Candy and Other Snacks
For some reason the movie Hard Candy, which stars that little boy from Juno, is not about old people's love of Werther's Original. I would've appreciated a heads up before I invited my Grandma over to watch it.
While on the topic of Werther's Original, Here's a picture of their company's CEO:
I hear she gives out hard candies all day.
While on the topic of Werther's Original, Here's a picture of their company's CEO:
I hear she gives out hard candies all day.
I don't even like American Idol*, but last night's results have gotten me fired up. Not because Adam Lambert didn't win (while he's obviously talented, I don't think he's the god that everyone made him out to be), but because America seems to be in love with mediocrity.
Mediocrity in the form of Kris Allen. Kris Allen? The guy with no personality and an average voice?
I've been using this blog for my ramblings about candy and snacks, so I guess I have to tie that in somehow.
Kris Allen is vanilla. Soft serve.
He's the guy in college that had no personality but could swoon the ladies because he had a guitar and knew enough chords to play "Free Fallin."
He's the guy who you're friends with, but when someone asks you to describe him, you draw a blank and tell them he's a "real good guy."
If Kris Allen were a TV show, he'd be According To Jim.
If I invited Kris Allen to a dinner party, he'd show up and ask if he can chip in instead of bringing a casserole. Kris Allen brings nothing to the table.
If Kris Allen were a baseball team, he'd be the Baltimore Orioles. Sure, we all know they exist, and they're not that bad, but do we need 'em?
Kris Allen has two first names. And the first one is spelled wrong. That's the only thing I know about him.
And apparently that's the only thing America needed to know.
Thank you for your time,
Dan
*Actually a lie.
Mediocrity in the form of Kris Allen. Kris Allen? The guy with no personality and an average voice?
I've been using this blog for my ramblings about candy and snacks, so I guess I have to tie that in somehow.
Kris Allen is vanilla. Soft serve.
He's the guy in college that had no personality but could swoon the ladies because he had a guitar and knew enough chords to play "Free Fallin."
He's the guy who you're friends with, but when someone asks you to describe him, you draw a blank and tell them he's a "real good guy."
If Kris Allen were a TV show, he'd be According To Jim.
If I invited Kris Allen to a dinner party, he'd show up and ask if he can chip in instead of bringing a casserole. Kris Allen brings nothing to the table.
If Kris Allen were a baseball team, he'd be the Baltimore Orioles. Sure, we all know they exist, and they're not that bad, but do we need 'em?
Kris Allen has two first names. And the first one is spelled wrong. That's the only thing I know about him.
And apparently that's the only thing America needed to know.
Thank you for your time,
Dan
*Actually a lie.
I was recently at a gas station - not for gas, but for the ambience and Chex Mix - and I came upon a bag of potato chips with the Burger King logo on it. I couldn't take my eyes off of it. A million thoughts entered my mind. How was this possible? Are all the fast food joints selling chips? Does Panda Express have an orange chicken chip? (They do not - I checked.)
Well, not only does Burger King sell chips, but they sell chips that taste like hamburgers. They also sell a side for said burgers: chips that that taste like ketchup and fries.
Needless to say, I bought both. Not necessarily because I wanted them, but because of the "new item in the vending machine" factor. It goes without saying that if you see a new item enter the lineup of familiar snacks, the item must be bought. No exceptions. The only time this has backfired was when my usual vending machine started carrying things other than snacks; I was in the mood for Doritos, but by principle I had to buy tomato soup.
Anyway, back to Burger King's endeavor into chips. First let me acknowledge how ridiculous this is. They're a fast food chain. I'm not exactly walking past a BK thinking, "If only I could get this on the go." So I can only assume that they're marketing toward idiots like myself who think dinner is taken care of when I see such items. Mission accomplished.
I brought them home and created a platter for myself. I had about 30 hamburgers (I'm counting each chip as a hamburger) and 3 fries that night. The burgers were a little overcooked but otherwise good. The ketchup and fries, however, were terrible. Where Burger King went wrong is that they defeated the purpose of ketchup and fries. When you combine them into one stick of gum-shaped chip, they just taste like those fries that accidentally got caught in the undertow of the ketchup blob on your plate. Not good.
All that said, Burger King did a bang up job replicating the flavors promised on the bag. Much better than a lot of snacks that try to replicate actual food. Those pretzels that taste like buffalo wings? I'd prefer them to just taste like pretzels. Those buffalo wings that taste like pretzels? Well, that's just impressive. The only other snack that really pulls it off are Funyons. And clearly, they need to do some sort of cross promotion with Burger King.
