There are a lot of overused terms in the food world. If buzz words, like “sustainable” or “artisan,” are moderately annoying when eating at restaurants which actually offer those things, then hearing them applied in a fast food setting borders on ridiculous.

I mean great, McDonald’s, I really appreciate the curiously addictive taste of the Filet-o-Fish, but who among us is really eating a square fish stick sandwich with a half slice of processed cheese product because we care about the feelings of Peter the Pollack?

Another term that gets thrown around too much is “House Made.” Take Arby’s new House Made Kettle Chips. Yes, I know the phrase designates a food made at the restaurant, but what the heck is that supposed to mean in Arby’s case? Does that mean some pimply faced high school kid who works at my local Arby’s is sitting out back with a potato peeler, a mandoline and a bag of fresh Idaho spuds, tossing potato slices into a kettle of hot oil that’s being manned by her or his grandmother?

Try as I might, I just couldn’t help but laugh at the idea and be skeptical. I’ve eaten a lot of chips in my life, some even in the thick-cut restaurant style Arby’s is touting, but not once do I ever remember any of those experiences involving a drive-through window or a $1.79 price tag.

A buck seventy-nine and a stop to chow down in the privacy of my own car later, and I have to say I’m not just pleasantly surprised, I’m stunned. Arby’s new chips don’t just win in the looks department, they also have a flavor and texture that makes me wonder why every fast food restaurant hasn’t considered potato chips. The crunch is far beyond anything you’ll get in a bag from the store, and that’s a good thing. Thick, hearty, and completely capable of breaking up an awkward silence, it’s the kind of crunch that no other fast food side can compete with.

Liberally coated in Arby’s “signature” seasoning, each taste has a wonderfully lickable tomato sweetness that’s also zesty. Yes, zesty. Not quite heat-packing, but more than just garlicky or onion-powdery, it’s the kind of sensation which would leave you in a ponderous state of “hmmm, what was that?” if it wasn’t for the unconquerable urge to quickly devour the next chip. The great thing about the chips though is that the seasoning powder eventually fades to the signature earthy meatiness of the potato.

If you’re anything like me, you often find yourself rushing through fries, but there’s something about these chips which almost forces you to chew and savor the potato flavor. At the risk of sounding hyperbolic, it’s the kind of taste and texture that seriously makes a guy or gal consider packing up the U-Haul and moving to Idaho.

Aside from going well with ketchup and not losing any textural integrity even when slathered with the scientific glory of Heinz, the chips also remain remarkably crunchy even hours after I bought them at my local Arby’s. In fact, nearly four hours after munching down on half the bag, I finished off the chips without noticing any diminished crunch or flavor.

While they lost some of their surface oil, they were no less addictive or finger licking. Considering how much I love the taste of fried potatoes, but get frustrated by cold and soggy fries that I don’t eat in the restaurant immediately, I found the chips to be the perfect answer to one of fast food’s most enduring dilemmas.

My complaints are minor. Seasoning itself is a bit salty and licking the seasoning ad nauseam can make the chips somewhat soggy. The chips should also lose points for coming in a single flavor, and not a various flavors like with store-bought chips. But like I said the complaints are minor, and given Arby’s reputation for offering a buttload of sauces – including the seriously underrated three-pepper sauce – even those who aren’t crazy about the standard seasoning can customize the flavor of the chips to some degree.

I have no idea how “house made” Arby’s House Made chips are, but after trying them out I’m hooked. They’ve got all the taste and addictiveness of Arby’s Curly Fry seasoning, yet none of the uneven cooking and inconsistent texture. Likewise, they pack a potato taste that would rival any actual house made potato chip from a sit-down restaurant, and have a crunch level beyond any store-bought chip I’ve ever eaten. Gimmicky name or not, this is one side item that deserves more than a roll of the eyes when it comes to its namesake, and it’s worth the extra charge to add it to any combo meal.

(Nutrition Facts – 450 calories, 27 grams of fat, 4 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 0 milligrams of cholesterol, 530 milligrams of sodium, 47 grams of carbohydrates, 5 grams of sugar, 1 grams of fiber, and 5 grams of protein.)

