Vanilla Chex

Monday: Cereal
Tuesday: Cereal
Wednesday: Cereal
Thursday: Cereal
Friday: Cereal, pork tacos
Saturday: Pork
Sunday: Pork

I am writing a brief. (CITE) I am writing a brief and am putting in citations later by denoting them with irritating, obvious marks. (CITE) I have not eaten a substantial meal in about three days. Want to know what’s been keeping me alive? It’s cereal. Specifically, Vanilla Chex. I’m a huge fan of the Chex line, as they’re all gluten-free and taste pretty good. Recently, Chex came out with a vanilla flavor and sent me a few boxes to review.DSC_6541 Continue reading “Vanilla Chex”

Yoplait Cosmopolitan

Some days you wake up feeling like a tool. Your apartment is not yet ready, leaving you stranded in your childhood basement bedroom, and you are on a gluten-free diet the instant cupcake-flavored Goldfish and key lime cookies rear their ugly, delicious heads on the shelves. Your current apartment may look like a warehouse, the kind used in mafia films. Unfortunately, you are no Tony Soprano. You are wearing a t-shirt from your local police department and are constantly on the verge of smelly tears.

And some days are okay. Like today. The sun is shining, your cop shirt accentuates your slender calves and newly shorn buzzcut, and you have eggs and bacon for breakfast along with a new yogurt. What kind of yogurt? Why, it’s Yoplait Cosmopolitan!

This spring’s latest issue is pink and trendy, and boasts a catchy ‘in season for a limited time’ sticker on the front- just like those awful sunglasses you’re wearing. It’s totally worth the $11.99, especially considering how it mimics its inspiration. Really, it’s incredible how many details they managed to fit in. The color of the yogurt is pink, like the dress Megan Fox wore 88% better than Rosie O’Donnell, and mimics the hue of your man’s cheeks when you tell him you want to abbhhzzzzhhhhbb your bbzzzhhbbt in his errbbbzzzbt with a rrrbbbuuuuurrrdkkkyyy. It’s chalky and pasty, almost as if you were taking pages of the real Cosmopolitan and were shoving them in your mouth in between sips of the new chia vanilla smoothie to tone your buns. (p. 79)

The container is a little awkward- it’s not as large as the full-sized Yoplait yogurts, yet somehow has the same amount of calories, 170. It’s squat and thick, like Kim Kardashian, lacking that pop of the original containers. The flavor is zingy and clever, reminding me of the clever sex tips in Cosmopolitan, especially the one about how to sex your sex sexily in the sexiest-

Hang on.

Nobody wanted to tell me? This is inspired by the drink. The goddamned Cosmopolitan, the drink of the besmirched Carrie Bradshaw. Well, this yogurt tastes enough like cranberry and lime- it’s pretty tart, but it’ll take more than 170 calories to work off the shame of this confusion. In conclusion, Yoplait Cosmopolitan makes a better magazine than it does a social lubricant. Back to the basement.

