1 Rating Archives - The Impulsive Buy

REVIEW: Great Value Tropickles

August 9, 2017January 10, 2021 James 19 Comments

I’ve long believed in the old marketing axiom that there’s no such thing as a bad idea, only bad execution. Even a relatively unimpressive or unappetizing product can become a must-buy depending on how well it’s presented to the public. For example, I don’t think anybody genuinely enjoyed Orbitz soda, but everybody alive in the late 1990s at least gave it a try and still remember it vividly to this day.

Walmart’s proprietary Tropickles, on the other hand, is the epitome of a badly executed novelty food. Instead of coming off as kooky and kitschy the product looks, smells, and tastes trashy and tawdry. Superficially and suprafacially, it’s one of the worst things I’ve ever put in my mouth; it’s so bad, the only word I can think to describe it is execrable.

Everything about this product is hideous. The packaging is ultra-generic and the sight of swampy vegetables floating up and down in pinkish-red fluid is stomach-churning. And as soon as you pry off the lid, things get really nauseating.

There’s nothing particularly offensive about fruit punch, even the low-tier, store brand stuff. There’s also nothing particularly offensive about canned pickles (unless, of course, you have a strong aversion to tart foods.)

Alas, when you force the two to co-habitate in the same glass jar, the chemical reaction is repugnant. The combination of lukewarm sugar water, wilting cucumbers and a ton of vinegar results in a scent comparable to rotten produce doused in Kool-Aid, this sickly sweet odor that keeps alternating between hummingbird nectar and a compost heap.

Then there are the visuals. There’s no genteel way to put it – the pickles look like bloody turds. Did any of you kids ever see that great B-horror movie from the 1980s called Slugs? Well, if you haven’t, the Tropickles are exactly what the monsters in that flick resembled. Come to think of it, maybe Walmart should’ve saved these things for Halloween and rebranded them as pickled snakes in elf blood or something – at least then they could’ve promoted it as intentionally disgusting.

As bad as the scent is and as bad as the pickles look, though, the taste is even worse. You get sporadic moments of watered-down sweetness and you get occasional bursts of traditional dill pickle flavor, but for the most part all your taste buds can detect is pure ick.

The fruit punch juice makes the pickles mushier and more acidic than normal, and the goulash of vinegar and sugar water taints them with a rubbery bitterness. Really, it doesn’t even taste like food after a couple of bites; if you want to simulate the flavor, aroma and even mouthfeel of Tropickles, find a menthol cigarette chain smoker and ask them to cram their tongue down your esophagus.

All in all, these Tropickles might be the worst thing I’ve ever eaten that wasn’t sold at Dollar Tree. Remember earlier when I said there’s no such thing as a “bad idea” when it comes to gimmick foods? Well, scratch that – “putting pickles in fruit punch” is about as bad as it gets.

(Nutrition Facts – 3/4 a spear – 25 calories, 0 calories from fat, 0 grams of total fat, 0 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 0 mg of cholesterol, 260 mg of sodium, 6 grams of total carbs, 0 grams of fiber, 6 grams of sugar, 0 grams of protein.)

Purchased Price: $1.78
Size: 24 oz. jar
Purchased at: Walmart
Rating: 1 out of 10
Pros: If you’re mugged in the parking lot, the jar makes a great impromptu bludgeoning weapon. The bottle is probably heavy enough to keep a small door open.
Cons: …literally everything else.

REVIEW: The WORKS Reese PBC Stuff’d Burger (Canada)

November 2, 2015January 4, 2021 Michael 10 Comments

Do I have to write this review? Can I just type the word “nope” a few hundred times, include some photos, and call it a day? Because seriously: NOPE.

On the surface, the Reese PBC Stuff’d Burger seems like it should be an interesting novelty, cut from the same cloth as a doughnut burger, a McGriddle, or a Twinkie wiener sandwich (okay, I don’t think that last one exists outside of UHF, but it should). Sweet and salty novelty sandwiches aren’t exactly fine dining, but they can be tasty.

Stuffing (and topping) a burger with Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups seems, if nothing else, like it should be fun.

Again: NOPE.

Eating it is absolutely not fun, unless you consider eating disgusting food to be fun, in which case it’s a barrel of laughs.

Aside from the peanut butter cups, the burger is also topped with a couple of strips of bacon, and a fairly generous pile of crispy onion strings.

