Maine Root Pumpkin Pie Soda

I can't quite tell what this soda's angle is. It was put out on the shelves after Halloween, yet has a jack-o-lantern on it. Because I totally didn't find this until after Halloween, I'm going to say that this is for Thanksgiving, for the college student stranded by themselves over break with little else to eat on the holiday except for this soda and McDonald's and day-old bakery rolls. Forever alone.

This makes for a depressing Thanksgiving, if you're drinking it for its intended purpose. I've tolerated selections from Maine Root in the past, and have enjoyed their stranger selection of flavors. This was a new one in the supermarket. Unfortunately, there are some flavors that just shouldn't be incarnated into carbonated form. Jones has exhausted that list to the point of insipid novelty, and now Maine Root is jumping on the bandwagon with their pumpkin pie soda. Even the kitten was kind of skeptical.

A few years ago I totally "wasn't" into Harry Potter and I "didn't" go to three of the midnight book releases and "never" cried at the end of the seventh book. Now I'm over that noise despite seeing some of my old high school friends totally cosplaying the crap out of those books, but was piqued by this soda as a result of a years-old curiosity surrounding the omnipresent pumpkin juice in the book series. I was hoping this would be quenching, rich, and almost vegetal in flavor with a deep underlying spiciness and sweet hint of brown sugar. It was basically all of that, reversed.

Imagine the weak, generic scent of a votive candle- the vague mishmosh of spices that somehow loosely translates to the flavors of fall and appeals to the sensibilities of people who consider Jersey Shore quality theatrics. That's what this taste like. It's overly sugared and smells synthetic, and completely lacks pumpkin. The sugar content in this is through the roof. It tastes closer to some of the pumpkin-shaped candies of the season than it tastes like its gourd brethren. And let's be serious- simply saturating it with an asston of orange food coloring doesn't make it taste more like pumpkin. Keepitcoming Love liked this soda because it did have a persistent and strong fresh nutmeg and cinnamon stick flavor, slightly sticky, dry texture included, but I wasn't sold on its weak flavor. I can't enjoy anything that wins the first place slot in the Family Feud question, "Soda that best resembles a Yankee Candle."

Miss Rachel's Vegan Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is right around the corner! Don't let the thought of long hours in the kitchen stress you out. Have Miss Rachel prepare your vegan Thanksgiving meal this year!

Miss Rachel kindly dropped me off a sneak peek of her delivered Thanksgiving platter (it was delectable, comforting, and generously portioned). Each $22 individual dish includes:

• 'Turkey’-style seitan with mushroom-red wine gravy (or herbed tofu if you are gluten free)
• Garlicky mashed potatoes
• Green bean casserole
• Rosemary-thyme stuffing with cranberries (or rice stuffing if you are gluten free)

Plus, you can add an individual size homemade pumpkin pie to any order for just $8.

Deliveries will take place on the evening of Tuesday, November 22 and all day/evening on Wednesday, November 23. Pickup is also available from 2-6pm on Tuesday, November 22 at Greensgrow Farm Market.

The Deadline for ordering is Sunday, November 20.

For more details, and to place an order, visit Miss Rachel's site. Orders can also be placed by emailing missrachelspantry@gmail.com, or calling 215-285-7622.

Japanese Sweets Deli Mochi Cream Choco Banana

It just goes to show you how far a little research can get you when getting the scoop on foreign snacks. What I initially dismissed as exuberant Engrish on the part of the maker (mochi mochi mochi cream choco-banana?) was actually the full name of a high-end mochi emporium in Hong Kong and Japan. Granted, it still read like Engrish, but now it was gourmet Engrish. This particular snack was found in a subway convenience store in Tokyo, looking for all the world like a random, strange snack food.

After doing my homework, I found out that this store packages and sells their mochi as well as vending it freshly made from their boutiques in flavors like apple pie, honey cranberry, and darjeeling tea. This pre-made snack was in one of their most popular flavors, chocolate banana, and boasted an array of fresh ingredients stuffed into the tiny mochi balls. The chocolate banana flavor had a very appealing package with a photo of a plate brimming with slices of fresh fruit and chocolate drizzling all over. The back of the package broke down the composition of the mochi dumplings in a diagram form, helpfully stating that snackers would expect bittersweet cocoa powder coating a layer of soft mochi, chewy marshmallow, and a banana and chocolate chip center.