Campbell’s SpaghettiOs Cheeseburger-Os

It’s difficult to not have all my stuff in one place. Half of it is here, half is packed and in my car, ready to go, the really important child-sized desk and broken IKEA bed frame is at my mother’s, and there is a multitude of clothing and ill-fitting jackets at various homes throughout the Atlantic Seaboard. Meanwhile, my punctuality has gotten the better of me, and I’m left scratching my head as all my shelf-stable groceries are put into boxes, wondering what I can do with two Kraft American Singles, malt liquor, half a jar of jam, and yuzu rind for dinner.
Usually, I just get a cheeseburger or grill some chicken and eat it over the next few days, but when Cheeseburger-O’s came in the mail, I was excited to have my meals further expedited. Cheeseburger flavor without the hassle of obtaining a cheeseburger.No need to venture out into the world with the hesitation of a feral kitten untouched by meaty human fingers. All I needed was a microwave, a can opener, and moxie, none of which I had at the ready.
Long story short, the can sat on my shelf and taunted me for half a week until I had obtained the necessary appliances. What? I don’t eat things in cans! Noblesse obese, you guys, a girl’s gotta have some standards. I finally got around to sampling the dainties with the Bedfellow last night, in what shall henceforth be known as a ‘terrible mistake’.
Cheeseburger-O’s are the third new flavor Spaghetti-O’s has released in half a century, and considering the rate which Apple drops iPods like a teen mom, that’s an impressively austere feat. They promise 750 O’s in every can, a phrase which I resent and am considering copyrighting. I’m pretty sure my very similar promise has been around longer, anyhow, if you count five years of relentless activity as longer. Whatever, you’ll hear from my lawyers. Me, in a few years, maybe. Cheeseburger O’s have the condiments of a cheeseburger in geriatric, spoonable form- mustard, tomato sauce, cheese, pasta, and beef. It’s like the 99 cent Wylie Dufresne cheeseburger that you eat with a spoon. Except that it’s not.
It’s not that I wouldn’t cotton to the flavor of cheeseburger-infused pasta, it’s that it failed before it was even out of the can. Nothing about this tasted like a burger or even had aspects of a burger outside of the tiny pieces of ground beef, and since Campbell’s makes Spaghetti-O’s with beef already, this is a redundant point. The sauce is watery and highly sweetened and bland, though perhaps has a tiny bit more of a taco seasoning flavor than the original version. No acidity to counteract the rich flavors or beef, and no vegetal aspects to speak of. I thought this was an interesting concept as I’ve seen many an episode of ‘Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives’ focusing on Guy’s gaping maw and cheeseburger soup in cute diners, and from what I understand, it’s balanced with all of the flavors in a burger in soup form. That was what I expected here, and the polar opposite of what I received. We threw pickles into the soup until we got bored, and then we got real cheeseburgers instead. 

Zotter Mitzi Blue “Chinese” Taste Machine

Happy day after Thanksgiving, everyone! Unfortunately, my attempts to expose the French to the joys and wonders of Jones turkey-flavored, or Jones Pepto Bismal-flavored, or Jones Hackneyed Press Release-flavored novelty soda beverages have been rebuffed by the grand old customs agents of the European Union. Apparently those sodas, novelty lip gloss, and my fitted camel-colored wool pea coat constitute a threat to French security, which is why it has taken them three weeks to arrive in the mail. Until then, it’s lightweight cardigans and bleary-eyed chocolate reviews for everyone! Yay!

Despite all the trouble I’ve been having with the post office, one package did make its way through the mangled hands of justice and into my dim apartment. The Austrian masterminds at Zotter chocolate found me in France and passed off two of their latest Mitzi Blue bars, new on the market for the holiday season. And what better way to emphasize the Christmas spirit, the love of Kwanzaa, and the balls-out awesome of Hanukkah with the “Chinese” Taste Machine?

Yes, you heard correctly, non-sequitar aficionados, gingerbread and fruitcake are out, “Chinese” Taste Machine is in, quotation marks not included. Now you can have the loving caress of gojiberries and bird’s eye chilipowder alongside your buckeyes. Chinese Taste Machine, presented in the classic circular Mitzi Blue form, contains white and dark soy-infused chocolate with the aforementioned spices and berries, plus some powdered star anise for good measure. A punk zimtsterne, if you will. Out of the package, it’s another stunning Zotter bar, this time in a swirled pattern. It broke during transit, but even its original shape looked a little cumbersome to share amongst friends.

Flavor-wise, the Chinese Taste Machine is difficult to love. Very, very, very difficult. The unfortunate fact of the matter is that its jarring set of flavors make it impossible to consider the high quality of the ingredients in the bar. The smooth white and dark chocolate are smothered by the musty flavors of the soy powder, at best, reminiscent of a soy Chai latte in solidified form. At worst, it recalls eating an old chocolate stashed in a winter coat, five years after putting it there. Even the strongest spices, cinnamon, star anise, and nutmeg, don’t hold a candle to the strange powdery flavors from the soy.

For all of the flack that gojiberries get, namely, from me, they enhanced the flavors in this bar quite a lot, imparting a sweet, slightly sour flavor to the chocolate and somewhat masking the soy. They are covered with a slight dusting of bird’s eye chili powder, which emphasizes the tang of the dried fruit and gives it a little heat. Still, it never quite meshes with the chocolate and ends up feeling like another candy entirely. It’s a shame as the concept is whimsical and clever, but the execution falls flat.

