“That’s it?”

“Yea. That’s it.”

Such completed my transaction of the new Frosty Waffle Cone. Anticlimactic, brief, and disheartening, the short exchange with the Wendy’s guy as I looked upon this innovation of fast food desserts — this long-hoped for, anxiously awaited breakthrough in hot-as-balls spring day relief — was matched only in brevity by the experience of eating the dissolving agglomeration of chocolate, cream, and God knows what else.

Yes, like Frosty the Snowman in the Greenhouse, the new Frosty Waffle Cones don’t last long. But unlike Frosty resurrected by the magic of Christmas, a melted Waffle Cone doesn’t freeze back up into a sweet confection.

You’ll have to excuse my somber tone. I do take my frozen desserts rather seriously, especially when it comes to the frozen dairy in a cone department. Having once perfected the seven loops of a Rita’s Large Frozen Custard Waffle Cone during a summer job, I feel a certain affinity towards sweet and creamy chocolate served with a crispy handle. Combine this affinity with a lifelong fixation upon the chemical properties of the not-quite-milkshake Frosty, and the revelation that the iconic frozen treat was getting the Waffle Cone treatment should have had every capacity to complete my life.

Yes, my life.

So you’ll imagine my dumfounded indignation upon seeing the liquidy puddle of chocolate Frosty barely reaching out of the Waffle Cone. While I pride myself in having advanced my use of imagery as a writer since my kindergarten days, the cone did, in fact, bare a strikingly resemblance to a diarrhea laden dump.

Clearly, there is no truth in advertising anymore, and while I’d love to say that I was able to overcome this construction shortcoming, the fact is that I wasn’t four or five steps out the door before the Frosty concoction began to melt. Instead of licking the Frosty as you’d lick the soft serve ice cream in a traditional cone, you’re really forced to slurp the Frosty more than anything else. It’s a completely acceptable means of ingestion when you’ve got the benefit of a cup and a straw, but as the puddle of Frosty spills out onto your hands from the cone, you might find yourself wishing you had brought a bib.

The taste of the Frosty isn’t bad. Obviously it tastes like a Chocolate Frosty, what with its sweet and not too intense cocoa flavor, but it strikes me as not having the standard consistency of the Frosty. It’s as if the particles of cream and sugar and mono and diglycerides are in active rebellion, and by melting so quickly proclaim a chorus of ‘hey, what the hell is this cone thing we’re floating in?’

As for that cone thing, take it from a seasoned waffle cone aficionado. There’s something off about it. A good waffle cone is malty with a slight give. You should be able to taste a batter component in there beneath that first crunch, and it should be sturdy enough to provide a thick crunch. This cone was more crispy than anything, with a bland sweetness that came off as cheap.

If you’re looking to suffer disillusionment in the arms of a fast food classic, or perhaps if you just want to get sticky stains on your steering wheel and endanger the lives of motorists after a cruise through the drive-through, then yes, I highly recommend Wendy’s new Frosty Cone. However, the next time I wish to beat the heat on a hot day, I think I’ll just stick to the traditional Frosty in a cup. It’s classic and delicious, and what’s more, its construction doesn’t remind me on diarrhea.

(Nutrition Facts – 1 Chocolate Frosty Waffle Cone – 300 calories, 6 grams of fat, 3.5 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 20 milligrams of cholesterol, 160 milligrams of sodium, 54 grams of total carbohydrates, 2 grams of dietary fiber, 35 grams of sugar, 7 grams of protein, and 20% calcium.)

Item: Wendy’s Original Chocolate Frosty Waffle Cone
Purchased Price: $1.69
Size: 1 cone (feels smaller than a Value Frosty)
Purchased at: Wendy’s
Rating: 3 out of 10
Pros: Original Chocolate Frosty is still sweet and chocolatey. Cone is crispy and not stale. Not as bad for you as regular ice cream.
Cons: Looks like the Frosty machine took a dump in a Waffle Cone. Melts immediately. As in, before-you-can-pay-immediately. Cone lacks substantial crunch or malted flavor. Slurping up Frosty doesn’t give you time to enjoy the simple pleasures. Small. Inconsistent Wendy’s value menu pricing.