Well, not only does Burger King sell chips, but they sell chips that taste like hamburgers. They also sell a side for said burgers: chips that that taste like ketchup and fries.
Needless to say, I bought both. Not necessarily because I wanted them, but because of the "new item in the vending machine" factor. It goes without saying that if you see a new item enter the lineup of familiar snacks, the item must be bought. No exceptions. The only time this has backfired was when my usual vending machine started carrying things other than snacks; I was in the mood for Doritos, but by principle I had to buy tomato soup.
Anyway, back to Burger King's endeavor into chips. First let me acknowledge how ridiculous this is. They're a fast food chain. I'm not exactly walking past a BK thinking, "If only I could get this on the go." So I can only assume that they're marketing toward idiots like myself who think dinner is taken care of when I see such items. Mission accomplished.
I brought them home and created a platter for myself. I had about 30 hamburgers (I'm counting each chip as a hamburger) and 3 fries that night. The burgers were a little overcooked but otherwise good. The ketchup and fries, however, were terrible. Where Burger King went wrong is that they defeated the purpose of ketchup and fries. When you combine them into one stick of gum-shaped chip, they just taste like those fries that accidentally got caught in the undertow of the ketchup blob on your plate. Not good.
All that said, Burger King did a bang up job replicating the flavors promised on the bag. Much better than a lot of snacks that try to replicate actual food. Those pretzels that taste like buffalo wings? I'd prefer them to just taste like pretzels. Those buffalo wings that taste like pretzels? Well, that's just impressive. The only other snack that really pulls it off are Funyons. And clearly, they need to do some sort of cross promotion with Burger King.
We all know that parents instruct their children not to accept candy from strangers. But was there a time before this rule was so well known? A time where kidnappers went on a spree of candy-baited abductions?
I hope so. I hope that there was one parent that stumbled on the realization that "Candy is keeping these kidnappers in business!" and they held a town meeting about it. I'd also like to think that a few days later there was a meeting among the town kidnappers where they discussed why no kids were falling for the "candy trick."
I imagine the agenda to that meeting looked like this:
1. Discuss why vans are better than station wagons.
2. Boycott on Soul Asylum (I assume this meeting took place in 1992)
3. The decrease in kidnappings in relation to the excess in company candy.
I think it's a testament to candy in itself that it apparently is the number one warning sign to look for when avoiding being kidnapped. It's that good. It can lure you from whatever you're doing to follow a stranger at the mere promise that you'll receive candy at some point soon.
But it sends the wrong message to a kid. It says that candy is hard to get. That if you see someone offering you no strings attached candy, you run. You run as far as you can.
Perhaps that's the main difference between children and adults. The latter can control their candy intake. A child must wait for a safe opportunity where its presented to them by someone they trust. Me, I'll take candy from anybody. I'll suffer consequences. I'll risk getting kidnapped.
Because it's worth it - it's candy.
I hope so. I hope that there was one parent that stumbled on the realization that "Candy is keeping these kidnappers in business!" and they held a town meeting about it. I'd also like to think that a few days later there was a meeting among the town kidnappers where they discussed why no kids were falling for the "candy trick."
I imagine the agenda to that meeting looked like this:
1. Discuss why vans are better than station wagons.
2. Boycott on Soul Asylum (I assume this meeting took place in 1992)
3. The decrease in kidnappings in relation to the excess in company candy.
I think it's a testament to candy in itself that it apparently is the number one warning sign to look for when avoiding being kidnapped. It's that good. It can lure you from whatever you're doing to follow a stranger at the mere promise that you'll receive candy at some point soon.
But it sends the wrong message to a kid. It says that candy is hard to get. That if you see someone offering you no strings attached candy, you run. You run as far as you can.
Perhaps that's the main difference between children and adults. The latter can control their candy intake. A child must wait for a safe opportunity where its presented to them by someone they trust. Me, I'll take candy from anybody. I'll suffer consequences. I'll risk getting kidnapped.
Because it's worth it - it's candy.
For some reason, I spend a lot of my time thinking about candy. Actually, I know exactly what the reason is: Candy's the best thing ever and I've got time.
Anyway, last night was dedicated to pondering my love/hate relationship with the Snickers bar. How could I hate something that brings me so much joy? Why do Snickers cause me such strife?