Other Arby’s House Made Kettle Chips reviews:
Grub Grade
Brand Eating

Item: Arby’s House Made Kettle Chips
Purchased Price: $1.79
Size: 3 oz.
Purchased at: Arby’s
Rating: 9 out of 10
Pros: Amazing level of crunch beyond any store-bought chip. Really does taste ‘house-made’ from an upscale restaurant. Addictive and finger-licking seasoning without the textural inconsistency of curly fries. Just the right amount of surface oil. Kettle-blistered mouthfeel. Goes awesome with ketchup. Relatively inexpensive.
Cons: Awesome source of fat. Doesn’t come in multiple flavors, like Black Pepper or Sour Cream and Onion. Chips get soggy if you’re determined to lick the seasoning completely clean before crunching down.

Back in the good ol’ medieval days, when the world used catapults and ate turkey legs the size of canoe paddles, some hungry, conquering genius gathered a bunch of leftovers and root vegetables, shoved them in the oven, and called it a recipe. Thus, the lumpy, bumpy carrot cake was born.

Now, for those yet to be familiarized, a carrot cake is a spice cake that had dashed dreams of being a fruit cake: it’s fluffy cake crammed with all sorts of this-n-that’s (raisins, carrots, maybe some pineapple) and topped with a honking slather of buttercream or cream cheese frosting. Its warm spices have been known to carve a soft spot in the calloused hearts of one-eyed sailors and, when placed before me, it disappears.

Unfortunately, I’m no baker, so when I heard the folks at Mars were serving up that experience in a lentil-shaped white chocolate confection, I sped, tight-knuckled, pedal-to-the-floor, to the nearest Walmart to dig them from their hiding spot in the dusty display case.

These are pudgy ovoids, notably bigger than a regular M&M. If you’ve had the white chocolate limited edition, you have a feel of what we’re dealing with here: they’re a smidge wider in diameter than milk chocolate M&M’s and have a rounder belly.

See? They’re huge.

The colors come in a trio of light orange, green, and beige, which not only stays with the theme of “carrot colors” but also reinforces my inner belief that all good things come in threes, and it’s always nice to have my inner beliefs spontaneously reinforced.

Like its white chocolate cousin, these sweet bits have a thicker shell, adding a crunch before the white chocolate filling, which is soft, sweet, milky, and melts as fast as the memories of those poems I had to recite back in high school (“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…” [she shudders])

One of the biggest problems I’ve faced in white chocolate M&Ms of the past is that, due to all that sweetness, it’s hard to eat more than a handful without passing out cold on the floor from a belligerent sugar rush to my frontal lobe. I celebrate with such gluttonous joy to find that these are far easier to eat. These start off sweet and, while there are no visible spices, there is a certain cinnamon/nutmeg-ish vibe that comes in the middle to contrast with the white chocolate, encouraging a higher ratio of consumption. They may give me a root canal, but I don’t care. That yoga teacher I took classes from three years ago told me to stay in the present, so I shall enjoy these right now…

And now…

And now…

In the end, eating these makes me want to do something good for the world. Like adopt a rescued guinea pig. Or educate elementary school kids about the importance of their credit score. Or pay those library fees I’ve neglected for four years. These are a solid rendition of a seasonal offering: creative enough to be pushing the boundaries, but familiar enough to inspire mouth-shoving tendencies. What’s even more exciting is that Mars took a risk and it paid off. The only downside is that I’m running out of them…and fast.

(Nutrition Facts – 1.5 oz. (about 1/4 cup) – 220 calories, 100 calories from fat, 11 grams of fat, 7 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 5 milligrams of cholesterol, 40 milligrams of sodium, 0 milligrams of potassium, 29 grams of carbohydrates, 0 grams of dietary fiber, 28 grams of sugars, and 2 grams of protein.)

Item: White Chocolate Carrot Cake M&M’s
Purchased Price: $2.88
Size: 9.9 oz. bag
Purchased at: Walmart*
Rating: 9 out of 10
Pros: Bigger than the average M&M. Smooth melt. Crunchy shell. Spice taste balances white chocolate. Spontaneous reinforcement of inner beliefs. Rescued guinea pigs.
Cons: Never enough in the bag. Limited time. Only available at Walmart. Poobahs. Poems memorized in high school. Disco-ball-related accidents.

