Trader Joe's Pain au Lait

It's not unusual for me to devour the majority of a delicious Trader Joe's product before Sonia even realizes it's in the house. But it's very unusual for the reverse to happen.

Yet happen it did with this pain au lait. 

As my wife will attest, those French sure know their breads: baguettes, brioche, croissants, and of course, French toast—which might not actually be French—but we give them the credit anyway because it sounds lame to call it "eggy bread."

Add pain au lait to that list of delicious French breads. And in this case, the "pain" is indeed a product of France, imported across the pond for our enjoyment. Thanks, Trader Jacques—er, Trader Joe.

They're chock full o' milk, sugar, butter, and eggs. That's why they're so delicious. And fattening. They taste slightly sweeter than traditional breads, but not to the extreme that they're doughnut-esque or exclusively dessert-ish. Despite their sweetness and butteriness, they're surprisingly soft, airy, and addictive.

They remind me of one of the complimentary breads they serve at a particular chain restaurant, but I can't remember for certain which one: was it Outback? Cheesecake Factory? I haven't been to any of those places lately so I can't put my finger on it—but it was a bread so tasty, that I'd deliberately eat my fill so that when my meal came, I'd take a few bites and then pack the rest up to take home, thus stretching one meal into at least two. It definitely wasn't authentic pain au lait, but it was reminiscent of this offering in terms of sweetness and softness.

Serving sizes here are relatively small, in case you're worried about portion control. Each piece is perfect for dunking in coffee, or your hot beverage of choice. They went great with the hot chocolate we looked at recently. They're simply awesome with some butter and jelly, or even just butter. And honestly, both Sonia and I were fine just snagging these little guys out of the bag and eating them by themselves like cookies.

Three dollars for eight rolls. This could be a repeat buy. Sonia says she could eat the whole bag in one sitting. She'll throw out her first perfect five star score in a long time. I genuinely liked them too, but perhaps I'm not quite as enthused because I'm waiting for a bread that's optimized for dunking in energy drinks. Just kidding. That would be gross.

...or would it?

But for all you coffee connoisseurs out there, meet your new best breakfast friend. Four stars from me.

Bottom line: 9 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Chocolate Filled Crêpes

Long before we met each other, Sonia and I both had opportunities to travel to Paris, independently of one another. We each did the Eiffel Tower, Louvre, Notre Dame, Champs Elysee touristy thing and had a lovely time in the City of Light. Someday, we hope to return as a couple, but for now, it's fun recounting the few days we had there and comparing our experiences.

We both found Parisians to be kind and helpful, despite the many stories we'd both heard about how rude they were to American tourists. We both ate at a French McDonald's—because, you know, it doesn't get more authentic than French fries in France, complete with mayonnaise and very vinegary ketchup. And, of course, we both ate chocolate crêpes from street vendors, because they're everywhere, inexpensive, and scrump-dilly-icious.

These Trader Joe's crêpes aren't too far off from the authentic street cart crêpes we both had all those years ago, but there are a few distinct differences. First, the flour portion of the pastries is a little too thick here. When heated according to the instructions, the bread winds up just slightly stretchy and almost chewy—not to the point where it's unpleasant, but we both remembered a thinner, crispier crust on our crêpes. 

Straying from the printed directions, Sonia proceeded to heat one of the crêpes on the stove top in a little butter. The texture became significantly more crispy, and the flavor a little more indulgent. We preferred them that way, although heated in the oven, as per the instructions on the box, wasn't bad by any means. I even ate one straight out of the box after thawing for an hour or two. Honestly, taste-wise, there wasn't a whole lot of difference from the ones we heated in the oven. 

The shape of the crêpes is a little strange to us. The crêpes we'd always had before—not just in Paris, but most of the offerings we've tried stateside—were like thin pancakes folded over in a semicircle. These are more like little rolls, folded over multiple times. It's nothing to complain about—just a difference we noticed.

