Closet

Look at an M&M. An M&M is a very precise, elegant confection. I'm talking about the original M&M, not the lumpy (yet delicious) peanut M&M, or the more upsetting peanut-butter, crispy, and mini varieties. Yes sir, the original M&M is a perfect little object. Once deposited in the mouth, it actually feels delicious. Before I ever bite down, before the melting far from my hand, I can roll the little M&M across my tongue and physically sense the impending sweetness.

The lumpy peanut M&M is fantastic, but it really requires that satisfying chomp to split the M&M and reveal to the mouth a complete nut. The abominations (the peanut-butter, crispy, mini varieties), are disgusting. Peanut-butter M&M is fat; it feels chubby inside the mouth, which is not a feeling you want in your mouth when you're eating a candy. And it tastes nasty. Worse is the crispy M&M, which is really horrible, as if the M&M contracted an STD. Really just horrible. And the mini variety is pathetic. They taste just like normal M&Ms, but they're little. Redundant and pathetic. Unlike a normal M&M, the pre-pubescent mini variety can't fly solo. You need to pop a handful of them to really uncover the chocolate flavor. Problem is, once you pop a handful of mini-sized M&Ms, it feels like you're eating Nerds, which makes the bursts of chocolate disconcerting.

And EVERYBODY wants in on the M&M action. Reese's Pieces are the immediate example. Reese's Pieces are basically the same shape & size as M&Ms. They're lovely. But now comes big bad Hershey. Sad, old, pathetic Hershey. Who the hell eats a Hershey bar? They're grotesque candy bars. A frozen Mr. Goodbar ain't bad, but I'm a sucker for peanuts. And those little miniature Crackle's are pretty good during the Holidays. But even I have to be pretty horny for chocolate to actually pay a dime for something from Hershey. Recently Hershey tried to horn in on the delicious-chocolate-market by releasing its gross "Pot O' Gold" collection. . . . .um, please just stop. Drop me a $6 box of Whitman's Sampler or put a bullet in my throat. So, desperate for attention like a short slutty high-school student, Hershey has released it's M&M-wannabe "Kissables." The Kissables take the shape of the inedible Hershey's Kiss, only much much smaller. Then, each little micro-kiss is coated in "candy," otherwise known as M&M-shell. Like most other Hershey products (including my Medieval Catholic Priest cousin, Father John, who hails from Hershey, PA), the Kissables are drab, sick, moralistic daggers piercing the heart of desire. The main problem with the Kissables is their shape. Unlike any of the M&M varieties, the Kissables don't even try to be round-ish. The "precious" thing about Kissables is that they look like little miniature Hershey's kisses; they feel like horrible hard rodent nipples in your mouth. I gagged when I put the first Kissable in my mouth. I actually gagged. I ate a few more, trying to keep the vomit down; I never finished the whole bag. Incidentally, the "candy coating" is eerily sweet, as if the coating is sweetened to compensate for the pedestrian Hershey chocolate.

Back Packin' Snob Snackin'

My semester began this week with classes all day on Thursday. I usually begin every semester with a "healthy eating" agenda: no fast-food, only one Coke, plenty of fruit & protein shakes. With classes that run through dinner time and office hours that cut into lunch & other breaks, finding an actual meal is pretty impossible. A sane person would make food at home and bring it with them; I'm a nervous wreck.

I found a Trader Joe's near my school though, and bought apple slices (in a bag), celery-slices with little packets of peanut-butter, and, best of all, pretzel bites with peanut butter already inside. Built-in peanut butter!! I'm fully aware that this snack doesn't fulfill a "healthy" obligation, but certainly it must be healthier for me than french-fries and Snickers bars.

I recently found a picture intending to explain the miracle of transubstantiation. I'll explain for my Protestant readers: Transubstantiation is the process by which the Communion (or Eucharist) wafer, having been blessed during a Mass by a Catholic priest, transforms inside of your mouth into the actual physical flesh of Jesus Christ. Likewise, transubstantiation occurs when Communion wine, delivered to the congregant during Mass, physically transforms into the actual blood of Jesus Christ inside of your mouth. Some people receive Holy Communion every day, which would be kind of like having a mid-morning Snack 'o Christ.

Stream of Snack Consciousness

Soft, room-temperature banana-flavored Moon pie sitting next to me as I type. The shame creeps in, warning me against the Moon pie. "Not a good idea. It's bad for you." That show "Veronica Mars" amuses.

Frozen fun-size Snickers. Little Debbie Star Crunch cakes. Lindt hazelnut & milk chocolate bar. Dreams of steak sandwiches. How did this happen? Sudoku is a fad, but it's far superior to new wave music.

Where was I ? What was I eating?