*If there’s a miff I have with these, it’s how hard they are to find. They’re available at “select” Walmarts only, which may or may not involve a fill up of your gas tank (a tragedy within itself)

If I was required to guess at which snack product would abandon the usual attempt to capture the taste of a nutritionally poor fast food product or even an offbeat American classic in favor of something that sounds like it came from a Giada De Laurentiis cookbook, then I would pick Triscuit.

More upscale than a lowly potato chip and much more inclusive than the crunchy, sometimes divisive malt flavor of the Wheat Thin, Triscuits are the kind of crackers you put out when you’ve invited your next door neighbors over. You know…the nicely dressed couple in their late 30s with 2.4 kids and a dog named Champ. Average. Moderate. Broad. Unassuming. They’re kind of just there. Except when Champ poops on your front yard.

I know it sounds counterintuitive, but I can admire a safe snack like that. It serves a purpose, and is something I don’t feel too bad about when going for seconds at holiday socials. This is important, because like most people, I hate talking to my annoying relatives, who tend to flock to such gatherings. But while I can admire Triscuit because they provide me a distraction when I want to be anti-social, I usually don’t go out of my way to buy them. Hard as I try, I just cannot leap for joy at cravings spawned by the taste of soft winter wheat. 

However, combining brown rice, sweet potato and roasted sweet onion in and on a Triscuit? Don’t expect me to make it and upload a photo on Instagram, but even my inner fat kid can get behind a composed flavor combination of wholesome grains and vegetables like that.

Triscuit’s marketing people did a really nice job talking up how these crackers were baked with “real food,” but from the slightly orangyish hue, an almost fried-like wheat and rice structure, and a liberally coated seasoning that looked like Doritos Cooler Ranch powder, each square resembled someone’s misplaced attempt to fry a cracker rather than an actual sweet potato or red onion. Undeterred by this bastardized cracker, my initial bite was greeted by an unmistakable shattering sensation that borders somewhere between crispy and crunchy. Wherever it is on the crunch spectrum, it’s strikingly addictive, and a textural bite I’ve really only encountered at Korean fried chicken restaurants like the chain Bon Chon. Far from the usual sturdy, if not boring, crunch of a Triscuit, I was instantly hooked.

The flavoring powder is strong and slightly sweet and definitely has the red onion vibe going for it. It’s thankfully not as sharp or intense as a raw red onion, although the flavor doesn’t quite reach the mellowed, smoky-sweetness of an actual roasted red onion. Basically, someone like Scott Conant might not be “kinda angry” from eating it, but would rather be just be mildly confused. Personally, I loved it. For while the sweet onion flavor wakes up your tastebuds, a mellow, smokier and wholesome sweet potato taste permeates the backend. Think a whole grain sweet potato chip, if you’ve ever had one of those. If you haven’t, just think yummy and smile.

Through it all, there’s an almost Doritos Cooler Ranch quality to the seasoning. I can’t place my finger on it (probably because I was licking them), but there’s a slight tang that just melds everything together. Or maybe it’s just the natural reaction to licking little green herb seasoning off my fingers.

The box came with a nice little recipe idea for topping my crackers with Gouda and figs, but because I chose a career in writing and editing and don’t have that kind of straight cash money, I settled for some Walmart mozzarella and a few raisins. The cracker did just what it needed to do, contributing the sharp sweet onion flavor and meaty sweet potato back notes to the earthy sweetness of the raisins and milky taste of the cheese. Not overwhelming the topping but still holding its own, my little creation was probably the closest thing I got to an actual meal all week.

Clearly, I’m impressed. So impressed, as a matter of fact, that I’m ready to proclaim this my favorite Triscuit and right up there with some of the best crackers I’ve ever had. What Triscuit has managed to do is create a cracker with one of the greatest textural elements of chips but also the robust flavors of, well, actual food. And they’ve done it with something that’s actually pretty good for me and combines none of that actual cooking stuff. While I can foresee those with a strong aversion to onions taking a pass on these, I think most people will be pleasantly surprised by the entire Brown Rice Triscuit line.

