Description. Fashion editors of late have advocated adding a “pop of” neon to outfits. C&C’s watermelon-flavored soda is both neon and pop, and the product is so intensely hued that we can only recommend its use as an accessory, or emergency light source during extreme weather events, as whatever is responsible for its succulent hue is surely damaging to internal organs — particularly those of the children who likely constitute the bulk of the drink’s demographic. Pre-pubescents gravitate to hyper-sweet ersatzery such as this like kittens to a driveway puddle of antifreeze, and while we hesitate to intrude upon the parenting process, we feel a duty to note that it is much healthier to serve minors a slice of actual watermelon.
Or, for that matter, to trebuchet a 15-pounder at the child’s head at point-blank range. Concussions fade; nephritic acid scarring is forever.
Description. The limited-edition Confetti Cake Pop Tart seems superfluous. Of course, most Pop Tarts seem superfluous — what niche does “cherry turnover” fill that a cherry Pop Tart (or, preferably, an actual cherry turnover, created by humans in a non-factory environment without the aid of sodium stearoyl lactylate) does not? What chemical nano-tweak differentiates the strawberry-milkshake flavor from the frosted Tart with strawberry filling? And what, pray tell, is a “Spookylicious”? (It is “chocolate” “fudge.” Evasion is strongly counseled.)
Drs. Ariano and Bunting would never have confronted these questions during their recent sample-collection sojourn into the New Jersey interior, were it not for the accidental intervention of a native whom they overheard enthusing about the CCPT while restocking the ample shelves of a Target in Hanover. Intrigued, they procured a box for the lab.
Packaging/Branding. Despite straining heartily for a party atmosphere via the box art (confetti; piñata filling; even a “To / From” field should the consumer unwisely substitute these Tarts for a proper birthday gift), the Confetti Cake Pop Tart does not look very promising. …Well, perhaps this is an unfair characterization. The Tart itself presents neutrally; the rendition of a piece of birthday cake, helpfully provided to remind prospective purchasers of what the Tart is supposed to taste like, resembles an infected marshmallow.
Dr. Bunting finds the microwave instructions hilarious. Step 2: “Microwave on high setting for 3 seconds.” Three seconds? Holding the Tart over a candle or coughing on it vigorously is probably more efficient.
One also wonders what fumarole of the Kellogg’s legal department belched up this advisory: “Due to possible risk of fire, never leave your toasting appliance or microwave unattended.” First of all, “toasting appliance”? Second of all, “never”? And third of all, shouldn’t such a warning mention the product on whose package it appears? Even as a lawsuit preventive, the phrasing is rather broad. Why not take it a step further and remind us to look both ways when crossing the street, or to buckle up for safety?
Flavor Profile. A birthday-cake-flavored thing that is not birthday cake should not work. What makes birthday cake appealing is that it is cake; the lack of portability is beside the point. For reasons that the B.A.R.F. has not yet pinned down, however, such products frequently succeed. Birthday-cake ice cream is a particular weakness of Dr. Bunting’s, and more than one summertime breakfast hour has found her firmly facing a pint from Uncle Louie G’s.
The Pop-Tart version is markedly less pleasurable. In what we must assume is an attempt to stress the savory or starchy aspects of a cake, thus creating contrast with the frosting and the sugary confetti discs, the Tart itself features a salty bass note that lingers spitefully on the palate. In addition to suggesting that a popcorn-and-candy Pop Tart would fail miserably, the flavor is, for lack of a better term, creepy.
Habitat. Last-minute office parties in the Trust Territories; the Target in Hanover, NJ.
Field Notes. If someone could please ask the anthropomorphized hipster blobule that represents the Wildlicious Wild! Strawberry Pop Tart to calm down at once, thank you and good day.
Revulsion Scale: 7
Description. Off-puttingly blunt though it seems, the Pearson’s Salted Nut Roll’s name is somewhat misleading; it is not a roll in the cinnamon-roll sense, but rather a tube of crème nougat rolled in salted peanuts.
The tube is 5-6 inches long; it is salty; it is filled with a white substance; and there is nut involvement. We trust that its selection for testing requires no further explanation.
Packaging/Branding. The presence of a yellow crown containing the words “king size” on the wrapper forced our data-collection technician to turn the Roll face-down at the Walgreen’s checkout, lest she be subject to the sort of “girl, please” reaction that greets boastful requests for Magnum condoms.
The front of the wrapper is otherwise nondescript. The back, meanwhile, is a nauseating horror movie in nutrition-panel format; a single Nut Roll contains 22g of fat, for 34% of the recommended daily allowance, as well as 18% of the carb allowance and 12% of the sodium.