Description. The proportion of chocolate in each individual Neapolitan Sundae candy is apparently a direct response to the Simpsons episode in which Homer finds that Bart has stripped numerous cartons of Neapolitan ice cream of the chocolate segment. An understandable decision, but an unfortunate one as well; that segment’s shade of brown is reminiscent of feces, and showcases the candy’s tendency to perspire. The tester expected a handful of barnyard flies to begin circling the unwrapped candy.
Packaging/Branding. If said flies failed to materialize, we may blame the extremely persistent plastic wrapping, as well as the candy’s propensity to melt into the wrapper’s folds. Prying a Neapolitan blob loose from its crinkly lair is a sticky affair, and traces left on the hands will act like superglue.
Description. Of the myriad fake fruit flavors available in today’s miraculous world of food science, fake cherry is not universally considered the most revolting. That dubious distinction belongs to fake banana. But for every diehard fan of the chocolate-covered cherry, three others would rather eat chopped glass than consort with such a nauseating treat.
Those people — and Dr. Bunting is most decidedly one of them — would storm the barricades of the Brach’s corporation to beg for a second chance in a one-pound bag, however, should the choice come down to the chocolate-covered cherry or the Twin Bing. The chocolate-covered cherry has a simplicity to it, at least, and a decent foundational concept, and while applying enzyme paste to a fruit in order that it may begin to digest itself on the shelf is repellent, it is a garden of soothing sensations compared with the needlessly complex, disgustingly shaped, frighteningly hued, confusingly conceived, and unreservedly foul Twin Bing.
Description. Turkish delight comes in two varieties: the type that may have contact with a card-carrying Turkish national at some point, and consists of a dense nougat studded with nuts and flavored with rosewater or honey; and the mass-produced powdered-sugar-donut-hole-meets-Gummi-cube type. The former is in fact a delight, suggesting luxury, seduction, warm evenings under a canopy of fruit trees.
The latter is baffling at best, and the Turkish consulate should do everything in its power to revoke the credentials of this insufficiently precious ambassador de cuisine. What need does it fill? What market does it serve? Who thought that an artificially colored gelid blob needed sugaring — with confectioner’s sugar, the substance most likely to cause an inadvertent fit of choking?
Needless to say, it is the latter that arrived at the B.A.R.F.’s loading bay, trailing a plume of sugar motes behind it into the lab…
Packaging/Branding. …thanks to the dense coating of powder that blanketed the entire rack of delight, and which the packaging failed entirely to contain. Waxed paper around the candy, nestled in a box, nestled in another box, wrapped in cellophane merely slowed the sugar’s progress throughout our facility; its presence lingered well into the afternoon in the form of ghostly fingerprints and the occasional sneeze of unknown origin.
Description. In theory, fruit-flavored hard candy with a soft chocolate center. In practice, less so. “Hard,” to begin, does not seem like a forceful enough adjective to describe the resistance of the exterior. In the package, the straws looked like differentiated pieces, but thanks to melt/de-melt/re-melt in transit, they presented as an unarticulated boulder of confetti-colored candy, necessitating the slamming of said massif onto the lab floor in the manner prescribed for orange Toblerone.
CFSes fall unfortunate prey to the Jelly Donut Hole Instability Principle, which states that, while certain holes will furnish only a small sad smear of jam, others carry a large reservoir that splurts onto the shirtfront. Similarly, chocolate is unevenly allocated among the straws: many contain none at all, most a mere hint, and others a disconcerting splorch of cake-frosting-esque cocoa paste.
The problem proceeds from the concept. The idea of filling a fruit shell with chocolate is understandable, but the size of each straw cannot allow for sufficient chocolate — and the CFS is, in the end, a neither-fish-nor-fowl combo snack, intended to capture two or more demographics and pleasing none. The chocolate lover will reject the faux-colate filling as insufficient; nor will it satisfy the “depressing past-the-sell-by senior-living-horehound” purist — should such a consumer 1) exist or 2) have enough original dental work remaining to pursue his/her avocation.