The filling here is a nice thin Nutella-esque chocolate creme—not too sweet and not too bitter, either. Just about perfect.

With a price point of $2.69 for seven crêpes, this is one of the more accessible international snacks from Trader Joe's. Four stars from me. Sonia was going to go with three and a half until she tried her own stove top butter-fried heating method. After trying them that way, she's ready to give a solid four.

Bottom line: 8 out of 10.

Trader Giotto's Misto Alla Griglia

A couple things about this product mystify me. The first is the defrosting instructions. They say to defrost from frozen at room temperature for two hours, and then to serve. I'm not sure if we just keep our home a little on the chilly side, but after two hours, these vegetables were still very much on the cold side of room temperature. Even at the two and a half hour mark, they still wanted to crunch a little from the ice crystals left within them. 

Another thing I don't get is that they recommend serving these at room temperature in the first place, rather than hot. After having tried them both ways, I still greatly prefer them heated—while Sonia preferred them as the instructions specified.

Sonia thought maybe that heating them in the microwave would be detrimental to their texture—that they might get more leathery or chewy in the microwave. And while I wasn't a fan of this product's texture in either case, I must admit the veggies, most notably the eggplant and zucchini, were slightly less chewy when not heated in the microwave. But something about eating them hot, particularly when served with pasta, made them just barely palatable. My gag reflex wanted to kick in when attempting to consume them lukewarm or cold.

The best thing about this product was the marinade of vinegar, oil, and spice, which gave the mixture a nice savory flavor and enhanced the natural flavors of the grilled vegetables. When eaten with pasta, the herby tang of the misto alla griglia spread out beyond the vegetables and served as a nice subtle dressing for our linguini noodles as well. No other sauce was needed—although we did throw in a bit of the 21 Seasoning Salute.

But still, I preferred each bite to contain very small bites of the veggies and plenty of pasta, because otherwise I found the texture unbearable.

There's always the possibility that we got a bad bag and that your eggplant and zucchini will simply melt in your mouth. We've already seen eggplant from Trader Joe's go both ways. Click here for a big eggplant win, or here for a big eggplant fail. At $3.99 for the bag, Sonia thinks it might be just as cost effective to buy and grill your own vegetables. Of course, it would be a bit more work, but grilling your own eggplant, zucchini, and peppers might be more fun than thawing this nonsense for a full day in your fridge or half a day on your counter and still not knowing if it's the right temperature. I'm pretty sure this won't be a repeat buy for us.

Three stars from Sonia. Two and a half from me.

Bottom line: 5.5 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Cannelés De Bordeaux

Let's take a coffee break, shall we?

No, not more coffee, as inviting as that sounds. If you haven't been paying attention to the blog recently, it's been all on up on coffee products. I'd mention them, but there's too many....just take a look over on the right sidebar under posts from this month going back.

I mean, an actual break from anything coffee related. It's a good thing, and we're all gonna need it. More on that...later.

Although, let's be honest, taking a look at the picture on the box of Trader Joe's Cannelés De Bordeaux, that'd go well with a cup of coffee, right? Imagine that served alongside a steamy cafe au lait or cappucino or whatever at some sidewalk café. Looks fancy. Has a fancy name. Has gots to be fancy, right?

Ehhhhhhhhhhh.

So boxed fourpack come with the little French delights already fully baked, just frozen. To prepare, either thaw for 20 minutes (who's got time for that?) or nuke in the microwave for 20 seconds. We went the nuclear option. Twenty seconds didn't seem enough, the pastries were still cool to the touch. So another 20 seconds, and then, you know, 20 more just for the heck of it. Even after all that, the cannelés were still cool and clammy to the touch. Oh well. Time for a bite...

