REVIEW: Dunkin’ Donuts Stuffed Breadsticks (Pepperoni & Cheese and Cheeseburger)

Dunkin' Donuts Stuffed Breadsticks

For those of you who have busy Mondays, here’s a short review, in haiku form, of the Dunkin’ Donuts Stuffed Breadsticks:

Like bad Hot Pockets
Less filling, blander tasting
Same burns in my mouth

For those of you who are looking to waste some time on Monday, stick around for further elaboration (and rest assured that it will be elaborate).

I believe it was Tolstoy who once wrote, “Tasty fast food items are all alike; every crappy fast food item is crappy in its own way.” To this principle I must add a corollary which shall forevermore be known as the Stuffed Breadsticks Corollary: “… but some crappy fast food items are crappy IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE.”

Dunkin’ Donuts is offering their newest concoction in two flavors, Pepperoni & Cheese and Cheeseburger. Both varieties of Stuffed Breadsticks had very little stuffing, and all the tiny chunks of meat had slid down to the bottom of the breadsticks by the time I started eating. To set up the second photo, I had to dig around the breadsticks with my fork like I was trying to reach the fruit at the bottom of a yogurt container.

Dunkin' Donuts Stuffed Breadsticks Innards

I ate multiple bites of only bread before reaching any meat. The bread was tasteless, too chewy, weirdly pale where it hadn’t been toasted, and droopy to the point of shape-shifting. So it failed on the dimensions of taste, visual presentation, texture, and even shape, which hadn’t struck me as a significant feature of bread until just now. (Now that we’re heading off on a tangent, what would you say are the best and worst shaped breads? After careful consideration, I would nominate Challah bread as the best and – you guessed it – these breadsticks as the worst.)

Things didn’t get any better once I finally got to the stuffing. The Cheeseburger breadstick supposedly contained ground beef, cheese, and mustard, but all these ingredients were so bland that I couldn’t really taste anything. If I had to pick one taste sensation that I felt, I’d say there was a sort of sweetness to the filling. That doesn’t speak very well to Dunkin’ Donuts’ ability to recreate the taste of a cheeseburger; I’d estimate that I’ve said “Sweet, cheeseburgers!” (interjection to express excitement over anticipated cheeseburger consumption) roughly a million more times than I’ve said “sweet cheeseburgers” (descriptive phrase to communicate actual flavor of previously consumed cheeseburgers).

The Pepperoni & Cheese breadstick was definitely the better tasting of the two, but that’s about as much of an accomplishment as being the most useful poopy-flavored lollipop, or being the most entertaining re-appropriated Ben Stiller movie quote, or being the TIB writer who uses the fewest commas. The pepperoni pieces look and taste exactly like the meat in pepperoni Hot Pockets. They add a certain zest to the breadstick’s overall flavor, but the cheese and sauce contributed nothing to the eating experience except the burning destruction of my mouth.

Even the price was crappy. With each Stuffed Breadstick costing $1.79, two breadsticks and a small iced tea will run you over $5, which is enough to get you a much heartier and tastier combo from any number of fast food restaurants, Dunkin’ Donuts itself included.

In case I haven’t made myself clear yet, here’s another haiku to wrap things up:

These Dunkin’ Donuts
Breadsticks fail in taste, look, cost

(Nutrition Facts – 1 stuffed breadstick – Pepperoni & Cheese – 210 calories, 7 grams of fat, 3 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 15 milligrams of cholesterol, 380 milligrams of sodium, 27 grams of carbohydrates, 1 gram of fiber, 2 grams of sugar, and 11 grams of protein. Cheeseburger – 200 calories, 6 grams of fat, 2.5 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 10 milligrams of cholesterol, 400 milligrams of sodium, 28 grams of carbohydrates, 1 gram of fiber, 2 grams of sugar, and 9 grams of protein.)

Item: Dunkin’ Donuts Stuffed Breadsticks (Pepperoni & Cheese and Cheeseburger)
Price: $1.79 each
Size: N/A
Purchased at: Dunkin Donuts
Rating: 1 out of 10 (Cheeseburger)
Rating: 3 out of 10 (Pepperoni & Cheese)
Pros: Pepperoni pieces were sort of tasty. Haikus. Challah bread. “Sweet, cheeseburgers!” as interjection.
Cons: Not much stuffing in either Stuffed Breadstick. Bread was bland. Cheeseburger stuffing was bland. Pepperoni & Cheese stuffing burned my mouth. Kind of pricey. “Sweet cheeseburgers” as descriptive phrase. Poopy-flavored lollipops.