As for pleasing your neighbors at those awkward pre-dinner conversations? Well, you’re completely on your own there.

(Nutrition Facts – 6 crackers – 130 calories, 40 calories from fat, 4.5 grams of fat, 0.5 grams of saturated fat, 0 milligrams of cholesterol, 85milligrams of sodium, 21 grams of carbohydrates, 1 gram of fiber, 1 grams of sugar, and 2 grams of protein.)

Other Roasted Sweet Onion Brown Rice Triscuit reviews:
Junk Food Guy

Item: Nabisco Roasted Sweet Onion Brown Rice Baked With Sweet Potato Triscuit
Purchased Price: $2.50
Size: 9 oz. box
Purchased at: Walmart
Rating: 9 out of 10
Pros: Wonderful and slightly sharp sweet onion flavor balanced by subtle molasses sweetness of earthy whole grains and sweet potato backnotes. Crispy-crunchy-shattery texture like Korean fried chicken. Real food. Whole grains. Doesn’t overpower toppings but can hold its own. Has a Cooler Ranch Doritos vibe for some odd reason.
Cons: Confusing Scott Conant and the anti-onion crowd. Might be a little intense for those who like plain crackers. Not as much fiber or protein as regular Triscuit. Assistant Editors’ salaries. Divisive cracker tastes make for awkward pre-dinner conversation with the neighbors.

If I were to list my top 20 favorite products of all time, there would be only one toaster pastry and it would be Frosted Dutch Apple Pop-Tarts.

Oh, you haven’t heard of them?

Well, they were around when Pop-Tarts options were much simpler, occupied very little shelf space, and almost all of them were actually tart. But, apparently, Frosted Dutch Apple Pop-Tarts didn’t sell well and were discontinued.

When they disappeared from shelves, I had to settle for the pigs slop known as Frosted Strawberry and Frosted Blueberry Pop-Tarts. And the more I stuffed down as part of my complete breakfast, the more upset and depressed I got about not having Dutch Apple Pop-Tarts in my life.

So I did what any middle school child with a penchant for writing would do. I wrote a letter to Kellogg’s, which went something like this:

Dear Kellogg’s,

Why did you kill the frosted apple pop tarts? After I wake up my mommy puts one in the toaster for me. I ask her if I can have two but she says no cause I’ll get fat. I told her I’m already fat, but she didn’t give me two. See I like them so much that I want to eat two. I like the jelly part of the pop tart, it doesn’t taste like the red apples my mommy feeds me to make me skinny, but it taste good. Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please make frosted apple pop tarts again. I said please a lot, so that means you have to give me what I want, because when I say please a lot to my mommy she gives me what I want except when I ask for two pop tarts.

Thank you.

Despite the excessive pleases in my letter, Kellogg’s didn’t bring back Dutch Apple Pop-Tarts. Although, now that I think about it, Kellogg’s probably didn’t get my letter because, if I remember correctly, I put an Easter Seal on the envelope, thinking it was a postage stamp and I didn’t put a return address. However, these new Limited Edition Frosted Apple Cinnamon Muffin Pop-Tarts come close to replacing my beloved toaster pastries from the 1980s.

Since the Dutch Apple Pop-Tarts’ demise, there have been several apple-flavored Pop-Tarts, like Apple Strudel Pop-Tarts, Apple Pie Pop-Tarts, Apple Cinnamon Pop-Tarts, but none of them have hit me with a wave of nostalgia that these Limited Edition Frosted Apple Cinnamon Muffin Pop-Tarts have.

Well, to be more precise, it’s the delicious apple pie-ish filling that takes me back to a time when I would look through the Sears Wish Book catalog, circle the toys I knew my parents couldn’t afford, and then laugh at the horrible Christmas sweaters being sold. Sure, the filling’s brown color reminds me of browning apples that have been exposed to oxygen for too long, but it’s so wonderfully sweet and tasty.