Betty Crocker Reese’s Puffs Muffin Mix

Meta meta meta meta. Oh, god, it was only a matter of time before corporations started running out of ideas and just started mashing their already-successful, already-existing ones together. Which is totally freaking sweet. In the great wide world of Famous Things People Love, like Reese’s and muffins, foods are haphazardly combined in what we now call “breakfast,” but can really mean “any food you decide to cram into your sleep-riddled, slack-jawed maw before 11AM or whenever mom bangs on the door.” Joyous day! So yeah, these exist for me to write about. I’m like a less shocking Triumph, y’see?

These just beg to be judged. From the enthusiastically branded box packaging to the shoddily tacked-on “don’t eat raw muffin batter” on the back of the package, these are a fat kid’s wet dream. The batter is shockingly close to an actual Reese’s, albeit with a gloopier texture and oilier aftertaste. It has an aggressive salty bite and heavy nut-based flavor, with the milkiness of chocolate taking a backseat.

The wheaty, glutenous flavor even rendered it one rung on the incestuous General Mills family tree closer to its namesake, Reese’s Puffs. It was impressive and heightened the anticipation of the end product. The streusel topping, initially chemical in flavor, had a strangely synthetic crunch to it, in a “Fun with Dental Surgery” kind of way. After (illegally?) tasting the batter, we were excited for the end product.

Apparently, this went through some Krazy Khemical Khanges while baking in the oven. Odors of microwaved popcorn, cardboard, and butter wafted through the kitchen, but not a single hint of muffin was to be smelled. Visually, they were stunning out of the oven, emerging nearly identical to their Photoshop enhanced counterparts. Unfortunately, they tasted worse than Reese’s knock-offs– bland, pasty, and inexplicably tough. All the flavor from the batter was gone. Without the strudel’s molasses-tinged magic, it was a cardboard-infused weak chocolate flavor with an inexplicable glutenous texture.
These were improvable, but only with the luxurious lubrication of butter and Nutella, essentially turning them back into the candy they’d sought to leave behind. Okay, whatever, so give me an instance where turning your breakfast into a snack cake doesn’t improve it. (ed. note: see Grits v. Timmy, 2007) These clearly weren’t meant for ingestion. Try using them as instant implants. Or wheels. Or perhaps you haven’t been out of the house since 1952 and want to try that new-fangled greasy legume-paste cakes the kids are yapping about. Just don’t get them to eat.

Nostalgia Week #6: Kid Cuisine Bug Safari Chicken Breast Nuggets

This was always the consolation prize of babysitting night- when your parents didn’t trust the sitter to go out and not buy drugs with the pizza money, Kid Cuisine was on the menu. And if they really hated the baby sitter, they left her one, too. When I was little, Kid Cuisine came in more varieties than you could count on all of your hands and they always seemed to be testing some child-formulated version of lazy adult products. Salisbury steak, taquitos, and a knock-off of Ellios’s whizzed through the freezer.
I distinctly remember having this once, not because my parents never went out, but because they figured out very quickly that children could also be sustained by leftover duck confit, raisins, and salt-free almonds when left to their own devices. “Canape night! My favorite!” A phrase we never uttered. Today I took one for the team and sampled the least unappealing version of KC that I could find, fun shaped chicken breast nuggets. Though, not gonna lie, I would have loved to find miniature corn dogs to flick at my cats.
The presentation and preparation is overly complex and strange. I gauged myself at being around the stumbling motor capability of a small, dull child as I was hung over from last night’s celebration of Thursday. To read multiple paragraphs about taking out chicken nuggets and putting them back in, gently stirring corn and macaroni and cheese, and not microwaving gummy bugs felt beyond my skill set so I just nuked the savories and kept out the sweets. The gummies were housed in a package that kept them dry but absorbed all the savory flavors, adding insult to injury by not providing them their own separate compartment to rest in prior to consumption. Those suckers had to sit next to the nuggets.
The meal is perfect for children as it is completely devoid of texture, seasoning, and any remote resemblance to the food it is inspired by. Change its color or put some foam on it and it’s practically a Wylie Dufresne kid’s menu. I mean, just look at that macaroni. It has some serious issues brewing beneath its taut, taupe skin. I want to sit it down and refer it to a good psychoanalyst, maybe buy it a drink and just sit back and listen. Kid Cuisine is no place for authentic Italian elbow noodles, I’m sure. It had bigger dreams at one point, but now…just look at it. The nuggets are placidly bouncy and squishy. I’m sure that was intentional but it’s doubly disturbing as they are shaped like bugs.
If you really have to eat this, you could look at it as a more homogenized, muted version of the KFC famous bowl. Like said bowl, it also tastes like a healthy dousing of arrhythmia-topped dairy with a few vaguely crispy nuggets thrown in for protein. Also this dinner is basically a pussy magnet if you have two cats and they can smell chicken from three miles away like ours can. There’s nothing wrong with it, per se, it’s just not as condiment and flavor laden as I typically like my food to be. I wish Kid Cuisine had gone the duck confit route and incorporated just a little more oomph to these. Kids should know what coriander tastes like by their sixth birthday.