I’ve developed a few personal rules about breakfast:

Don’t mix orange juice with coffee.

Don’t put grapefruit in the omelette.

Don’t put broccoli in the chocolate ice cream.

If you want a donut, get one.

The last of these, while the seemingly simplest of the bunch, is not always easy. When the craving for a rotund chunk of fried dough strikes, there’s no stopping it, but, in a city where the only fresh-made Krispy Kreme is in an underground cement “garden” and the price of artisan donuts could empty the bank, it’s easy to find yourself stranded in lower Manhattan without a reasonably priced fried dough option in sight…but what’s this?! Burger King offering me instant puffs of fried dough?

It proposed such unknown…and yet such happiness. And are we to deny ourselves potential happiness for fear of the unknown? Nay, dear readers! We are not chicken-bellied fools! We boldly go forth and pursue happiness!

It may be a Whopper box, but you can’t fool me!

You donuts and your secret identities.

I take a bite and, ahhh, yes, warm donut holes. Or rather, doughy, cube-like shapes. Nothing scary at all. At the same time, nothing too spectacular. On first bite, the dough is warm and a bit chewy, the glaze sticky and sugary. This is a yeast dough, to be sure, somewhat reminiscent of the cross between a grocery store donut and a brioche roll.

However, this joyous experience is time-sensitive. Give these suckers two minutes and the dough takes on taste and texture of a frozen Pillsbury dinner roll that’s been put in the microwave a few seconds. The eating process gets to be a bit of a calisthenic session for the jaw.

The glaze was simple enough, tasting mostly of sugar, sugar, and sugar, a one-note satisfaction to which I’m especially keen on, although I wouldn’t have argued if a little vanilla or cinnamon showed up in there. Both in the warm and cool phases, the glaze remained sticky. I was hoping this sugary patina may dry and crackle along the edges like a Krispy Kreme, but it remained shiny and thin as the wax on a 1957 Ferrari Testa Rossa at a car show.

One of the more frustrating qualities of fast food restaurants is the 10:30 breakfast shutdown. Oh, the days that have passed where my 4:30 p.m. sausage biscuit craving is left unfulfilled! Luckily, BK put these donut holes on their all-day menu, so, if the craving hits, you can trust BK will be there with your yeast rolls and sugar.

But, overall, I don’t think I’m up to buying these again. Maybe it was the weather or the lunch rush, but the dry dough and thin glaze didn’t fill the empty donut pocket in my soul. If you really, really need a glazed fix or enjoy microwaved dough, these are an acceptable stand-in, but I would recommend the grocery store Krispy Kreme first.

(Nutrition Facts – 5 donut holes – 280 calories, 100 calories from fat, 11 grams of fat, 5 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 5 milligrams of cholesterol, 300 milligrams of sodium, 0 milligrams of potassium, 40 grams of carbohydrates, 0 grams of dietary fiber, 18 grams of sugars, and 4 grams of protein.)

Other Burger King Donut Holes reviews:
Brand Eating
Man Reviews Food
Serious Eats

Item: Burger King Donut Holes
Purchased Price: $1.40
Size: 5 donut holes
Purchased at: Burger King
Rating: 3 out of 10
Pros: Available any time of day. Sweet glaze. A good idea. Nice portion.
Cons: Dry. Tastes of microwaved dinner roll. Tough to chew. Weak glaze. Grapefruit in an omelette. Low Krispy Kremes population in Manhattan

I imagine Shakespeare was a connoisseur of lemonade.

Why, if he were around right now, he’d probably say something like, “Oh, ye citrus beverage of my youth, why do I crave for thee in the bitter of winter?” Then, he’d probably sit down and write a sonnet, maybe pull out some iambic pentameter. I dunno, but I do know that, if his love for lemonade were true, he, like me, would’ve been tickled to see that one of Crystal Light’s newest ventures came in the form of strawberry lemonade.