While these new Pop-Tarts may taste like Frosted Dutch Apple Pop-Tarts, there are a few major visual differences. The Pop-Tarts from my childhood were frosted almost completely from bow to stern (yes, I believe that is the proper way to address the front and rear of a Pop-Tart), but these Frosted Apple Cinnamon Muffin Pop-Tarts are only drizzled with frosting. Lame. But like the Oatmeal Delights Pop-Tarts we reviewed, they have wonderful sweet and crunchy crumbles on top which kind of make up for the lack of frosting.

If you do find yourself purchasing a box of these Pop-Tarts, don’t be lazy and eat them straight out of the shiny foil wrapper. Take the time to toast them and you’ll be rewarded with a much tastier experience.

And if you’re a child of the 80s who loved Frosted Dutch Apple Pop-Tarts as much as I did, the tasty apple, cinnamon, and sugar gloop in the Frosted Apple Cinnamon Muffin Pop-Tarts will be the flux capacitor that takes your taste buds back in time.

(Nutrition Facts – 1 pastry – 200 calories, 50 calories from fat, 5 grams of fat, 2 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 2 grams of polyunsaturated fat, 1 gram of monounsaturated fat, 0 milligrams of cholesterol, 170 milligrams of sodium, 36 grams of carbohydrates, less than 1 gram of fiber, 14 grams of sugar, 2 grams of protein, and a few vitamins and minerals.)

Item: Limited Edition Frosted Apple Cinnamon Muffin Pop-Tarts
Purchased Price: $1.98
Size: 8 toaster pastries
Purchased at: Walmart
Rating: 9 out of 10
Pros: Sooo good. Reminds me of Frosted Dutch Apple Pop-Tarts. Delicious apple pie-ish filling. Sugary crumbles on top were wonderful. Awesome when toasted. Good when not toasted. Sears Wish Book.
Cons: Only drizzles of frosting. Limited edition. Using Easter Seals as postage stamps. Not getting what I want with a lot of pleases.

I remember when yogurt came in two types: fruit on the bottom you had to mix-up yourself and the premixed fat-free gloop that left you disappointed.

Fast forward to 2013 and we now have yogurts that are whipped, yogurts specifically made to assist with cleaning your bowels, yogurts for kids, drinkable yogurts, yogurts with granola crumbles, lactose-free yogurts, fat-free yogurts, frozen yogurts from trendy named outlets where you can add chocolate covered potato chips and tapioca beads, and please don’t even get me started on those disgusting Greek yogurts that taste like rancid cheese.

There used to be a fine line between breakfast and dessert when it came to yogurt. The flavors available today guarantee some head scratching. Trust me, this becomes more apparent at 5:30 a.m. when you gulp down a chocolate silk pie-flavored yogurt. To ensure the waters stay muddled, Yoplait has released its new Fruplait line of niche yogurts.

Looking at Yoplait’s yogurt empire, I can understand why there has not been a yogurt like Fruplait before. It’s so elementary, it’s a wonder no one thought of it.

“You know what we need? More fruit in the yogurt,” Yoplait Brand Developer Number 305 screams. “We need a yogurt equivalent to a Michael Bay film stuffed with an Aerosmith soundtrack!”

The rest of the table asks, “Can we have Ving Rhames in it?”

“Sure, what the heck is he not in?”

“Yayyyy!!!” screams no one.

“Booooooo…” says Michael Clarke Duncan’s estate.

Because I love strawberry and peach, I bought both varieties. Plus, I have an indecision problem. I cannot just pick one. Like most Roman emperors, I needed them all. You can’t miss these because they are sold in a “convenient” four-pack with reserved white packaging.

I say, “convenient” only if you tend to buy four at a time because if you just want to try one and purchase maybe…I don’t know…one, like hoping for world peace, you’re out of luck Sunshine. Those miscreants at Yoplait made sure you have to have at least three in the fridge no matter how you like Fruplait.

Unlike your Uncle Choy, who owes The Dragon of the Black Pool more than chicken fried rice and is now resting on the bottom of some retention pond, the fruit are in pockets, swirled in the middle and throughout the yogurt. As for the jammy goodness of the fruit, it has ample flavor and fruit.

Way more fruit.