Well, I tried and tried to post and post while I was away, but all things got in my way. All things.

I was in Portland, Oregon from January 5th - 10th. My radio project, Neighborhood Public Radio, was visiting as part of the Ghosttown Festival up there. It was great fun and the people of Ghosttown and wider Portland are truly warm-hearted, generous, fun-loving people.

They're not much for snacking, however.

Well, not at first glance. Here now, I will provide a glimpse of my snack-a-licious adventures in Oregon.

On Thursday, we arrived to a gallery hosted by a Kris, Kim, Scott, and Noelle. They spoke of a fantasy cupcake shop, "just around the corner," in which I could get all varieties of cupcakes to satisfy my sweetest of teeth. Dear reader, let it be known, that I searched day and night for this mythic cupcake shop, and to no avail. After the 13th Dalai Lama of Tibet died, Venerable Tibetan Monks from Lhasa ventured across the expansive land of Tibet to find clues leading them to His Holiness, the 14th Dalai Lama. Suffice it to say, my journey for the Buddhadharma Cupcake Temple made these humble, saffron-robed Tibetan trekkers look like lazy chumps. I have come to believe that this Cupcake Temple may mirror the experience of satori; this land of immeasurable cupcakes may only exist in the mind, perhaps in only fleeting moments of deepest mental clarity and focus.

On Friday, Saturday, and Tuesday I ate lunch at the finest sandwich shop I've ever visited. Ford's on 5th makes high-quality, flavorful, savory steak sandwiches. I'm not a big fan of the Philly Cheese-Steak sandwich usually, mostly because they're so greasy and they make my stomach murky. The sandwiches at Ford's on 5th are made with Angus beef, fresh-from-the-market onions, and fresh baked bread. Not technically a snack, but now a deeply resonant part of my life (and by "deeply resonant" I mean "another-2-belly-inches").

I'll post again in the future about various convenience stores and their role in my depression. Portland's Plaid Pantry is a fine, well-stocked convenience store in which I found a new treat called Overload. Overload is a package of three peanut-butter-cups. Each one has a different psychotic candy topping: Butterfinger topping, M&M topping, and Nestle Crunch topping. I bought this candy and waited until I was at the airport to eat it. It wasn't very good, though the Butterfinger topping was the most interesting combination with the peanut-butter-cup. Unfortunately, the actual peanut-butter-cup wasn't as delicious as the Reese's brand, and had a kinda chalky aftertaste. Worst of all, when you take the package out of the bag, it just looks nasty (nastier than it sounds). I was quick to begin calling the candy "Overlord," in honor of the British codename for the June 6, 1944 Allied D-Day invasion of Normandy.

Iced Tea & Honey Buns

On Monday morning Trish and I decided it would be okay to get some donuts since donuts don't have bacon in them. So we walked in the pouring rain to the Mom's Donuts near her house. But it was closed. Apparently, since New Year's fell on a Sunday this year, business who are NORMALLY OPEN on Sunday got to take off TWO DAYS. I thought the idea of holiday on Monday, Jan. 2nd was to allow businesses to close if they would normally be closed on Sundays (like banks, schools, courthouses, etc.).

So. . . we walked to my car and drove 2 blocks to a convenience store. I knew exactly what section I wanted to find- the one with honey buns. They didn't have the Hostess-brand honey buns, but some more generic brand instead. Lucklily, I've eaten this particular generic brand and they're tasty. These generic honey buns are "iced" which means the icing is more solid-white colored than the usual translucent sugar coating on normal honey buns. So lucky me, I got an iced honey bun. I helped Trish navigate to the Pop-Tarts, where she found a fine box of the ubiquitous strawberry flavor.

More importantly, I discovered a new snack product. While I'm normally a Coca-Cola fanatic, I will, from time-to-time, drink a delicious bottle of Lipton's Iced Tea. I like my tea sweet with no lemon (the blue label). The downside to this cool & refreshing beverage is that it's sweetened with high-fructose corn syrup (like Coca-Cola Classic), and is 140 calories per bottle, which is a rip-off since it's TEA and shouldn't be high in calories, in a perfect world. So imagine my surprise & delight when I discovered Lipton's brand-new "diet" version of sweet-no-lemon (the blue label).

The Lipton Original tea flavor remains close to the orginal. The diet sweet tea is sweetened with Splenda which everyone really loves but me. I'll promise to do a whole new blog about artificial sweetners soon, but let me just say that Splenda tends to make things taste kind of Snappley. Luckily, Lipton's original tea blend is so consistently delicious that the faint whiff of Snapple at front of the tongue is insignificant. This makes a lovely breakfast drink with honey buns, but probably isn't the best sweet tea for a weekend.