Gotta give it to Crystal Light: they’re game for innovation. Every time I pass the powdered drink aisle, there’s a new flavor: Mango Passionfruit, Cherry Pomegranate, Snozzberry (oh, wait, I don’t think that last one’s been done yet. Can they get on that?).

While the notion of portable, squeezy liquid concentrates isn’t the newest thing on the block, Crystal Light’s always experimenting with uncharted territory flavors that don’t threaten to decay my bicuspids or sag my rump. I don’t know if all this flavor experimentation is admirable, but it is risky, and I respect a company willing to haggle with the Devils of Downfall.

The design of these little buggers is fetching in that short-and-curved kinda way. At the same time, it somewhat reminds me of a mini robot alien sent to Earth to bring the galactic armada tumbling upon us.

“Take me to your leader.”

Upon flipping open the cap, the smell is magical enough, with hints of lemon drops, artificial strawberry, and maybe something fruit punchy.

The recommended serving is “1 squeeze” for 8 ounces, so I shook the contents to make sure the flavors were distributed, gave it a solid squeeze, and watched as the color poofed out with a sort of pink lava-lamp glow, a color that disperses itself upon stirring around.

Yes, it’s a little murky, but the pink adds something magical. I imagine this is what unicorn swamp water would look like.

The romp in interactive drink preparation was nothing but joy.

The tasting, however, was the opposite of joy.

It started as a hit of salty water, then went into some sort of faint cotton candy bubblegum. I added more squeezes into the water, thinking that maybe I just got a bad blend on my first squeeze, but it only concentrated the saltiness, resulting in something that tasted like a melted sea-salt-and-cotton-candy popsicle.

Oh, I was so sad. I really wanted to like this. I really did. I tried it multiple times with varying degrees of concentrate: one squeeze, measured squeezes, at breakfast, at dinner, while doing handstands in my kitchen (a fun and difficult challenge, but still not very tasty). I even offered it to a friend who needed to take off a few pounds.

He said it was dastardly, which I thought a bit hyperbolic of him.

Maybe I just got a bad bottle. Maybe there was a mix up at the factory. Maybe a Crystal Light employee was seeking vengeance for an under-salted lemonade s/he had in his/her youth. I dunno. I appreciate that I didn’t waste any calories on this experience and I know Crystal Light can make some pretty decent lemonades, but this just isn’t one of them. Nonetheless, I hold hope for the future. Crystal Light is willing to take risks. Even when they fail, they shall try, try again.

Maybe next time.

(Nutrition Facts – 1/2 teaspoon – 0 calories, 0 calories from fat, 0 grams of fat, 0 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 0 milligrams of cholesterol, 30 milligrams of sodium, 15 milligrams of potassium, 21 grams of carbohydrates, 0 grams of dietary fiber, 12 grams of sugars, and less than one gram of protein.)

Other Crystal Light Liquid reviews:
Drink What

Item: Crystal Light Liquid Strawberry Lemonade
Purchased Price: $3.29
Size: 1.62 fl. oz.
Purchased at: Target
Rating: 3 out of 10
Pros: Smells magical. Sugar free. Interactive preparation. Cool bottle. Cap snaps securely shut. Doing handstands in the kitchen. Shakespearean sonnets.
Cons: Tastes of watery, over-salted Jolly Rancher. Lingering cheap cotton candy taste. Unicorn swamp water. Galactic armadas that take over the planet.

Cracker Jack.

The name itself conjures up thoughts of small town nostalgia, fireworks, Dixieland jazz, and old grainy footage of smiling baseball greats with voiceovers saying nonsense stuff like, “Get your lemonade here!” or “He put some mustard on that fastball.” Cracker Jack is so innocent and simple in design. It’s just caramel corn, peanuts, the “aw-shucks” Sailor Boy mascot and his dog Bingo. Is there anything more inviting than caramel drenched popcorn?

Yes, thick slabs of bacon and foamy root beer are more inviting, but you know what I’m getting at.