After an anxiety attack thinking about this conflict, I realized that I must purge the following forms of Snickers bars from my diet: The ice cream Snickers and the classic, full sized Snickers. Yeah, I said it. I'm a purist when it comes to candy, but that monster of a candy bar must go.
That full size bar is a beast. It's no candy bar; it's a meal for an entire family. How it costs less than a dollar is beyond me. If I had kids and I had seven dollars, I'd be ordering in all week. "It's Snickers night! Who wants to carve the Snickers?"
Here are some facts about the full size Snickers:
-It weighs 10 pounds.
-It doubles as a hammer.
-In 1977, Reggie Jackson hit 3 home runs in one game while using a Snickers bar as a bat.
-Last year, Habitat For Humanity used one Snickers bar to build 18 houses.
As for that ice cream Snickers, it's just disgusting. I don't think I've ever thought, "You know what goes good with ice cream? Salted peanuts." But what bothers me the most about the ice cream Snickers is that it's often confused with the frozen Snickers, which is one of the true wonders of the world.
Sure, I'll be ridding my life of full size. At least in its natural state and temperature. I cannot explain it, but when that Snickers is frozen, its DNA changes. It becomes an entirely different candy bar. It's even refreshing. I'd say it's the most refreshing candy bar this side of the peppermint pattie (the candy, not the aspiring lesbian).
This altering of the Snickers' state is part of why I'm fascinated with the frozen variety. It also explains why I love the bite size ones. Again, we've got the same ingredients as its larger, uglier counterpart, but while it takes me a week to eat the original, I can down 10 -15 of the little guys at a time. That's the equivalent of 3 normal bars. Knowing that I'm capable of sticking it to the big guys makes me feel like a big man.
And while I'd love to keep it unexplained, to keep my feat untainted, upon further investigation, I realized something: The bite size ones are lighter. They're not packed nearly as tight. This makes me think they're like diet Snickers. All the more reason to eat it, I guess. I'm actually doing my body a favor by downing these by the handful.
Wow, it feels good to get all this out. I'd been burdened with this for years. Tonight, instead of thinking about candy. I'm taking action. I'm gonna go down to the nearest 7-Eleven, grab some Snickers and put them in their frozen section. When the cashier asks me what I'm doing, I'll pelt him with one, and he'll feel the pain. And he'll know why I'm doing what needs to be done.
Anyway, last night was dedicated to pondering my love/hate relationship with the Snickers bar. How could I hate something that brings me so much joy? Why do Snickers cause me such strife?
After an anxiety attack thinking about this conflict, I realized that I must purge the following forms of Snickers bars from my diet: The ice cream Snickers and the classic, full sized Snickers. Yeah, I said it. I'm a purist when it comes to candy, but that monster of a candy bar must go.
That full size bar is a beast. It's no candy bar; it's a meal for an entire family. How it costs less than a dollar is beyond me. If I had kids and I had seven dollars, I'd be ordering in all week. "It's Snickers night! Who wants to carve the Snickers?"
Here are some facts about the full size Snickers:
-It weighs 10 pounds.
-It doubles as a hammer.
-In 1977, Reggie Jackson hit 3 home runs in one game while using a Snickers bar as a bat.
-Last year, Habitat For Humanity used one Snickers bar to build 18 houses.
As for that ice cream Snickers, it's just disgusting. I don't think I've ever thought, "You know what goes good with ice cream? Salted peanuts." But what bothers me the most about the ice cream Snickers is that it's often confused with the frozen Snickers, which is one of the true wonders of the world.
Sure, I'll be ridding my life of full size. At least in its natural state and temperature. I cannot explain it, but when that Snickers is frozen, its DNA changes. It becomes an entirely different candy bar. It's even refreshing. I'd say it's the most refreshing candy bar this side of the peppermint pattie (the candy, not the aspiring lesbian).
This altering of the Snickers' state is part of why I'm fascinated with the frozen variety. It also explains why I love the bite size ones. Again, we've got the same ingredients as its larger, uglier counterpart, but while it takes me a week to eat the original, I can down 10 -15 of the little guys at a time. That's the equivalent of 3 normal bars. Knowing that I'm capable of sticking it to the big guys makes me feel like a big man.
And while I'd love to keep it unexplained, to keep my feat untainted, upon further investigation, I realized something: The bite size ones are lighter. They're not packed nearly as tight. This makes me think they're like diet Snickers. All the more reason to eat it, I guess. I'm actually doing my body a favor by downing these by the handful.