REVIEW: Nice Look Drink

They did it. I can’t fucking believe it. Someone is selling a canned beverage that has bird spit in it. Is demand really that high? Or was there a choice between a drink based on bird spit or bird balls soup? I guess the Nice Look Drink is a Chinese energy drink or something like it, judging by its cheesy name and the can is the size of a Red Bull. The avian saliva comes from the bird’s nest soup in the beverage, which according to Wikipedia is believed to, “aid digestion, raise libido, improve the voice, alleviate asthma, improve focus, and boost the immune system.”

So basically, it’s a fuck drink. Oh, and the ingredient list is mercifully short too: water, white fungus, bird’s nest, rock sugar, and vanilla. So it’s an organic fuck drink, I stand corrected.

I popped the top open to find myself inhaling a rather unusual smell for a beverage. It smells like a Chinese bakery, a really good one that has fresh baked buns, cakes, and tarts. It’s actually one of my favorite kinds of smells when I was a kid, visiting bakeries in Toronto on the way to see my relatives. Although, it is a bit strange to smell baked goods just before you fuck; nothing like a freshly baked pie before you get your pie!

It gets worse. Although, I’ll admit, how good can a drink based on a soup loaded with bird hock really be? Especially if it looks like the toilet bowl at my work, loaded with piss and toilet paper? Nice Look Drink, my ass. I should have bought the Ass Am Milk Tea instead. At least you get what you pay for, literally.

It feels thicker than water, like sugar syrup, and the fungus/bird’s nest feels pretty gelatinous on the tongue. It’s kind of like a thin egg drop soup, so to speak.

How does it taste? It almost tastes like Yeo’s White Gourd drink (similar smell, too), with a sweet bread/cookie-ish taste to it. That’s not to say it’s good. It’s not. There’s also this floweriness to it that peaks in the aftertaste. And I’ve never been much of a fan of flowers in food. I think it feminizes the food somehow. It’s sort of like dressing Batman up with pink or Scottish plaid external underwear instead of the black underwear. It just doesn’t work.

I wish I was in California, cause then I could recycle this crap and get 5 cents back, which I’d use for a cheap tranny hooker.

(Nutrition Facts – 1 godawful can – 72 calories, 0 grams of fat, 0 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 0 milligrams of cholesterol, 12 milligrams of sodium, 18 grams of carbohydrates, 1 grams of dietary fiber, 17 grams of sugar, 0 grams of protein, and 400% DV of bird hawk.)

Item: Nice Look Drink
Size: 250 ml
Purchased at: China Mart
Rating: 1 out of 10
Pros: Chinese bakery smell. Fuck drink. Probably organic. Short list of ingredients. Recyclable in California for $0.05. Cheap tranny hookers.
Cons: Sweet bread taste. Flowery-ness. Thin texture. Piss and TP appearance. Bird hawk. Misleading name. Batman without black undies.

REVIEW: Furuta Sequoia Strawberry Chocolate

There’s a saying: If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

I usually thought of it as a bullshit saying because where’s the fun in that? Evil geniuses like me couldn’t fail to take over the world if we lived by those stupid sayings. Batman wouldn’t have had the rubber nipples suit and my neighbor in college wouldn’t have come up with novel ways to flash his hairy balls at me. Okay, I don’t exactly have a infallible worldwide domination plot, but I have my evil laugh down, so I’m halfway there! It’s essentially a bastardized version of Dr. Evil’s laugh, but it’s MY bastardized version.

I’ve always loved the original Kit Kat bars, and they were my favorite candy as a kid, so when I saw this at the checkout counter, I admit I was a bit eager to see a Japanese company’s take on this classic. I soon learned that I had made a horrible mistake.