However, it looks like Cracker Jack traded all of its innocence and simplicity for its post-modern apocalyptic Cracker Jack’D Power Bites line, switching out caramel corn for large pellets that I can only describe as cat droppings. One thing I should tell you…these Power Bites are not like the other Cracker Jack’D lines which are amped up party snack mixes. I’ve eaten those and you can do worse, like with these Power Bites.

Oh, and the Cracker Jack toy surprise?

Not to fret because the Cracker Jack’D Power Bites do have a “toy surprise” that comes in the form of caffeine (Yay chemicals!). The package touts one two-ounce bag has the caffeine equivalent of one cup of coffee. I believe it should be more specific and say, “This bag of cat poopies have the same amount of caffeine as one cup of that cheap ass coffee your tree-hugging jerk brother buys that sits in the cupboard for years because he only drinks green tea and says stupid things like ‘Namaste’.”

Namaste indeed.

These Power Bites are made with real coffee and come in two flavors: Cocoa Java and Vanilla Mocha. Frito Lay promises these are “snacks with impact” and it makes sense somebody thought of these considering how successful the energy drink market is.

Cracker Jack’D Power Bites Cocoa Java

The chocolate coating on these have a cheap waxy texture, but it opens its way to a pleasant flaky wafer cookie with a nice roasted coffee taste. The roast is complex and deep with a hint of saltiness. The cookie is slightly sweet to almost savory, almost… I like the bitter finish the cookie presents, but it may be a bit too bitter for most. However, if you like espressos, whiskey, and other harsher flavors of the world (like unrequited love) this will be a good surprise.

The snack did not give me a buzz, but a conscience…as in health conscience. With a package containing 290 calories and 14 grams of fat, it makes me wonder why I didn’t just get one of those disgustingly sweet fatty Starbucks mochalochachocolatabarataventiburgs?

Cracker Jack’D Power Bites Vanilla Mocha

For every Sylvester Stallone there’s a Frank Stallone. Meet the Frank Stallone of the two Power Bites. While the Cocoa Java did not yield a total success for me, these are way worse. The same cheap waxy chocolate coating, but the complex roast is muted by this overly sweet, almost chai-like flavor. The cookie also has a mealy finish and any “mocha” flavor is flushed away into taste bud hell. There’s no way to say it but these are just fucking miserable. I wanted to microwave them into a mush and napalm the Sailor Kid with it.

Overall, the Cracker Jack’D Power Bites are purely a novelty to make your friends go “What’s that?” I think you’re better off drinking an actual cup of coffee. Even if that coffee has been sitting in a cupboard for years next to your jerk brother’s lavender sea salt.

Namaste.

(Nutritional Facts – 1 package – Cocoa Java – 290 calories, 14 grams of fat, 0 mg of cholesterol, 180 mg of sodium, 37 grams of carbohydrates, 3 grams of dietary fiber, 21 grams of sugars, and 3 grams of protein. Vanilla Mocha – 290 calories, 15 grams of fat, 0 mg of cholesterol, 120 mg of sodium, 37 grams of carbohydrates, 2 grams of dietary fiber, 20 grams of sugars, and 3 grams of protein)

Other Cracker Jack’D reviews:
Allison Meets World
Junk Food Guy (not Power Bites)

Item: Cracker Jack’D Power Bites (Cocoa Java and Vanilla Mocha)
Purchased Price: $1.99 each
Size: 2 oz. bag
Purchased at: 7-Eleven
Rating: 7 out of 10 (Cocoa Java)
Rating: 3 out of 10 (Vanilla Mocha)
Pros: Cocoa Java’s complex roasted bitterness. Texture is good. Cracker Jack toy surprises, even if they are cheap paper things now. The slight salty edge Cocoa Java has. Old timey voiceovers.
Cons: Everything about Vanilla Mocha. The poop shape of these nuggets is gross. The fat, the calories, the cheap waxy chocolate coating. Lavender sea salt. Produced no caffeine buzz. People who say “Namaste.”

According to basic high school chemistry, which I managed to somehow retain despite frequent non-approved nap breaks during 10th grade, a single gram of carbohydrates contains exactly four calories*.