Inside, the mochi are wrapped individually and are very neat. The product is a victim of the potato chip cushioning phenomenon- despite looking as though the bag could hold twice the amount, it is filled with nine of the little dumplings. The mochi are much less messy to touch than I expected, with a conservative amount of cocoa powder coating each piece. They are cool and springy to the touch, with a pliable bite and depth of texture. Though some could argue that the packaging was a little excessive, I found that it protected the mochi and didn't let them scuff up against each other so that each one was in perfect condition.

Each piece is fairly weighty and is roughly the size of a small walnut, and is very soft. Not a trace of cocoa powder fell off the sticky mochi. They immediately start to sink around the shape of your fingers as you hold them, a good sign of freshness. What I was impressed with was how precisely sweet these were with all the layers of sugary elements- marshmallow, chocolate chips, banana, and chocolate usually make for a fairly toothachingly saccharine bite. But whenever a sweet element showed up in the bite, another, more neutral part (like the mochi skin) masked its sweetness in a deft way so that no one bite was overwhelming. The flavor was delicious. The chocolate's two bittersweet and sweetened forms were one of the highlights, but the fresh banana puree inside really won me over. It was soft and chunky, evident of having real bananas inside, and had a sweet, creamy texture. The only off flavor in it was an artificial banana note, which I couldn't quite comprehend. I'm not sure if it was used to boost the natural fruitiness, but it didn't help and came across as a little cloying. Still bomb-diggity with the chocolate chips, which made it taste like chocolate chip banana bread!

I was impressed with the craftsmanship of these- they were some of the tastiest mochi I've had and lacked that rough, overly glutenous texture of their larger counterparts. They were delicate and all too easy to graze on.

Back to Nature Cupcake Bites

When certain concepts are trendy, everyone jumps on the bandwagon. No sooner did the word "cupcake" make home cooks shiver with delight did news spread, and in a matter of months, trendy cupcake boutiques, recipes, and artistic renderings of cupcakes were the new "it" treat. Of course, all flash-in-the-pan products fall wayside to the trickle-down effect. In the case of cupcakes, they were first relegated to children's birthday parties and baby showers. Their prices went up as did their twee factor, and as they got to be a more exclusive, "artisanal" item, varieties were made so that the novelty of cupcake trendiness could be available to the general public. Basically, a roundabout way of explaining why these Cupcake Bites are cheap and awful.

I was sold on the retro-looking "new, with sprinkles!" endorsement on the box because I am a pretty pretty princess. They're pretty unattractive out of the bag, though. Small orbs, no bigger than a pea, with ice cream sprinkles haphazardly mashed onto a chalky, greyish coating. According to the box, they're along the same lines of Cookie Dough Bites (same company, in fact) and have a wheat-based center with a candy coating. And sprinkles. Don't forget the sprinkles.

While I give kudos to the company for explicitly stating that the chief ingredient is "white birthday cake," I can't help but shudder at how unappealing these are to eat. I'm still not sure why a company called Back to Nature makes these Frankensteinian creations with artificial flavorings. That being said, eating these is a bit purgatorial. I can nosh them with no enjoyment or sentiment, knowing that they're absolutely terrible and really not caring. They inspire my most indifferent tendencies with a bland flavor. Bland is the kindest thing to say, though. Opening the bag, I was struck with a clinical, powdery scent, like the coating on a pair of medical disposable gloves. That alone was so unappealing that I almost didn't eat these at all.

