Two Faux-reo snacks enter; one Faux-reo snack leaves. And takes the appetite with it.
Description. OD: The Oreo® Donut is one of two donuts available as part of Dunkin and Baskin’s summertime Oreopalooza. An marriage between one of the most popular cookies in history and a ubiquitous fast-food brand is completely sensible, and the donut itself looks good — stylish, even, with bright-white icing and midnight-brown Oreo chunks on the top. PT: The funereal coloration of the Tart itself is disconcerting, and not helped by a crooked and unattractive assembly-line-misfire glomp of icing, itself flecked with Oreoid dots that suggest shower mildew, that does not “match” the color of the filling.
Description. Various colleagues alerted us to the presence of the Snoballimus in the field, including Drs. Ariano and Barkenbush — the latter of whom risked life and limb to collect a mid-Atlantic specimen to send to B.A.R.F. headquarters.
The Snoballimus is a Transformers-branded version of the Hostess Glo-Ball, which itself is an unnatural variation on the already-artificial Sno-Ball…or Lucky Puff…or Hopper…or whichever name the Sno-Ball elects to go by depending on the time of year. The Transformers version, of course, offers even more synthetic horror for the snack-cake buck: a Smurf-hued coconut coating, over a rubbery and resistant layer of marshmallow, which in turn overlays a dry pale chunk of devil’s food cake that surrounds a luridly red crème filling. Said filling brought to mind notorious scenes from the horror-film genre — Sissy Spacek, sticky and staring. Janet Leigh in the throes. The head on the dance floor in Prom Night.
The color scheme is not only toxic but baffling also. Is it intended to create patriotic feeling? If so, whither the brown layer?
Description. Turkey salad is itself superfluous. It is seldom seen outside the post-Thanksgiving repurposing-desperation period, usually on or around the Tuesday following, by which time all other turkey dishes — sandwiches; tetrazzini; an awkward canapé incident involving pimiento — have been exhausted and only salad and smoothies remain. It is never ordered, or craved.
The Foundation has yet to collect sufficient data on why this is so, although one leading theory has it that turkey, despite its superior taste, is not as agreeably chunkable as chicken and therefore fails to translate. But it is so nevertheless; turkey salad is inessential. Vegetarian turkey salad, then, is almost actively a waste of energy and space.
Description. Once upon a time, in a suburb not far from the Foundation’s HQ, a pregnant lady visited the suburb’s Baskin Robbins each and every day and always ordered the same thing: black raspberry ice cream. She began the practice shortly after receiving her happy news, and continued it throughout gestation, although she did not expect the baby until March. Shivering in a parka, fighting the mitten lint that crept into the scoop — the lady persevered.
That lady is our founder’s mother, and to this day Dr. Bunting is attracted to all manner of black-raspberry-flavored sweets and sundries, regardless of how nauseating civilians may consider them. Ice cream, Slurpees, vodka, fruit leather — Dr. Bunting has sampled the black-raz iterations of them all, and although Haribo is responsible for many of the more terrifying candies she has encountered, she felt no apprehension in testing Haribo’s version.
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.