*3.9 if you want to get all technical about it.

According to even simpler preschool math, I have also managed to remember (although in this case, I credit school-sponsored naps) one plus one equals two and four plus four equals eight. So with two grams of total carbohydrates, it’s perfectly reasonable to think the eight calories per can of the new 7 Up, and Sunkist low-calorie sodas would take on names like 7 Up Eight or Sunkist Eight. Likewise, you might think the folks at RootBeer.com would piggyback “Twelve” onto the end of the name for their new low calorie, three carbohydrate version of A&W Root Beer.

Except they didn’t, mostly on account of the FDA having this whole rounding thing going when it comes to calories, but also because saying you’re an “eight” is like wearing a pin that sports how moderately above average but not spectacular you are.

It makes sense when you think about it. I mean, when was the last time you bragged to your friends about scoring that “eight” at the bar or walked into an interview touting the fact that you earned the equivalent of a B- grade point average? Face it. An eight is like losing in the divisional round of the NFL playoffs. It’s not horrible, but nobody really cares or remembers. And 12? Don’t even get me started on 12. Hyperbole might be all well and good for cartoons, but when it comes to superlatives in my food, I can see right through that marketing fallacy.

So we’re left with rounding up on two new sodas and rounding down on one new soda to get us to the magic ten calories which give the new 7 Up Ten, Sunkist Ten, and A&W Ten sodas their names.

It’s not the first time a “Ten” soda has been released. Aside from their calorie (or lack thereof) content, the only thing the new flavors of “Ten” sodas have in common with the previously released Dr. Pepper Ten is that they’re owned by the same company. Otherwise, I would have pegged them as the last sodas to get an upgrade in flavor. Popular Coke or Pepsi products, or something otherwise legendary and iconic? I could see that. Who wouldn’t kill for a Cheerwine 10? But 7 Up, A&W, and Sunkist? This is like the cast of characters that come back for reality shows like Rachel Vs. Guy Celebrity Cooks. But considering this is the most play 7 Up has gotten since Spot Goes to Hollywood hit the Sega Saturn and the most love any flavor of orange soda has gotten since Kel Mitchell went all PG-13 on that bottle in All That, well, I guess it was time for something different.

I started with 7 Up Ten because that seemed like the soda that could be the least offensive of the three. Or as I like to say, boring. Go figure, boring is exactly how it tasted. It has your characteristic diet soda body in that it didn’t leave any syrupy sensation going down, and it lacked the “bite” or harshness which something like Sprite Zero or Diet Sierra Mist has. The carbonation meter on 7 Up is still on the wimpy side, while the taste lacks any zing or pizzazz or other onomatopoeic word you would use to describe soda. It’s terribly typical, and almost indiscernible from Diet 7 Up. I was not a fan.

Next, I moved on to Sunkist Ten because the taste of 7 Up Ten left me feeling pretty plain about my soda drinking and because I thought it would help my self-esteem to be kist by the orange sun of celestial citrus goodness. Of course, I’ve had Diet Sunkist plenty of times in my life and have found it to be about as dull and exciting as getting kist by a grey sun peeking through the fog on a cloudy day.

Sunkist Ten, for some reason completely unexplainable to me, has a much greater intensity and brighter orange flavor than Diet Sunkist, putting it closer to our image of an actual sun kisting you. The carbonation walks the line of being just enough to give you a few quiet burps but not enough to make embarrass you at the office lunch meeting, while the sharper flavor of the orange and citrus do a much better job at covering up the harsh aftertaste of aspartame. Quite frankly, it’s about damn time we got low calorie orange soda that didn’t suck, and would give me cause to consider why someone like Kel Mitchell would kist it back.

With two flavors of ten sodas down (that’s 16 calories, for those keeping track) I moved on to A&W Ten, which prides itself on having aged vanilla flavor.  I’m going to have to take their word for it because I don’t think I’ve ever had aged vanilla before, unless you count the pint of nine-month expired Ben and Jerry’s I once bought at a thrift grocery store.