The texture of these is really offputting. While the appeal of an element of graininess was desired in Cookie Dough Bites to mimic the sandy, sugary texture of actually eating cookie dough, the same is present here and feels disgusting consumed out of context. The graininess makes me feel like I'm chewing on a tablespoon of pure granulated sugar mixed with greasy shortening. There's no cake flavor to speak of and the mushy, irregularly textured center is a far cry from the fluffy, fragrant plushness of actual birthday cake. There were quite a few sprinkles in each bite which threw off the ratio of sprinkles to cake and turned them from a garnish to an ingredient. Those of you who have eaten raw sprinkles know that they taste kind of gross, with a crumbly, chalky waxiness and a strangely fruity sweet aftertaste, like that of an artificial sweetener. These were terrible. As a child I'm sure I would have been attracted to the bright pastel colors and sweet flavor, but there's nothing appealing about them now. Even for a dollar, I'm pretty miffed.

McDonald's Big Mac

Everyone's first time is supposed to be memorable.

At least, that's what Hollywood told me. Note that I didn't say "special"- we can't all have Rick James, satin sheets, and a gorgeous body when we get down to business. I came to the shameful realization one lonely evening that, no matter how hard I tried to push it to the back of my mind, the facts were glaringly obvious. I was a 21 year old virgin to one of America's iconic symbols of happiness and prosperity.

How did it happen? I don't know. It could have been my staunch parental upbringing. A fear of commitment. However it came to that point, I knew it had to change. So I hiked up my jeans, I put on a special playlist of the Indigo Girls, Rod Stewart, and the original Broadway cast recording of Spring Awakening, ponied up $3.95 for what was promised to be a life-changing experience, and dug right in with a paper towel for a napkin. After living 7,714 days on this earth, I was about to have my first Big Mac.

Let me preface this by telling you that this was a completely blind tasting. I never heard the jingle, never took a bite of one, and never smelled one from afar. The closest I came to eating one of these was watching Morgan Spurlock maneuver one into his mouth in SuperSize Me. I was curious. Perhaps even fry-curious. My first gripe with this was the bulky, extensive myriad of plastic and paper packaging. The Big Mac, for all intents and purposes, isn't really that big. With the economy-sized bag and cardboard holding facility, I was a little disappointed to lift out a sandwich no bigger than a small portable hard drive with a somewhat emaciated-looking mere two ounces of beef. But as we all know, it's not about the size of the fries, it's about the motion of the 'Mac. Or so they say.

Flavor-wise, the sandwich is perfectly balanced. And not only balanced, but layered with textures and savory sensations. The first bite was as beautiful as I'd imagined it, with an initially sweet, slightly sour crunch of pickles and onions mingling with the seductively creamy Special Sauce. I was surprised that the beef took such a backseat to the veggies but came together so well, letting the more superfluous elements in some sandwiches take first billing with each bite. The buns were cotton soft, but not chewy, and melted into the meat. I had to admit I was pretty impressed.

Structurally, we're in a whole other ballpark. That was my main beef with this, (please pause to laugh) as by my third bite roughly two minutes in, the sandwich had completely disintegrated in my hands, spewing lettuce shreds and special sauce all over the place. What had once been a regal skyscraper of a sandwich was now a hot, wet mess in my hands. And then, things started to get a little weird. It was like all the integrity of the burger was in its perfect structure and balance. After that one stupendous bite, flaws started to perk up as the sandwich entered Bizarro territory. The flavor of the onions started to linger with a briny, salty aftertaste. The buns got mushy and soggy and tasted greasy and buttery when eaten alone. I lost the flavor of the beef completely.

If the euphoria of that perfect bite had been consistent throughout the sandwich, I'd have no qualms giving it my highest rating. It is, after all, engineered like the McGriddle to max out our pleasure and tantalize us long into the night. But in all things, I value consistency, cleverness, and maximum pleasure (which makes Keepitcoming Love my McGriddle) and in five minutes, this went from amazing to falling apart. It was like making out with a cute guy and realizing that underneath his perfectly coiffed hair and sweater vest, he had a tattooed quote from Twilight on his bicep. Not abhorrent, but not ideal and certainly not what I initially expected.

I soon realized that despite its perfect exterior and legendary reputation, it wasn't perfect. Did I learn from my mistakes? Yes. Do I regret it? Not for a second. I may not ever order this again, but for one brief moment in time (what is now a stunted timespan due to this consumption) I had the Big Mac, and that is a moment that will forever remain special.