Wow, it feels good to get all this out. I'd been burdened with this for years. Tonight, instead of thinking about candy. I'm taking action. I'm gonna go down to the nearest 7-Eleven, grab some Snickers and put them in their frozen section. When the cashier asks me what I'm doing, I'll pelt him with one, and he'll feel the pain. And he'll know why I'm doing what needs to be done.
Dear White Tic Tac,
Oh white Tic Tac, how you amaze me. I do not know what flavor you are. Are you spearmint? Are you peppermint? No. You're the white tic tac. A completely distinct flavor.
Sometimes, I think you're vanilla. But only for a second, because by the time I think, "Oh this is vanilla," your vanillaness has moved on, trickled away. It's like your initial sweetness was a preparation for the next stage of the mint. You're good. You care about me.
Why is it that you're so much better than any other Tic Tacs? And why do I fool myself into thinking perhaps I'll like the green ones? Or God help me, the red ones? It's because you're humble, yet confident. You know that the moment I pop a green one in my mouth, I'll think "Wait, these aren't the white Tic Tacs" and I'll regret it for the next 5 seconds of my life, which is precisely how long it takes to eat a Tic Tac (unless you bite into it prematurely).
And then I come running back to you.
You don't fear the other flavors. Not even Orange. You know that Orange is not really a mint. Just a tiny candy that serves no breath-freshening purpose. A Luden's Cough Drop for the mint world. But you, you're everything. I'd eat you as a mint or a candy. I'd eat you for lunch. I'd bathe in you.
Your dominance in the mint department fills me with respect and admiration for the Tic Tac company for creating such a flavor. How have the Altoid people not figured out your secret? How do you escape their grasps?
To prove my devotion to you, I've enclosed a letter I recently wrote to the Altoid people, mocking their obvious failure. Please reference.
But don't worry, white Tic Tac. I won't let the Altoid people hurt you. I'll protect you from those monsters. Just continue to keep me happy and fresh.
Love...Always,
Dan Abramson
Oh white Tic Tac, how you amaze me. I do not know what flavor you are. Are you spearmint? Are you peppermint? No. You're the white tic tac. A completely distinct flavor.
Sometimes, I think you're vanilla. But only for a second, because by the time I think, "Oh this is vanilla," your vanillaness has moved on, trickled away. It's like your initial sweetness was a preparation for the next stage of the mint. You're good. You care about me.
Why is it that you're so much better than any other Tic Tacs? And why do I fool myself into thinking perhaps I'll like the green ones? Or God help me, the red ones? It's because you're humble, yet confident. You know that the moment I pop a green one in my mouth, I'll think "Wait, these aren't the white Tic Tacs" and I'll regret it for the next 5 seconds of my life, which is precisely how long it takes to eat a Tic Tac (unless you bite into it prematurely).
And then I come running back to you.
You don't fear the other flavors. Not even Orange. You know that Orange is not really a mint. Just a tiny candy that serves no breath-freshening purpose. A Luden's Cough Drop for the mint world. But you, you're everything. I'd eat you as a mint or a candy. I'd eat you for lunch. I'd bathe in you.
Your dominance in the mint department fills me with respect and admiration for the Tic Tac company for creating such a flavor. How have the Altoid people not figured out your secret? How do you escape their grasps?
To prove my devotion to you, I've enclosed a letter I recently wrote to the Altoid people, mocking their obvious failure. Please reference.
Dear Altoid People,
You are all sorry excuses for mint makers. But I'm sure already know that.
Go ahead. Try and replicate the white Tic Tac. Oh, you can't? That's fine. At least you can take solace knowing that your mints are curiously strong. But they're also curiously not white Tic Tacs, so who cares?
I bet that half of your budget is spent on a team of scientists trying to figure out the sheer genius of the white Tic Tac. "What makes the white Tic Tac tick?" you must all ponder.
Don't waste your time. Your best bet for recreating that beautiful flavor is purchasing a box of white Tic Tacs, grinding them into a powder, and reshaping them like the pepto bismol-like hockey pucks you push on us in your fancy, yuppie-geared tins.
I'll see you in hell.
Dan Abramson
But don't worry, white Tic Tac. I won't let the Altoid people hurt you. I'll protect you from those monsters. Just continue to keep me happy and fresh.
Love...Always,
Dan Abramson