I thought the taste was a moderate improvement over regular Diet A&W, with the actual liquid having a bit more body and the vanilla and sassafras flavor coming across as sharper and better defined. It’s a good low calorie root beer, although it’s still not nearly as good as Barq’s Zero, which has a serious bite and no calories, but is only available through Coke Freestyle machines. I don’t think they sell those in 12-packs though, so I consider A&W Ten an acceptable substitute for the time being.

The cynic in me wants to back up the assertion that making sodas out of two of the most hated ingredients – high fructose corn syrup and aspartame – isn’t going to please anyone in the regular soda vs. diet soda debate, and if I was going off of 7 Up Ten alone, I’d probably just tell you to buy regular Diet 7 Up or 7 Up depending on your preference.

But as I lifelong diet soda drinker who occasionally dabbles in the empty sugar rush of HFCS-sweetened beverages, I can say there’s a real improvement of flavor and body in both Sunkist and A&W Ten that makes them highly preferable to their zero calorie predecessors.

(Nutrition Facts – 12 ounces – 7Up Ten – 10 calories, 0 grams of fat, 45 milligrams of sodium, 2 grams of carbs, 2 grams of sugars, and 0 grams of protein. A&W Root Beer Ten – 10 calories, 0 grams of fat, 80 milligrams of sodium, 3 grams of carbs, 2 grams of sugars, and 0 grams of protein. Sunkist Ten – 10 calories, 0 grams of fat, 130 milligrams of sodium, 2 grams of carbs, 2 grams of sugars, and 0 grams of protein.)

Other 7 Up Ten, A&W Root Beer Ten, Sunkist Ten reviews:
BevReview: 7 Up Ten, A&W Ten, Sunkist Ten
Purple Knee Socks
Diet Coke Babies

Item: 7 Up Ten, A&W Root Beer Ten, Sunkist Ten
Purchased Price: 25 cents each
Size: 12 ounce cans
Purchased at: Safeway
Rating: 3 out of 10 (7 Up Ten)
Rating: 7 out of 10 (A&W Ten)
Rating: 8 out of 10 (Sunkist Ten)
Pros: Low calorie. Sunkist Ten is like being kist by the sun without the risk of skin cancer. Aged Vanilla in A&W Ten actually tastes more defined and sharper than in diet version. Busting out the Sega Saturn references. School sponsored naps.
Cons: None have heavy bite and carbonation that will get you through the first half of burping the alphabet. 7 Up Ten tastes just like Diet 7 Up. Contains a whole bunch of chemicals that the internet says will give me cancer. Still have Diet Soda body, and not the body you get from abstaining from regular soda, if you know what I mean.

Contrary to a review history which leans towards a diet based exclusively around breakfast cereal and fast food, I do not hold anything against the vegetable food group. I count Larry the Cucumber among my favorite recording artists, have been known to munch on frozen peas as if they were beer nuts, and might, according to my grandmother, even transform into a vegetable one day thanks to hours spent watching college sports on TV.

So no, I’m not a veggie-phobe by any means, and I certainly wouldn’t spurn the chance to nosh on a salad that could increase my lifespan.

But here’s the thing: vegetables are complicated. Buying them, cooking them, and even knowing which part to eat are all tricky. Also, if I want to add a totally chic “lean protein” to the salad, I have to wield a knife and totally risk salmonella with my careless Millennial kitchen hygiene habits (not to mention risk chopping off a finger).

Of course, I could go the convenience route, but that can be expensive. Last I checked, Panera had a rockin’-looking Asian chicken salad. But $7.09 plus tax is pricey. I mean seriously. That’s like seven and a half small Wendy’s Frosty desserts forgone. If you really want me to eat my vegetables, then get me something cheap, not complicated, and something which won’t go bad should I, you know, put off the whole veggie eating thing in favor of those Frosty desserts for a few days.

Lean Cuisine meals might not be aesthetically pleasing, but they aren’t complicated. Taking something out of the freezer and heating it up in the microwave oven is, based on numerous test runs, pretty simple. A head of lettuce? Well, aside from exercising restraint and resisting the cereal aisle at the grocery store, that actually seems relatively painless as well.