"Carmelized on the outside" is one way of putting it. Hard and dense with a suggestion of crispy carmelization is another. It was definitely tougher and chewier than anticipated. And the insides weren't much better. Sandy and I have a disagreement over what the word "custardy" should imply. She thinks it ought to mean creamy, like custard cream/creme. I stick more to the true meaning of custard, meaning a dish with eggs, milk, flavoring and sugar, baked until set, so cakelike except spongey. But we both agreed that the innards didn't match our hopes. Cool, dense, but fairly pleasantly (if unevenly) vanilla-esque. Think more my interpretation of custardy for sure.

Sandy disliked hers to a great degree. She plots and plans her treats all day long, and had sacrificed some ice cream so she could eat one cannelé in all of its 120-calorie glory. Very pouty afterwards. She gave it a two. I'll go a little higher, but not much.....but I'll be willing to be wrong here. If you like them, and have a recommended suggestion on how to optimize the thawout process to ensure its utmost tastiness, I'm all ears. We have two cannelés left, and I (at least) will try your recommended method and report back. Until then, as is (and keep in mind this is following the box's suggestion for preparation, so don't hate on me too much) it's just a middlin' 2.5.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Cannelés De Bordeaux: 4.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's English Butter Fudge

Ah, there's nothing more American than the Superbowl. And there's nothing like a classic American snack such as English Butter Fudge to pop in your mouth while watching the big game. Amirite?

Had we consumed the entire box of candy during the course of the game, we wouldn't have slept Sunday night, nursing massive sugar buzzes, and we'd have necessarily sought out urgent dental care Monday morning.

Fortunately, we stopped after just two pieces each. 

It's not that the candy tastes bad. Not at all. It just sits a little heavy in the stomach, what with the two main ingredients being "sugar" and "salted butter." It's like the British equivalent of maple candy, except instead of maple syrup there's salty, sugary butter. The overall effect is pretty smooth, but there's just the slightest hint of grittiness from the granules of salt and sugar. 

Sonia says they're similar in texture to De La Rosa Mazapan, and she's not wrong. Taste-wise, they're similar to the marzipan/mazapan too, although there's nothing peanutty about this Anglo-confection. And in case you were wondering, yes, this product is actually imported from Merry Olde England.

You can really taste butter here. And if you like butter, that's a good thing. Butterrific. 

Brits apparently really like butter. And I like Brits. So polite, those English folk. By now I'm sure my artistic rendering of Butterfudgehenge has caught your eye. That's for you, Great Britain. Hope you guys get that NFL team soon. Then maybe I'll cross the Atlantic to see my Redskins lose to your Monarchs or whatever they'll be called some day.

Sonia gives this candy four stars. I'll go with three and a half.

Bottom line: 7.5 out of 10.

Trader Jacques' Vanilla Eclairs with Chocolate Fondant

Why is it that eclairs seem so haughty? Just the name itself rings out with an air of froideur. It's almost as if eclairs are making some kind of assertion that they're the aristocracy of the dessert world. 

E-clair. What's an electronic Clair anyway?

Perhaps it's because we're grumpy that life is beating us up right now: flat tires, broken windshields, collapsed awnings, and lots more issues I'm not even going to touch on this food blog, but neither Sonia nor I were blown away by this dessert.

And we know eclairs. We've had restaurant eclairs, casino eclairs, dollar store eclairs, and even other Trader Joe's eclairs. This selection isn't the worst of the worst by any means, but...well, I think we've been spoiled by those bargain basement eclairs from Dollar Tree. I'm not kidding. Do you know the ones I'm talking about? Dolce Tuscano Mini Custard Filled Iced Eclairs. Six for a buck. Sonia says they're hands down better than this TJ's offering.

I don't know if I'd go that far, but I will admit the Dolce Tuscano brand gives these guys a run for their money. And to be fair, value-wise, TJ's offering is only $2.99 for four servings, and there's at least twice as much eclairage in the box since Jacques' pastries are full-size—but it still doesn't beat sixteen and a half cents per surprisingly-edible mini eclair from the freezer section at Dollar Tree.