Of course, that makes sense since the packaging tells you “2X the fruit of the leading yogurt.” With the strawberry flavor, it’s almost as if someone took a container of plain yogurt, went to an ice cream shoppe (with a soda jerk who speaks that 1920’s hoiky joiky lingo), and asked for extra strawberry topping. Creamy yogurt with an addictive sweet and syrupy fruit mix? Now if it sounds like I’m describing a dessert rather than breakfast, it’s because I am.

These yogurts add more haze to an already foggy patch the yogurt industry purposely created. I’m fine with it but trust me when I tell you that there is no way these are for breakfast. Both Fruplait varieties are the ubiquitous 99 percent fat-free, low fat yogurt, chock full of live and active cultures which have me imagine I’m drinking my plastic Sea-Monkeys tank.

Fruplait Strawberry is, as it says on the bottom of the package, “sheer joy in a cup.” The joy I got from this yogurt was a close second to the joy I get when my pee is so clean that I won’t violate probation. This yogurt is pretty damn good but I know it’s not the yogurt; it’s the sickly sweet strawberry pie like filling. If you love fruit-on-the-bottom strawberry yogurt, you will French-kiss and play Thompson Twins all night with this one.

First, there are big chunks of strawberry flesh that’s encased in that bright red jam. Second, you can mix it all you want, but it seems you will have a higher fruit to yogurt ratio. That’s good because while the yogurt is creamy, it has a slight chalky aftertaste that most fat-free yogurts have. The yogurt mutes the sweetness of the sundae-like strawberries, which is a good thing. However, the aftertaste ruins it just a bit.

Fruplait Harvest Peach must be peaches foraged from Candyland farms where trees grow whipped cream and bon-bons ripen in the orchards. The peaches, like the strawberries, were kick-started and chunky. They taste a little bit like the canned peaches you pretend are healthy but know the syrup says otherwise. But I like that, so if you’re not a fan of the tinned fruits, you should avoid. Harvest Peach is not as sweet as the Strawberry one and it seems the weird chalky aftertaste is tempered. The yogurt itself is as smooth and creamy as what’s in the Fruplait Strawberry.

Low-fat, live and active cultures, and vitamins aside, we’re not eating Fruplait for that nonsense. We’re eating these because we are too lazy to make an actual sundae or parfait. That’s fine with me because every time I stick a spoon in one, I’m giving the middle finger to anybody who said, “You can’t have dessert for breakfast.”

Yes, I can, jerks. Yes, I can.

(Nutrition Facts – Strawberry – 110 calories, 1 gram of total fat, less than 5mg of cholesterol, 50 mg of sodium, 160 mg of potassium, 21 grams of carbohydrates, 16 grams of sugars, and 3 grams of protein. Harvest Peach – 120 calories, 1 gram of fat, less than 5 mg of cholesterol, 55 mg of sodium, 170 mg of potassium, 24 grams of carbohydrates, 19 grams of sugars, and 3 grams of protein.)

Item: Yoplait Fruplait (Strawberry & Harvest Peach)
Purchased Price: $2.50 each
Size: 4 pack
Purchased at: Publix
Rating: 9 out of 10 (Strawberry)
Rating: 8 out of 10 (Harvest Peach)
Pros: The amount of fruit. The strawberry is jammy goodness. Michael Clarke Duncan in Armageddon. The yogurts are smooth and creamy. 99% fat-free homies. Creepy dead Roman emperors.
Cons: The peach is far from harvested. The slight chalkiness of the yogurt itself. Michael Clarke Duncan in Daredevil. You are forced to buy four of them at one time. Comic book movies that get it so wrong.

A semi-reliable airplane magazine article recently informed me that Americans munch somewhere around 700 million pounds of peanuts per year, which would theoretically cover the floor of the Grand Canyon.

I don’t know who (Farmer? Intern? The spokes-peanut of Planters?) figured out that statistic, but I’m grateful, not just for the relief of mathematical anxiety I held regarding the square footage required in the peanut-to-Grand Canyon ratio, but also to be enlightened on this high degree of national support for the peanut.

Having served duty in everything from Thai peanut satay to Snickers, the peanut is one noble and versatile legume. It was with this nobility in mind that, at the cusp of my New Year, I decided it my goal to ferry my fair share of this national statistic on peanut ingestion, and what better place to begin than with General Mills’ Peanut Butter Toast Crunch.