Zapp's Voodoo Potato Chips

Some people are easy to please. Not me. I could never figure out the motives someone who was able to go to the movies and feel satisfied with a small popcorn, sans salt, butter, or smuggled cheese sauce, never mind passing up the litany of candies and Slurpees along the way. I can't go to a barbecue that lacks thirty flavors of mustard and ten different artisanal sausages, and I rarely order a pizza that isn't buried under a glut of toppings.

So you'd think I'd be pleased to find these potato chips, which are not only a total sensory overload with the aesthetic simplicity of a Magic Eye, but also an homage to one of life's creepiest regional quirks, voodoo. Another particularly bratty habit of mine. I'm not big on chips without dip, nor pretzels without mustard. Unadorned junk food just doesn't do it for me. Zapp's is an elusive potato chip company from some region in the US with a large concentration of sports teams. I don't know, I don't follow cricket. Whatever. It's rare to find these chips in their limited edition flavors, unless, of course, you check out Big Lots! It really is my new favorite hookup for discontinued products and hookups. This flavor, Voodoo, is less Santeria-style chicken heads and entrails and more "whoops, due to a carefully controlled employee mishap at our factory, we came out with this flavor" deal. I tell you, that shit would not fly at a CDC testing facility, no siree. Kind of uncanny how often that happens. Maybe they shouldn't hire voodoo dolls as employees any more. Note that there is unfortunately no gris-gris at the bottom of the bag. Collect them all!

While I normally try to avoid kettle chips as they invariably get stuck in my soft palate, I bought these out of a weakness for the visual design. Look at this bag and tell me you don't want to get it tattooed on your bicep, crazy-colored dolls, neon script, and all. Or at least commission a loud shirt out of the basic design. The backstory is mild in comparison, though, as are the cutesy phone order and computer graphics on the back. Opening the bag, I was immediately hit by a blast of tangy vinegar, salt, and the brown sugar paprika sweetness of barbecue. A good sign, if unoriginal. The chips are softer than the average kettle chip, although they do still fracture into a kazillion pieces upon impact and have a lot of surface area and curling to catch a good amount of seasoning in the cooking process.

The flavor is hard to pin down, starting with an acidic kick of vinegar and then morphing into a combination of sugary barbecue with an end result almost identical to the tomatoey sweetness in a bag of Herr's Heinz Ketchup chips. The chip's heavy garlic and onion influence and crisp, slightly greasy texture lend an almost chickeny flavor and feel to the chip, which is unique but not completely welcomed. It's definitely a snack with an identity crisis. I'm not beyond new combinations and ideas, but I wasn't seeing any congruent theme in this chip that made me want to go back for more. As hokey as it seems, surely a company wouldn't completely throw caution to the wind and just let the production of a flavor happen accidentally with no science behind the flavors? It was too sweet and too sharp for my liking and just didn't make a whole lot of sense.

What I really wanted with these was a kick of heat. I solved the problem by dipping them into some salsa verde until I realized that the only reason I was eating the chips was to have something as a vehicle to eat the salsa with short of pouring it into my mouth. Even with sauce added, there was just something off about these chips that didn't quite make them regular players in my lunch box.

Gandour Unica

My sister gave me a nice selection of candy bars from a Lebanese grocer recently, and it's about time I got to reviewing them. The first one I tried was the Unica bar, a chocolate wafer bar.

It's worth mentioning that I have never been a fan of wafer bars. I didn't even like KitKats until college, and those plain delicate wafer cookies? Still not for me. So I am somewhat biased.


The Unica bar was very pretty, with a nice-looking, rippled milk chocolatey coating. It smelled pleasant, like a mild cocoa. The chocolate was extremely mild, in fact. It got a bit lost in the wafers, which were also subtly flavored.

The cream between the wafers was slightly salty with a hint of vanilla. They had a light, delicate crunch, which was really the main experience of the bar. It felt very unsubstantial, but as I mentioned, wafer bars are not my thing.

The wrapper said Wafers coated with milky chocolate sensation and the website says Wafers Coated with Chocolate Flavour, so draw your own conclusions about that. There's nothing really wrong with this bar, but it's just too bland for me.

C+

Gandour Website