These eclairs just didn't stand out. Not one element of them was rave-worthy. I felt the bread was stale. Sonia said it tasted freezer-burnt. The custard wasn't particularly decadent or smooth or creamy. And the "fondant" seemed like run-of-the-mill chocolate icing to me. We tried one at the short end of the suggested thawing interval and then another at the long end, and both results were the same: an edible, but not particularly memorable or outstanding eclair.

We finished the box but probably won't be purchasing these again. Three stars from me. Two and a half from Sonia.

Bottom line: 5.5 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Mini Greek Spirals with Leeks and Feta Cheese

Many of you have probably heard of the Norway Spiral. In the minds of the very sober and scientific-minded, it was obviously an interdimensional portal of some kind, ushering otherworldly beings onto our planet to initiate the apocalypse. That point isn't really up for debate. The apocalypse is just a bit behind schedule due to some unforeseen political circumstances and a few mathematical errors and omissions in the Mayan calendar. 

Then several years later, we learned of a Greek Spiral, whose purpose was quite obviously to usher five different cheeses into our reality, and to disappoint Russ and Sandy, thus temporarily distracting them from their true purpose and role in saving humanity from the aforementioned apocalypse.

Similarly, Sonia and I have recently been made aware of a swarm of smaller Greek spirals featuring only two cheeses, but containing leeks as well. These leaky leek spirals leaked Greek grease cheekily onto streaky sheets in our oven, but the final product was not particularly greasy in my opinion—at least not when compared to other similar Greek phyllo dough-based products.

The true purpose of this miniature Greek spiral swarm has not yet been uncovered as of the date of this food review's publication. 

It may have something to do with the leek's "unique combination of flavonoids and sulfur-containing nutrients" healing this food reviewer from his current ailment, which may, in turn, be fueling some more-imaginitive-than-usual musings about this fairly run-of-the-mill Trader Joe's pastry.

The dough is somewhat flaky and soft. The filling isn't particularly cheesy, but there's a mild feta-esque flavor present. And the onion-ish hints of the leek are most definitely in there, too. It's not an overbearing flavor—it's subtle, like all the truly great powers in the universe tend to be.

Three and a half interdimensional portals out of five from me. Three and a half from Sonia.

Bottom line: 7 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Stacked Eggplant Parmesan

If someone asks you if you've tried "Trader Joe's Eggplant Parm," you've got to ask them if they mean this Stacked Eggplant Parmesan or, you know, that other abomination. Because in my opinion, this stuff is in every way superior to that Trader Giotto's eggplant dish that comes in a tray. The nutrition info for both products is comparable, although the serving size for the Stacked is somewhat smaller than the other dish. The only good thing about Trader Giotto's Eggplant Parm is that our review of it sparked a dialogue about this delicious offering. I'm super glad we tried it.

Far from being chewy like the previously-reviewed parm, the stacked variety, if anything, is too supple and soft. I understand some people prefer their eggplant on the crispy side. If you're in that boat, then I guess you might have a legitimate complaint about this particular product. I felt like it flaunted a nice "melt-in-your-mouth" quality, but Sonia thought it fell apart a little too easily. That's not to say she didn't enjoy it. She loved the flavor. And what's not to love? It's a collection of every stereotypical tasty ingredient commonly found in Italian food all mixed in and "stacked" on amazing eggplant. Especially impressive was the ricotta cheese. Tomato, bell pepper, and bread crumbs help round out the taste and texture.

We ate ours with pasta, and it worked really well. I'd be perfectly happy eating this dish all by itself, or you could slap a slab of this in between some quality Italian bread and make a sandwich of sorts. I'm not known for my culinary creativity, but I'm sure some of you guys have come up with some interesting ways to eat this entree. 

Apparently there's a third TJ's brand eggplant parm product that has somehow eluded us up to this point: Trader Giotto's Eggplant Parmesan Towers. Let us know if any of you have tried that one and we'll add it to our shopping list. Sonia and I haven't been on a proper TJ's run in a hot minute—we actually had these stacked eggplant parms a while back—but now we know there's a Pokéstop right next to the local TJ's, we have another good reason to go!