No, you’re not having déjà vu (unless that particular “vu” had something to do with me telling you you’re not having déjà vu, which, in that case: you’re having déjà vu! How exciting!). General Mills released a version of this smack-daddy back in 2004, which was soon discontinued.

Despite this seedy past, the squares have returned in what hopes to be a reformulation of their retired counterpart, and, indeed, things are kicking off on the right foot as the reliable Cinnamon Toast Crunch mascot, Wendell, seems to be overseeing all the necessary preparations for this cereal in his underground Toast Lair.

It’s like the Bat Cave, but with industrial strength Hamilton Beach toasters.

Hope seems to stand in the form of redemption, and it is with this in mind that I rip open the bag before me…

Holy frosted mountains majesty submerged in amber waves of grain! These actually taste like peanut butter! Roasted peanut butter! The volcanic puff of peanuts that eschews from this bag literally pulls your hand (if not your full head) straight down into the crunchy carbohydrate squares within. Do not be ashamed of this maneuver.

Each little square has the hint of a salty-sweet balance I so yearn for in a peanut butter while still being just a tinge sweeter than smo-joe peanut butter straight from the jar. This is a good thing as, if there is anything that Steven Spielberg’s cinematic endeavors have taught me over the years, it’s that nearly everyone, even short little extra terrestrials, likes peanut butter a little sweet. I dare say that wobbly little alien friend of a younger Drew Barrymore just might swap his one-note Reese’s Pieces for the nutty, crunchy goodness delivered by Wendell here.

Wendell: encouraging extra terrestrial diplomatic relations.

“Crusty” is not a term that often denotes tasty, but here, crusty is da bomb diggity. What with each little square coming with a generous coating of its peanut-butter-sugar layer, these little squares are crusty as Quint from Jaws in that cool one-eyed, heroic sailor type of way.

As for the shape, they look similar to their Cinnamon Toast kin, which is to say they look like little brown rugs. I was going to say I would cover my flooring with a Peanut Butter Toast Crunch rug, but then I’d walk all over it and that would crush the cereal and then couldn’t eat it and that would make me sad. There is no need for sadness here.

If you’re a milk explorer, I’m happy to say that these did fair in the 8-minute milk test, where they shed their sugar coatings (tears of sorrow) while still sustaining a semi-spoonable structure (yay!). Eventually, however, these do succumb to the inevitable break-apart into the liquid. Oh, how I yearn for a grain that does not dissolve in milk. Where’s an atom re-arranger when you need one?

If you’re feeling like it’s a special day, chocolate or strawberry milk pairs well for spoon-related endeavors. Or better yet, pour mocha in there to ensure a kick-in-the-rear that would provide you drum-bangin’ powers that surpass those of the Energizer bunny even if you’re not musically inclined.

No question: these little reformulated squares charmed the mismatched socks offa’ me. It’s like Christmas returned for an encore. They are a smidge hard to find, but I hold hopes that they will spread soon enough as these are destined to go hand-in-hand in the degree of quality and love I hold for Peanut Butter Cap’n Crunch and Reese’s Puffs, which both serve me dutifully on the days that cereal consists of 80 percent of my diet.

(Nutrition Facts – 3/4 cup – 120 calories, 25 calories from fat, 3 grams of fat, 0.5 gram of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 0 milligrams of cholesterol, 170 milligrams of sodium, 75 mg of potassium, 23 grams of carbohydrates, 2 grams of dietary fiber, 8 grams of sugars, and 2 grams of protein.)

Other Peanut Butter Toast Crunch reviews:
Option Pitch and Waffle Crisp

Item: General Mills Peanut Butter Toast Crunch Cereal
Purchased Price: $2.97 (on sale)
Size: 12 ounce box
Purchased at: Harris Teeter
Rating: 9 out of 10
Pros: Tastes of peanut butter. Crunchy. Crusty. Encourages extra terrestrial diplomatic relations. A Bat Cave of toasters. One-eyed sailors. Banging a huge drum.
Cons: Not as great in milk. Tough to find. Mathematical anxiety. Too many references to Steven Spielberg.