Nostalgia Week #5: Hunt’s Snack Pack Ice Cream Sandwich Pudding

Hunt’s, the liquid assets of kids. Insert random story about making friends at Jewish summer camp here, bada bing, bada boom. So! Woe betide the kid whose mom packed peanut butter and jelly on flax bread fo’ sho’. It was almost as embarrassing as for the kids who thought that the Marilyn Monroe quote I invented on a quiet Facebook day was real and not completely made up, but I’m banking that the bulk of them won’t read this, so…I win.
Handi-Snacks has come out with quite a few funky flavors lately, and by funky, I obviously mean designed to make little kids cry. While I’d never tried ice cream sandwich inspired pudding before, I figured it deserved the old college try, as anything that costs under a dollar warrants. Perhaps it’s the power of suggestion, but there’s an aggressive milkiness to this that makes it almost taste like the real deal. Or at least, the chocolate wafer part. Despite its glossy, thick texture, the pudding itself has a certain severe lack of moisture and a dry, very cocoa-heavy aftertaste that mimics the cookie pretty well. The package is also incredibly meta and its enthusiastic visual, an ice cream cookie whizzing at record speeds into a pile of what I assume is this very pudding, provides a bonus recipe if you don’t care about health or sugar or dignity.
Where things fall apart in the realism factor is the mid-section. Most companies would slap some vanilla in there, call it a day and go home to watch Mad Men on DVD, but Handi-Snaxxx opted to try and flavor it like ice cream with less than stellar results. The end product tastes somewhere in between cereal marshmallows and Splenda and has a snarly, artificial aftertaste that lingers around like a teen loiterer. I mean, just look at that pudding pompadour. Fortunately, this was tempered by the strong and doubled chocolate layers, but still left a dry feeling in my mouth along with that fake sweetener on my breath. Bland. Boring. Lacking substance and riding on a tired gimmick. Ah, such is life.

Pop Tarts Limited Edition Festival Fun Frosted Vanilla I-Scream Cone

I both simultaneously love and loathe fairs. I reserve a special place in my heart for fairs that center around one hyperspecific theme, like corn or apple dumplings. In fact, it’s the very same place I house my adoration for foil-wrapped chocolates with delicate designs, wet cats, and grainy footage of true crime caught on tape. When I encounter one of these themed fairs there’s only one goal in mind for me: eat everything. Potato Fair? Boil ’em, mash ’em, stick them in a stew while reciting terrible memes. Hot sauce fair? You can guarantee I’ve signed up for a donor tongue six months in advance. STD Fair? I’ll get them all.
And then there are those dinky fairs. These are the fairs that have a just-released ex-con making cotton candy with free embedded sugar cubes and rides on half-dead ponies if you’re lucky and don’t score the full-dead one. The best thing at these fairs is typically soft-serve ice cream or if all else fails, eating the entry ticket you came in with a scoop of pilfered nacho cheese. Recently I came across the latest limited edition Festival Fun Frosted Vanilla I-Scream Cone Pop Tarts, a fair-riffed lineup whose product line disappointingly does not include anything inspired by deep-fried/powdered sugared/cheese-stuffed/vomit-smeared anything.
This is apparently so limited edition that it doesn’t even exist on the Pop Tarts website. What does exist on their brilliantly insulting website is one bored web designer who apparently flunked Grammar 110. “Joylicious” still makes me want to bury my head in a Flannery O’Conner novel so I can remember that yes, I do no how 2 red @nd spel. I was originally going to review this for Nostalgia Week until I remembered that Pop Tarts were never really a part of my childhood. I both envied and pitied the kids who wound up with those in their lunchbox. So, here they are, along with the rest of the loveable rag-tag team of rebels that make up this site. The I-Scream Cone ‘Tarts consist of vanilla ice cream flavored filling, chocolate frosting with sprinkles, and a waffle cone base.
Cold, these taste rancid. All the flavors meld together into something that I imagine diabetes tastes like and the sprinkles leave a bitter aftertaste. Crumbly, flavorless crust, and the filling looks like something Krusty the Clown would leave behind in a bathroom stall. Strangely spongy and airy. It feels less substantial than most Pop Tarts I’ve had, and even I can’t believe I typed that phrase with a stone-cold straight face.
Toasted, these offer a little more in the ice cream flavor department. The outer shell is crispy, and it has a light, caramel-tinged toastiness that actually did a fairly good imitation of a waffle cone. Unfortunately, the icing burnt very easily and had a dry, crackly texture aided in no part by the mid-section, which had disappeared. So basically, your 190 calories buys you a burnt waffle cone flavor. Pop Tarts, I am disappoint.