Four stars a piece.

Bottom line: 8 out of 10.

Trader Giotto's Trofie Colore

With five different colors represented, this imported Italian spiral pasta looks super exotic and exciting. Unfortunately, it doesn't taste that way.

Like Russ's toddler being disappointed that the black bean rotini noodles weren't chocolate, I was similarly saddened that these weren't, like, the same five flavors as Life Savers. I mean, the red, orange, yellow, green, and ivory are pretty much exactly the same colors you get in both cases. That's tantamount to false advertising in my book. I was hoping to pair some sweet, fruity noodles with pineapple salsa or something.

I'm actually just kidding about thinking they would be fruit-flavored, although I was hoping they'd have a flavor as flashy as their look. But alas, they're just normal noodles. If anything, they're even more bland than other plain pastas. If you're going to check these out, they're going to depend entirely on the sauce you choose to serve them with.

Since they're actually a type of macaroni noodle, we decided to go with something cheesy and Italian: Trader Giotto's Three Cheese Pomodoro Pasta Sauce, which, much to my surprise, has already been reviewed on this blog. And as that four-year-old review suggests, the sauce is really darn good, and was a much bigger hit than the pasta itself, which will certainly fade out of memory quickly, despite its attractive packaging and colorful presentation.

To be fair, though, there are a few other saving graces in regards to this product. The texture was nice. Cooking them according to the instructions yielded a nice soft batch of semi-tender, twisty, fine-grain pasta. It was filling enough, and for under two bucks, you can hardly complain about the value. I'll offer three stars here. Sonia will go with two and a half.

Bottom line: 5.5 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Gyro Slices

Yes, they exist.

No, I'm not talking about cell phone batteries that don't die every five minutes, pens that don't stop writing with only half the ink used, or a Justin Bieber song that doesn't suck. It's a not that good of a world out there. But at least we do have Chuck Norris-approved roundhouse kicking jeans. Listen, with those hidden gussets not binding your legs, you got some full leg-swinging freedom there, partner.

Nope, I am talking about Trader Joe's Gyro Slices. They do exist. I know, because I just had them for dinner. But if you're searching the shelves for them, good luck...much like their distantly related riced cauliflower cousin, you're much more likely to spot that Bieber character in your local TJ's than this particular meat package. It's that popular with demand that far underestimated that warehouses are out, so get yourself on the waitlist, and if you see any, stock up and sell on eBay.

Are the gyros worth the hype, though? Ehhhh...debatable. Don't get me wrong - I enjoy gyros at local Greek food festivals just as much as anyone reasonably can, so I was pretty hyped up as well. But the TJ gyro slices just aren't quite as good as those - close, but not quite.

The reason? Possibly ignorance, probably perception bias. But I've always thought that the meat in gyros at the food festivals was lamb, or at least mostly lamb. Now, there's lamb in these guys too...listed as the last ingredient before the "Contains 2% or less of the following" part of the credits. So, there just might be as little as 3% lamb we're talking about here...probably more than that, but undoubtedly more beef than lamb. As a result, I swear these taste more beefy than other gyro meat, which kinda comes off as vaguely Steak-Umm-esque, but how accurate that is debatable at best.

That sounded like an insult. I didn't mean it that way. In every other regard these seem spot on, with the breadcrumbs adding the right mealy-meaty feel, and spiced appropriately with the pepper and garlic and whatnot. And I'd be danged if altogether both Sandy and I didn't enjoy a good made-at-home gyro that we'd be more than eager to do again, all for the fraction of the price of gyros out. It helped that when all the sandwich components were together, the perceived beefiness became a lot less noticeable.

For the requisite "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" reference, I won't vouch these are entirely authentic, but will say spraying Windex at them will certainly not make an improvement. If you see 'em, snag 'em. Double fours.