It looks like a stick of strawberry gum, complete with white specks and streaks. Definitely not appealing despite its strawberry yogurt smell, which was actually kind of nice. My first thought after biting into this was, “Sweet Evil Jesus!” Seriously, where’s the strawberry? And my god, what is up with this artificial chemical taste that just bursts out with the first bite? I could barely taste the strawberry over the very artificial vanilla cream, “strawberry” coating and the stale wafer inside. It actually almost tastes like how paint smells.

I guess the target audience is for people with children…people who want to mindfuck with their children. This would actually make a decent punishment, sort of like when I was expecting a Super Nintendo on a Christmas morning and I got my hopes up so high that I cried when I tore the wrapping to find out it was just a lousy 3D Empire State Building puzzle. But the worst part? It was missing 3 pieces.

I’d like to say that one of the good things about it is that it comes in a pack of five, but unfortunately, it means there are five pieces. The only redeeming thing about this candy is the hexagonal box it comes in. If I hold it just right, I can cover up the name of the candy and tell others that it’s a smaller version of a Toblerone. Well, that, and it makes a dandy place to hide my blueprints for an underground cave lair complete with a cage for my evil guinea pig, Fuck Nut.

(Nutrition Facts – 1 and a quarter sticks – 158 calories, 8.7 grams of fat, 1 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 0 milligrams of cholesterol, 50 milligrams of sodium, 19 grams of carbohydrates, 0 grams of dietary fiber, 9 grams of sugar, 1.6 grams of protein, and the tears of children.)

Item: Furuta Sequoia Strawberry Chocolate

Price: $2.69

Size: 30 grams

Purchased at: China Mart

Rating: 1 out of 10 

Pros: Hairy balls. Strawberry yogurt smell. Mindfucking children. Container makes a dandy hiding place. Evil guinea pig named Fuck Nut.

Cons: Bubblegum appearance. Artificial and chemical tastes. Paint smell taste. Overpowering vanilla crème. Stale Wafer. Lousy 3D puzzle. 5 pieces.

Cherry Cassis Kombucha Wonder Drink

I believe I have found something worse than coal that Santa can give out to the naughty kids for Christmas this year.

If jolly St. Nick wants to be pissed off St. Dick and punish all the little shits around the world, he should stick the Cherry Cassis Kombucha Wonder Drink in their stockings because it is probably one of the most vile beverages I have ever put between my lips and down my gullet.

It’s like they took the essence of the 2 Girls 1 Cup video, strained it into liquid form, added a little carbonation, and sealed it in an aluminum can, because much like the 2 Girls 1 Cup video, this beverage made me cry, grimace, and shout out loud, “DAMN, THAT’S FUCKING NASTY!”

(Editor’s Note: If you don’t know what 2 Girls 1 Cup is, it is VERY NSFW (Insert Fark bill here). It is so horribly disgusting that I am not even going to provide a link for it. It is one of the most repulsive things I have ever seen…a couple dozen times.)

The best way I can describe the taste of the Cherry Cassis Kombucha Wonder Drink is to say that its tart chemical flavor was like drinking a photo darkroom. Its ingredients consisted of water, organic kombucha concentrate, organic green tea, organic cane juice, black currant (cassis) juice concentrate, cherry juice concentrate, and carbonation. The cherry and the cassis give it a tartness, the green tea gives it antioxidants, while the kombucha gives it a shitiness.

In the context of the ingredients list, kombucha seems like it is a fruit with a funny name, like a jaboticaba, but it is actually a symbiosis of bacteria and yeast. Doesn’t that just roll down your tongue, then down your throat, and then back up your throat? Yummy!

According to the can, kombucha is supposed to detoxify, energize, help strengthen the immune system, aid digestion, and regulate appetite. The only effect I could notice was my lack of appetite, thanks to it making me a little nauseous. Even reading the Wikipedia page about kombucha made me slightly queasy.

With its unusual name and natural origins, it is something I expect hippies and Madonna to be into, but I could not get into it, despite forcing myself to drink half of the can. “I’m sure it is an acquire taste,” I said to myself, but every sip I took felt like what I imagine it is like being Lucifer’s urinal.

Sure, the Cherry Cassis Kombucha Wonder Drink contains all-natural ingredients and is good for you, but I’m pretty certain that someone who drinks their own urine would find this particular Wonder Drink disgusting.