I don’t think I can be emphatic enough: do not, under any circumstances, order this hamburger. It is a disgusting, piping hot slurry of sickly sweet Reese’s goo and shoddy, dry beef.

You shouldn’t underestimate how face-burningly hot this thing is. I cut it in half, spent several minutes taking photos, and still managed to burn the Dickens out of my tongue on the first bite.

I’m not going to say that’s because this is a malevolent, hell-spawned creation of pure, unrequited evil whose sole purpose is to inflict as much anguish as possible on the world, but… if the shoe fits.

Aside from the mouth-searing temperature, the flavour is completely out of whack; it’s all cloying sweetness with no balance whatsoever. The crispy onions add some texture but are completely overwhelmed, and the bacon may as well not even be there.

The burger basically tastes like dessert, only with beef and onions. It’s just wrong in a very fundamental way.

It probably doesn’t help that the beef is awful — dry, tough, and studded with bits of sinew and gristle, it’s actually shockingly bad considering that burgers are this restaurant’s stock-in-trade.

The longer I ate it, the more oppressive it became; I finished it, but I’m not sure why.

It’s pretty clear that this was created entirely to get as much media attention as possible, with no regard at all for flavour. And on that level, I guess it’s a success? But ordering and eating it is essentially a metaphorical middle finger from The Works to you. They want that sweet, sweet free press; all the people who have to suffer through actually eating it are just collateral damage.

So for those keeping score, that’s The Works: 1, humanity: 0.

(Nutrition Facts – Not available on The Works website.)

Item: The WORKS Reese PBC Stuff’d Burger (Canada)
Purchased Price: $15.98 (CAN)
Size: N/A
Purchased at: The WORKS Gourmet Burger Bistro
Rating: 1 out of 10
Pros: It’s food, I guess?
Cons: An affront to humanity. Shoddy beef. Off-putting flavour. Cloyingly sweet. Face-meltingly hot. Literal hot garbage.

REVIEW: Starbucks S’mores Frappuccino (Bottled)

April 28, 2015January 3, 2021 Kevin 14 Comments

Grammar check: Is the opposite of “s’more,” “s’mless” or “s’mfewer”? I know it’s a s’mall detail but I want to seem s’mart while I s’mear this product.

The Starbucks S’mores bottled Frappuccino sucks. S’more? How about s’mfewer? (Boom. Got ‘em. High fives all around.)

It’s not totally Starbucks’ fault, though. Let’s deconstruct the drink around the campfire. Theoretically, it’s chocolate, marshmallow and graham cracker flavors in a Frappuccino. The problem begins with the concept of a liquid marshmallow. Take away the context of a fluffy, pillowy, chubby-bunny confection and you’re left with a sickeningly sweet amount of sugar. That’s the overriding flavor here, and it really dominates the entire campfire to the point of grimaces.

Creeping below is a s’mall s’mattering of cinnamon notes, presumably to cover the graham cracker part. It sort of rides along and doesn’t ruin things but also doesn’t help much, like a Muttley to the marshmallow’s Dick Dastardly.

Curiously absent is a strong chocolate element. I found this strange, because Starbucks has previously given us a halfway decent bottled mocha, although a few sips here and there I detected some bitter chocolate flavoring, quickly smoothed over by a wave of dairy. Must’ve s’muggled it in somehow.

The balance is off. The sweetness of the entire thing is cloying and also has some sort of artificial quality that makes the entire drink taste a little bit like milk that has gone bad or something. I don’t know where the coffee flavor is. Yes, they botched the marshmallow part, but the lack of a woody, dry graham cracker taste is also disappointing. No s’miles for this s’melly coffee s’moothie.

There’s an in-store version of the S’mores Frappuccino now and I’m sure it’s better. It’s gotta be better. Please be better.

Here we are, at the end. Dude is strumming Kumbaya on the acoustic, the s’moke is billowing and I’m about to tell us a scary story. The story is about how one time I had to drink a sweet ass s’more. The scariest part is that it cost me almost three bucks. Oh, forget it. I can’t properly picture this drink at a campground… I can, however, picture throwing it into a fire. Sorry, me being s’mug.

(Nutrition Facts – 290 calories, 40 calories from fat, 4.5 grams of fat, 3 grams of saturated fat, 20 milligrams of cholesterol, 140 milligrams of sodium, 53 grams of carbohydrates, 1 gram of fiber, 46 grams of sugar, and 9 grams of protein.)