Trader Joe's Seafood Paella

Sonia has a few quirky allergies that come and go mysteriously. One is to mushrooms. Although, that particular sensitivity didn't apply when it came to the Portobello Mushroom Fries. Another one of her fun "come and go" allergies involves certain kinds of shellfish. Maybe. We've figured out she's okay with crab and lobster. But she usually plays it safe with things like clams, oysters, and scallops...except when my dad orders the fried oysters and she takes a couple bites. Maybe she's grown out of the allergy and maybe she's not as sensitive when the food is prepared a certain way. Who knows? But it took some convincing to get her to try this paella. She finally agreed, but only on the condition that I take all the mussels out of her portion.

That was just fine by me, because I really liked these mussels. They came out nice and soft, but not too chewy. The "calamares" were by far the chewiest ingredient in our bag. I've had squid before that was not this chewy, but really, it wasn't horrendous—just a tad more rubbery than I would have preferred. The rest of the textures were wonderful and blended together seamlessly.

South Jersey is full of fresh seafood, but I haven't seen many places around here that offer any kind of paella. In fact, the only other time in my life that I've had proper paella was in Spain. There was a quaint sidewalk cafe in Madrid where I tried this "national dish" of España. It was a while back, but honestly, I remember not being impressed. It was much soupier than Trader Joe's offering, the vegetables were stringy, and I felt it lacked flavor. They might have given me a bad batch on purpose, though. They didn't seem fond of non-Spanish speakers there. <Sigh.> Six and a half years into a marriage to someone whose first language is Spanish, and I'm still trying to learn it.

But back to the paella. It's good. It's complex, flavorful, and not-at-all-fishy. Seafoody? Yes. Fishy? No. I'm not sure how authentic it is, but I certainly prefer it to the only other paella I've ever had. Ironically, this selection is a "product of France," not Spain, according to the bag. Eh, close enough, I guess. Four stars from me. Three and a half from my better half.

Bottom line: 7.5 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Irish Bangers

Despite my red hair, I'm not really all that Irish. A little, sure...but about as Irish as I get is drink some Murphy's and quote some Boondock Saints every once in a while. Or listen to some U2. I'm not the one who did a really good leprechaun imitation on the latest podcast episode anyway.

So, I'm not really sure how "bangers" is appropriate Irish verbiage meaning a sausage. And I'm not about to find out - after all, I'm typing this on my break at my work computer, and need to ensure I keep all Web searches HR friendly.

Regardless, there's that big Irish holiday coming up where we all decide to get our green on, and so apt enough, Trader Joe's Irish Bangers are back on the shelves for this season. They're really only around this time of year as an alternative to corned beef for Irish meat intake.

And it's too bad....because I really like these sausages. Pardon me, but these bangers are bangin'. Made simply from ground pork and spices and packed not too tightly, they're a perfectly delectable somewhat seasonal treat. Bangers and mash? Yes please! And that's exactly what we did last week one night for dinner, with enough left over for lunch the next day for me - happy Russ.

They're not exactly perfect, though. The pork flavor itself is fairly light, but at least in our last package, there was this - how I do say it - almost a sweetness to it not explained by the ingredient list. Red wine vinegar comes to mind for some reason, but that's not quite it. I don't think other times we've had the bangers I've noticed that, but I could be wrong. A little less of that, and a slight bit more pepper would have been great.  Also, probably just like ones your Irish nana used to homemake, there were a couple small hard pebbles of gristle in one or two of mine. I can accept or homemade, but for commercially produced...c'mon.

Our local TJ's was sampling the bangers over the weekend with some pickled sauerkraut and dijon mustard, though and man - that was a tasty combo. The pork was a perfect base and held its own in that triad of strong, hearty flavors.

 A pack of six runs only a few bucks and is well worth for firing up on the grill or broiling in the oven. My kiddos loved them and gobbled down without complaint, as did the wife and I. Get them while you can, and bonus points for no artificial green food coloring.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Irish Bangers: 8 out of 10 Golden Spoons.