If the Cherry Cassis Kombucha Wonder Drink can make me cry and wince, imagine all the pain and suffering it could cause with all the rotten children out there, perhaps setting them straight. It could help decrease teen pregnancy, lower drug use, increase test scores, and open their eyes to how lame Heelys are.

(Nutrition Facts – 1 can – 80 calories, 0 grams of fat, 0 milligrams of sodium, 18 grams of carbohydrates, 17 grams of sugar, 0 grams of protein, and 100 grams of holy-shit-what-the-fuck-is-this!)

Item: Cherry Cassis Kombucha Wonder Drink
Price: $1.99 (12 ounces)
Purchased at: Uwajimaya
Rating: 1 out of 5
Pros: 100% natural. Partially organic. Contains green tea and antioxidants. Kombucha is a funny word to say. Those on the nice list.
Cons: Being Lucifer’s urinal. 2 Girls 1 Cup. Not a source of vitamins and minerals. 2 Girls 1 Cup. It tastes like a photo darkroom. 2 Girls 1 Cup. I am not man enough to drink an entire can. 2 Girls 1 Cup. Heelys. 2 Girls 1 Cup. Those on the naughty list.

Chicken of the Sea Mandarin Orange Salmon Cups

I take back everything bad I said about other things I reviewed, this is proof that the devil lives among us. And apparently the devil takes on the form of a blonde mermaid who hocks packaged fish products. Nice try, you sleazy merchant of lies. You don’t even really exist in nature, your origin came about when drunk and horny pirates mistakenly identified a seal. Maybe next time wear a clamshell bra like Ariel from The Little Mermaid if you want to win my trust and make me have a disturbing, sexually confusing crush on you.

How I came about stumbling upon this box of evil seemed innocent enough. I was minding my own business, shopping at the gigantic corporate mega mart that simultaneously fuels and ruins our country, when I had a sudden craving for tuna. I skimmed the aisles until I found the cheapest can I could and then noticed something beside it. Like a siren, it called to me. I picked it up and threw it in my cart. Little did I know I was in possession of a product that was more akin to Pandora’s Box than a can of tuna.

I related to the small sealed cup because like myself, it had a massive identity crisis. The label is a true orgy of bullshit that I had to wade through just to figure out what the damn thing was. First of all, it was from Chicken of the Sea, which I’ve been conditioned to believe sells tuna.

However, it is addressed as a salmon cup, which is neither chicken nor tuna. To make matters more complicated, the words “Mandarin Orange” are included in a big box as if to indicate that this was indeed a fruit cup and that everything else was included for the sole purpose of pissing me off.

After my head exploded and the minimum wage worker lazily wiped the remains off the floor, I checked out. I mentioned to the cashier, “You do realize that this is fucking ridiculous, right?” but only received a puzzled look in response. I took the cup home and decided to give it a shot.

This is by far the most vile thing I’ve ever attempted to consume. The scent is somewhere between orange scratch-n-sniff and demon breath. I am convinced that if Syracuse University’s orange mascot died in a football celebration gone terribly awry, this is what he’d smell like after two weeks. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this thing came straight out of an H.P. Lovecraft novel.

By this point I had confirmed that it was indeed salmon in some type of mandarin orange sauce. My first taste was one of bewilderment and disgust. “I don’t recall salmon tasting like syrup, orange liquor, and charcoal,” I thought to myself.

Needless to say, I quickly spit it out and burned the plastic bag just in case it decided to return and make me eat it in my sleep. I ran into the garage seeking sandpaper to lick so I could get rid of the taste.

They say that which does not kill you makes you stronger, but those people apparently never tasted mandarin orange salmon cups. The sadist in me wants you to try it with your family and share in the pain that I’ve felt, but the Jesus complex in me wants to save you from this horrible wreck.

It’s your call, but don’t come back crying when your spouse leaves you and your oldest daughter becomes a broken emo girl that I may or may not try to sleep with at a party.

Item: Chicken of the Sea Mandarin Orange Salmon Cups
Price: 85 cents
Purchased at: Wal-Mart
Rating: 1 out of 5
Pros: Hot animated mermaids. Hermetically sealed packaging.
Cons: Dead orange mascots. Smell from said dead orange mascot. Abominable taste. the shame of shopping at Wal-Mart. Confusing labels. Salmon officially losing all of its dignity.