Also, ‘Asian style’ food isn’t complicated. I’ve never been one to even try to understand what separates Korean, Chinese, and Japanese cuisines, but throw some carrots and broccoli in there, dress it up with something gingery and soy-based, and my white person American taste buds are totally basking in the idea of ethnic food.

Lean Cuisine’s new Salad Additions look to engage my yearning for de-complicating veggies by combining the miracle of refrigeration with some good old fashioned step-by-step heating instructions, all the while keeping me well away from knifes.

After keeping the ethos of Asian-style and picking up a head of green leaf lettuce and some spinach at for a combined $2.73 at my local Lotte plaza, I made sure to follow the directions by placing my sesame-ginger vinaigrette in room temperature water to thaw. It didn’t. At least it didn’t within the three and a half minute microwave window the box told me to nuke the vegetables and chicken for, and it still didn’t thaw completely after I stood around and inhaled the smell of bland lettuce for five minutes after that.

This was a most disheartening wait given that the vinaigrette passed from a consistency bordering on root beer float popsicle to that of diarrhea, all the while waiting to be drenched on a hodgepodge of cut up colors that provided little truth in advertising to the juicy pieces of pineapple and grilled chicken breast that the package photo displayed.

Finally reaching a vinaigrette consistency that might fool you for an actual vinaigrette, I decided to make my salad pretty. Despite an art background which includes numerous preschool awards for staying within the lines, I was unable to make my salad appear exactly as it was on the box. The salad tastes like what you’d expect from a mediocre fast food attempt to make a similar salad.

The chicken doesn’t really taste like chicken, but with ten ingredients to make “cooked white meat chicken,” that might be expected. The chicken strips ranged from gummy to dry and were mostly salty with a bit of that gelatinous gunk you sometimes encounter with canned chicken.

The broccoli and edamame would best be described as terribly bland. However, I can accurately report the orange and yellow carrots tasted like absolutely nothing. Compared to absolutely nothing, bland might as well be chocolate cake. I believe, but cannot confirm, I received one or two small slices of pineapple, which tasted canned and were cloying, like the dressing. However, I do appreciate that dressing as well as the crunchy noodles. Together they contributed salt, sweetness, crunch, and a bit of fat, albeit in a very McDonald’s salad kind of way.

Lean Cuisine’s new Asian Chicken Salad Addition is not very complicated, not very Asian, and not very good. But because it’s also not very expensive and not very horrible, it leaves me feeling significantly less guilty about my purchase than an overpriced and not very good salad from say…McDonald’s. It also leaves me less likely to purchase something that will significantly decrease my lifespan, and leaves me with a buttload of leftover lettuce. And you know what they say when life gives you a bunch of lettuce?

Yeah, I don’t really know either. I just hope it doesn’t involve buying more Lean Cuisine Salad Additions.

(Nutrition Facts – 260 calories, 80 calories from fat, 8 gram of fat, 1.5 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 25 milligrams of cholesterol, 510 milligrams of sodium, 400 milligrams of potassium, 30 grams of carbohydrates, 3 grams of fiber, 16 grams of sugar, and 17 grams of protein.)

Other Lean Cuisine Salad Additions reviews:
Brown Girl Next Door
Texas Type A Mom

Item: Lean Cuisine Asian-Style Chicken Salad Additions
Purchased Price: $2.00
Size: 7.2 ounces
Purchased at: Weis Markets
Rating: 3 out of 10
Pros: No fuss vegetables. Tasty vinaigrette. Noodle strips. Cheaper than most ‘Asian-style’ fast food salads. Fitting in with the middle aged women at the office lunch table. Forces me to buy lettuce. Turning into a vegetable via too much college sports watching.
Cons: Gives vegetables a bad name. Insipid two-carrot mix. Not very many vegetables. “Grilled” chicken that doesn’t taste much like chicken, and contains nine ingredients which aren’t actually chicken. Vinaigrette looks like frozen Dr Pepper.