Trader Joe's Tomato Tiropita Triangles

Rather than give you a spiel about what tiropita is and fake like I know what I'm talking about (as I've done many times in the past), I'll just link to Wikipedia for you here. But I will go ahead and simply mention that just as spanakopita means "spinach pie," tiropita or tyropita means "cheese pie." How creative.

When you first bite into these pastries, you'll notice the buttery, flaky crust, but the filling really zings the tongue with a super Greek-ish cheese flavor. At first, I thought it was all feta, but the first cheese mentioned in the ingredients is "mizithra." It's made with cow, sheep, and goat's milk so that none of the farm animals feel left out. What? No pig's milk?

The taste of the tangy cheeses overpowers most of the tomato flavor, IMHO. But if you pay attention, there's definitely a touch of sun-dried tomato up in the mix. They go together pretty well. I was thinking they should have called these "Mizithra Tiropita Triangles," because the cheese flavor is so dominant, but then again, mizithra is a type of cheese and tiropita means "cheese pie," so it would not only be redundant, but you'd lose that nice alliteration in the title of the product. And technically, since these are three-dimensional objects, shouldn't they be called "prisms" or "polyhedrons"? I guess not, since the sides of the prisms aren't perfect planes. So basically, just forget about this whole paragraph.

Sonia? She liked these even more than I did, and she also made the initial assumption that the primary cheese flavor was feta. She claims she could taste olives. And there are definitely some olives and olive oil in there, but my taste buds weren't keen enough to pick them out without looking at the ingredients...or, you know, the front of the packaging where it explicitly states there are Kalamata olives in the product. She also enjoyed the flaky crust but thought it was a bit too oily. In all honesty, that might have been my fault since I used a little oil in the pan when I baked them. I was a bad boy and did not follow the instructions exactly.

But they still came out good enough for Sonia to give them a four. I'll say...three and a half.

Bottom line: 7.5 out of 10.

Trader Giotto's Due Canestrelli and Trader Giotto's Baci di Dama Cookies

That checkout area is tricksy. And now it's kinda fancy, too. Gourmet-sounding, foreign-inspired chookies? Yes, please. 

I call chocolate chip cookies or any other kind of cookies with considerable chocolate components "chookies" because I'm super in-touch with my inner five-year-old. But the grown-up in me enjoyed the sophisticated European-ness of these treats and the fact that they weren't overly sweet. Did I just rip off a Frosted Mini Wheats commercial? 

The Due Canestrelli is vaguely reminiscent of other chocolate wafers I've had, but thinner, stiffer, and a little more bitter. They're highly-snackable, satisfying, and unique.

The Baci di Dama Cookies might look like miniaturized macarons, but they're more like a shortbread-based cookie with a thin layer of dark chocolate filling. They're not unlike those crispy Milano-esque cookies we looked at last year. Although, I guess these are filled with Italian chocolate rather than Belgian chocolate?? If there's a difference between the two, I can't really detect it.

Each of the cookie packs is 99 cents and doesn't disappoint in the flavor department. Sonia scores both with four and a half stars, and I'll give 'em both fours. Cheap, fast, convenient, and small enough that you can eat the whole pack and not feel completely disgusted with yourself.

Bottom line: 8.5 out of 10.

Josephsbrau Plznr

Ah, Princeton, NJ. Once known as an Ivy League town, prided on top-notch schooling and producing some of the nation's elite scholars, engineers, educators, and financiers, has become known to my wife and I as a fun place to go geocaching, and more importantly, Trader Joe's Beverage Central—as it is apparently known to quite a few here in the Mid-Atlantic region, including the Pittsburgh-based Shellys (who don't actually drive 5 1/2 hours JUST to buy Trader Joe's brand alcoholic beverages—they apparently have family in the area). I understand those liberal New Yorkers have quite a few options when it comes to Trader Joe's brand libations, but those of us in South Jersey, Delaware, and the Quaker State have one heck of a time procuring the stuff. It's a little over an hour's drive for us, so we only go when we have other reasons to be in the area. But recently, business took us to Tiger territory...and we found a fascinating brew or two.