Item: Starbucks S’mores Frappuccino (Bottled)
Purchased Price: $2.79
Size: 13.7 oz bottle
Purchased at: Target
Rating: 1 out of 10
Pros: Helpful reminder to check out the real version at a real life Starbucks. So bad you want to give it a second chance.
Cons: Too sweet. Sweetness kills the entire thing, throws it out of whack. Gross tasting.

REVIEW: Papa John’s Philly Cheesesteak Pizza

December 22, 2014December 28, 2020 Kelley 11 Comments

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year and Papa John’s is getting into the holiday spirit.” – Press release for Papa John’s new Philly Cheesesteak Pizza

“What the hell do Philly Cheesesteaks have to do with the holidays?” – Me

Yes, Papa John’s has decided that the best way to show their Christmas/Hanukkah/whateveryoucelebrate spirit is to offer a limited-time Philly Cheesesteak Pizza. Rejoice! Sound the trumpets!

Or, if you’re from Philadelphia, shake your fist angrily at yet another pizza bastardization of your beloved sandwich. At least, that’s what I imagine people from Philadelphia are doing. While they can’t seem to decide who offers the best cheesesteak within their own city, they can probably all agree that Philly Cheesesteak Pizza is bullshit.

Not that Papa John’s is the first offender in this regard, and I’m sure they won’t be the last. But they do seem especially fond of taking other foods and turning them into pizzas. The Fritos Chili Pizza had barely been released before the Philly Cheesesteak came along, and earlier this year they released a Double Cheeseburger Pizza.

Papa John’s describes their Philly Cheesesteak Pizza as “hand-tossed pizza crust layered with creamy garlic sauce, steak from the Original Philly Cheesesteak Company, fresh onions and green peppers, then covered with mozzarella and provolone cheese.”

Before you oo-la-la over the Original Philly Cheesesteak Company, know that they offer bulk steak that’s been fully cooked and blast-frozen, including a Value Pack, which is described as “The economical choice—marinated with Soy Protein for maximum value.” But hey – at least it’s actually from Philly, right?

Before I get to the bad, I’ll address the good parts of the Philly Cheesesteak Pizza. Don’t worry, it won’t take too long.

The steak – sorry, the Original Philly Cheesesteak Company steak – was sliced thin and was tender; I didn’t have to wrestle with it like it was beef jerky. The onions and green peppers added a nice bit of crunch for contrast. There was plenty of gooey cheese topping the pizza.

Okay! Moving on. First off, the steak, which I would consider the most important part of the pizza, was practically tasteless. It wasn’t even salty. While the onions added a little bit of their flavor, the green peppers were tasteless, and I only knew they were on the pizza because of their color and crunch.

The real food crime that took place here was the creamy garlic sauce. From the first bite onward, it overwhelmed the rest of the toppings. I love a good, garlicky white pie, but this sauce just made me sad. It tasted extremely over-processed and bitter.

In fact, it took me a bit to figure it out, but I was finally able to pinpoint that the most off part of it was that it had the taste of bile. I know that sounds gross and extreme, but that’s the most accurate way to describe it.

All of the toppings on Papa John’s Philly Cheesesteak Pizza were tasteless or unimpressive, but the worst offender by far was that creamy garlic sauce. It took this pizza from underwhelming to straight-up unappealing. Hell, if you’re going to use a processed sauce on a cheesesteak pizza, why not just use Cheez Whiz? To state that Cheez Whiz would have improved any pizza should let you know that you should pass up on this holiday offering. Bah humbug.

(Nutrition Facts – Nutrition Facts not available on website.)

Item: Papa John’s Philly Cheesesteak Pizza
Purchased Price: $12.00
Size: Small
Purchased at: Papa John’s
Rating: 1 out of 10
Pros: Onions and peppers add crunch. Angry fist-shaking. Steak is tender.
Cons: Steak is generally flavorless. Peppers are flavorless. Creamy garlic sauce tastes like bile. Wishing there was Cheez Whiz on my pizza. Creamy garlic sauce tastes like bile.