Arnold Pretzel Rolls

There is no God.

Or rather, the God we currently have now inexplicably hates pretzel rolls. Atheistic blanket statements aside, I’m pretty sure that part of my life’s mission here on earth is to find the best pretzel roll man can possibly make. No pressure, though. I’ve been through frozen pretzels stuffed with more crap than Adam Richman, pretzel hot dog buns loaded with expensive edible accoutrements, pretzels topped with crustaceans, and disappointing pretzel rolls. I’m all pretzeled out and I still can’t find the perfect bread.
To me, the ideal pretzel roll has a foot in both worlds, despite being a freakish monster belonging in neither. It is kissed with a hint of tinny, metallic goodness on its crust and is almost certainly boiled prior to baking, to ensure an airy, yet chewy inner surface that is porous enough to accommodate to even the gooiest of toppings, but yields to a firm bite without vomiting its contents all over the plate. Rock salt mandatory, toasting optional. An idyllic one-two punch at home with ham, mustard, and little else, or with a gluttonous number of toppings. Needless to say, they are freaking perfect, elevating a mere sandwich to a more complex and Bavarian plane. And to date, I had to rely on luck and intense menu research to find these little suckers. Until…not.
Yes, it looks like I meant “now” but it’s not “now” because I have to wait. Yes, I peed myself when Arnold’s came out with these two days ago and my mom brought them home. And no, these are not the droids we’re looking for. Sigh. Despite showing a promising amount of homemade homeliness, these just weren’t up to snuff. Six rolls to a bag, with 190 calories each, they appear to be hefty and even slightly irregular from roll to roll, offering charming variations in the waffled base and slits on top. Quite a promising start.
Unadorned, they were bland. Adorned simply, the pretzel’s natural charms were squelched. Suffocated under the weight of a stupid amount of toppings, they disintegrated. God damn it. We were so close, Arnold’s. We could have had it all. Unfortunately, these just didn’t cut it. To the touch, they are light and airy, a little too light. White bread light and Vanilla Ice white with a squishy and uniformly bubbled core. A small bite yielded a sweetly flavored crumbly interior and thin, pliable crust with a hint of alkaline tang from the baking soda. It wasn’t chewy at all and had the texture of a thin slice of sandwich bread rather than a crusty roll. Most of the salinity was overpowered by the breadiness as there was no other supplemental salt source, like a scattering of rock salt on top of the roll, to boost its flavor.
The least offensive way to eat this is with a little salt and butter, much like my bagels. This way accentuates the pretzel’s natural flavor the most, but still falls prey to the plain bready texture. There wasn’t enough irregular definition in the bread’s cell wall to allow the butter to melt into any nooks and crannies, and it floated on the top after melting, barely penetrating the surface and leaving the top part soggy and the bottom part flavorless. Were it not for the appeal of the salt coaxing the tinniness out, I wouldn’t bother eating this as toast.
As a sandwich, I figured this would be a little more successful. And what better way to do it than to do a balls-to-the-wall crazy condiment orgy on a bun? Do or do not, there is no try, after all. The Italian Job featured condiments best suited to a good bun with no margin of error. If it was a good pretzel roll, it would work. Anything else would disintegrate under the weight of so many sauces. With hot pepper relish, mustard, mayo, Tabasco, ham, American cheese, mango and ginger Stilton ’cause we fancy, arugula, fennel slivers, and freshly cracked black pepper, the Italian Job ain’t nothin’ to muck with.
And unfortunately, after I removed this ornamental steak knife, all hell broke loose. This is not the right bun for the job, folks. Not in the slightest. See that distended yellow-hued smear on the starboard side of the sandwich? That’s the sauce seeping through the bread, sponged up by the fluffy interior. Arnold’s, you are a failure.
Bam, she falls apart as soon as I look at her. Another one for the vaults. Successful as a roll, perhaps, but as a pretzel, you’re an absolute shame up there with Glitter, Gilbert and Sullivan, and the InstaHang. Looks like it’s back to the drawing boards for the time being. I appreciated the initiative on part of Arnold’s, but for God’s sake, if you’re going to go out on a limb, try not to make the product so utterly unappealing that people won’t ever want to eat its inspiration again.

Wendy’s “W” Burger

Pros about living in New England: we’re awesome. Oceans. Ascots. A distinct lack of accents outside of Bahstahn and New Hampshah. Bleeding heart liberalism is pretty sweet most of the time.

Cons about living in New England: We have roughly four fast food restaurants, approximately none of which are ever test markets. In all honesty, that might be my biggest pet peeve. I live in an area a hair too far away from Maine, which carries the McLobster, and lack an appreciation of the irony that would entail eating a McPizza in freaking New Haven, Connecticut, home of two of the world’s greatest pizza restaurants.
So what would normally take ten minutes for anyone living in a normal state took FF and I a rollicking two hour drive to go to a better Wendy’s than any of the Wendy’s around in the quest for the elusive “W” burger. The “W,” surprisingly not provoking any jokes or lawsuits from our former president, is actually a play on words, “double…you?” Well, it partially delivers on that front, with two 2.5 ounce beef patties, two slices of American cheese, a loveable cast of vegetable rag-tags, a signature sauce, and a softer, artisan buttered bun. At its best, a burger with an affordable price point for those whose hunger isn’t small enough to be satisfied by the dollar menu and those who just don’t feel like breaking out the big guns. At its worst, a glorified and more expensive McDouble. Size-wise, it seemed fairly average for a burger, even a fast food one. Not too big or too small. The first immediate issue with this burger was its scent- as soon as I extracted it from its paper prison, a fake nacho cheesy scent emitted from its core. It was definitely freaky, but I ignored it and forged on, figuring the restaurant itself smelled weird or something. The burger is stacked pretty tall, but the height isn’t so unreasonably high that it needs to be squished in order to get a bite of every topping in your mouth. And that’s good, because the squishy bun practically falls apart with a stern glare.
As far as toppings go, nothing really distinguishes it from other fast food burgers on the market, aside from the special sauce on top. Wendy’s describes this as a soybean oil-based, sweet honey mustard flavored sauce. I would normally be all over this sauce, but the flavor of the sauce was so mild that all that remained was the viscous, runny texture and a slick, oily mouthfeel in every bite. Not an appealing way to start the meal. The veggies were incredibly fresh, with the exception of the pickles, limp, translucent shells of their former selves, with an unfortunately mild, bitter flavor, lacking any acidity. The beef was thin and crispy, with a smoky, moist flavor, but had a chunky, chewy texture similar to leftover meatloaf.
Like the release of Justin Bieber into human society, one small thing led to the utter demise of a greater, more complex being, in this case, the poor quality of the pickles led to the downfall of this burger. Without the pickles providing a much needed foil to the assault of cheese, sauce, butter, and a rich bun, the only tangy bite coming from this was the red onions. It’s like putting a 1996 engineless Camry in a drag race with a Ferrari. It just can’t compete. The dairy elements in this were truly unctuous- heed that as a word of advice from a shameless lactophile. Alone, or scaled down, they might have been somewhat appealing, but all three milk-based ingredients combined completely overwhelmed almost any additional flavor this burger attempted to have, with the aforementioned popcorn butter residue and gooey nacho cheese flavor absolutely persistent and infused into every cranny of the sandwich.
I can understand what the motives were in creating a burger that allowed a maximum amount of toppings for the consumer with a lower price point, and I genuinely appreciate that. Having a somewhat subdued appetite myself, it seems like something I’d get behind when my dollar menu fantasies were no longer hitting the right chords. But the exuberance works against them with an imbalanced flavor and makes for a sandwich that takes away your hunger not because you’re full, but because you’re mildly repulsed.