REVIEW: Lunchables Snackers Honey BBQ Chicken Nuggets

October 2, 2012December 24, 2020 Adam 11 Comments

With recent news that the healthy school lunch initiatives undertaken by the First Lady might just be starving our kids, I can imagine quite a few in the K through 12 ranks are contemplating a switchover to the old brown bag lunch. As a former “bringer,” (every day, for 12 straight years, and DAMN PROUD) let me welcome them to the world where anything goes and what your parents pack you very rarely ends up down your gullet.

I’m talking trades, haggling, and straight up bartering for the best goods this side of a 7-Eleven snack aisle.

But before you trade away for old Howie Klinchenstien’s two bags of Cooler Ranch Doritos and Rachel Jimbobberycooters’ Dunkaroos, you’re going to have to equip yourself with some serious hardware. Forget that couscous and marinated mozzarella salad Mom made the other night, and ditch Dad’s homemade crunchy chickpeas with cumin and black pepper. These days, the freaking lunch lady’s can whip up that, and hell if I’m gonna eat something I can’t even pronounce. No, what’s really hot on the middle school lunch trade market right now is a bit more…how should I put this…elicit.

Chicken nuggets are where it’s at. And thanks to Lunchables’ new Snackers Honey BBQ Chicken Nuggets, you can not only bring chicken nuggets to your no-fun lunchroom, but you can do so without even having to sneak into the teacher’s lounge to use the microwave.

Because the 15 second heating instructions are “optional,” I decided to sample my pre-cooked nuggets both cold and warm. I highly suggest neither option.

After opening the bag, you’ll be greeted by a smell I can only describe as “soggy cafeteria chicken nugget.” Ah, the sweet smell of maltodextrin, corn meal, and reconstituted white meat chicken with rib meat. Tell me, is there anything more American?

Cold, the nugget breading rubs off on your fingers in a mealy and grainy way that gives new meaning to the time-honored grade school condition known as “you have cooties,” and tastes strongly – and only – of salt and garlic. The chicken is moist, I guess, but moist only in the sense that it came off as a circle of chewy chemicals and stuff that might have once gone “cock-a-doodle-doo.” Despite its name, I definitely didn’t taste any honey or BBQ flavor.

Warmed up, the nuggets are even worse. The breading becomes soggy and oily, covering your fingers in a mealy and wet substance that’ll make you drop more footballs in a recess pick-me-up game than Terrell Owens dropped in his short-lived preseason comeback bid for the Seattle Seahawks. The heated nuggets taste like, well, heated and overly salted pieces of something vaguely chickeny, with little, if any, taste of honey or BBQ. Instead, there are strong generic garlic and cornmeal flavors in the pinkish, orangeish “breading,” which can’t be overcome by ketchup or a dipping sauce alone.

On a scale on 1 to 10 in terms of the classic middle school lunch tradability matrix, Lunchables Honey BBQ Chicken Nuggets score about a negative six. Meaning that if you’ve got a hankering for the lightly salted rice cakes that the girl on the “diet” has or the fishy smelly thing the kid from Thailand always brings to the table, then you’ve got the golden ticket. Otherwise, these little guys keep to the time-honored Lunchables tradition of making actual 1990s cafeteria food look halfway decent, and making us all question how we survived eating that crap.

(Nutrition Facts – 6 nuggets (85 g) – 180 calories, 80 calories from fat, 9 grams of fat, 1.5 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 30 milligrams of cholesterol, 420 milligrams of sodium, 13 grams of carbohydrates, less than 1 gram of fiber, 2 grams of sugar, and 11 grams of protein.)

Item: Lunchables Snackers Honey BBQ Chicken Nuggets
Purchased Price: $3.98
Size: 9.8 ounces
Purchased at: Walmart
Rating: 1 out of 10
Pros: Civil disobedience in the lunchroom. No heating required. Avoiding starvation due to healthy public school lunches. Great if you like trading your lunch away for rice cakes.
Cons: Absolutely freaking disgusting. Doesn’t taste like BBQ. Or honey. Or chicken. Lacking proper lunch-table trading material. Does actual deep-fried pieces of chicken byproduct an absolute disservice.

Category: 1 Rating

REVIEW: Great Value Tropickles

REVIEW: The WORKS Reese PBC Stuff’d Burger (Canada)

REVIEW: Starbucks S’mores Frappuccino (Bottled)

REVIEW: Papa John’s Philly Cheesesteak Pizza

REVIEW: Lunchables Snackers Honey BBQ Chicken Nuggets

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