And so, it's time for a beer review. In 685 posts on this blog, this is only the fourth post dedicated to actual alcoholic beer, and the first featuring Trader Joe's Josephsbrau label. Five years back, Sonia and I took a look at TJ's Corona Light knockoff and found it to be a pretty decent imitation of the original. On that particular shopping excursion, there had been no full-calorie Corona-esque beers available, and their selection (at least at that location in Los Angeles) was vastly inferior to the selection we find currently at suds-friendly TJ's locations here on the East Coast. And fortunately for me, as my taste in beers has migrated from mass-produced lagers to more interesting craft brews over the last five years, so, apparently, has Trader Joe's selection moved in the same direction.

I'm far from a beer expert, but I know enough about pilsners and beer in general to know that, despite the claims made on the can itself, Miller Lite is NOT a "fine pilsner beer." Just like a brew Russ reviewed many moons ago, pilsners are originally from the Bohemia region of the Czech Republic. As I learned on Wikipedia, they were made with soft water, pale malts, noble hops, and bottom-fermenting yeasts. 

Similar to other pilsners I've had, this beer poured a light straw-ish color with a fairly small head of foam. With an average alcohol content (5.4% ABV) the flavor was bready more than malty and there was a sharp bitterness to it. It left a slightly bitter aftertaste, too. It was well-carbonated, but not overly so. If you've been reading this blog a while, you know I LOVE fizzy beverages.

Another interesting note about this product is the peculiar spelling of "pilsner." There are plenty of other acceptable ways to spell the word, but this is the first I've seen "PLZNR." TraderJoes.com claims it's simply because the beer is unique, but I'm wondering if, similar to the band "Chvrches," it has to do with search engine optimization? Both the band and the beer are "not bad" in my humble opinion, but I'd say the unique spellings are strokes of marketing genius. Sonia agrees about the beer, but no so much about the weird spellings.

Bottom line: 7 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Burrata, Prosciutto & Arugula Flatbread

In theory, a guy like me should like hockey. Preseason is only a couple weeks away, I should be stoked like all the other XY-chromosomed humanoids (and half the XX ones too, at least around here in the 'burgh). Yet....I'm not. I've tried to like hockey, and in fact I like the theory of it. I've been to a couple Penguins in person, and no sport translates better to the in-person experience than hockey (worst, by far: football). But when it comes to actually truly liking and embracing hockey....I just can't. I'm not sure what it is, and maybe I'm just missing out on something that everyone else is picking up on, but it just doesn't do it for me.

It's kinda the same with Trader Joe's Burrata, Prosciutto & Arugula Flatbread. In theory, this should be a no doubt winner, a hat trick, a biscuit in the basket. As our local hockey announcer would say, get in the fast lane, grandma, this bingo game's ready to roll.  But in the end.....meh.

Let's start with the positives. This is one exceptional flat thin crust for the pizza base. It's light and airy, yet crispy and crackery, with a little added bite. I could eat crust like this all day then wonder what happened to my waistline. And the arugula makes a nice little touch, too - I like leafy greens as much if not more than anyone (my coworkers stare in disbelief at the amount of raw, undressed spinach I eat almost every day for an afternoon snack) and there's plenty enough to go around to add a good little touch of greenery in most every bite.

This leaves the prosciutto and the burrata and other assorted cheeses. Anything cured meat related is usually right up my alley, but this meat just doesn't cut it. It comes packaged separately in some frozen thin sheets (think Steak-Umm style) which thaw out on your counter as the pizza bakes, waiting to be torn up and placed on top when ready to serve. That method works, but any prosciutto flavor just doesn't really come through except a thin trace of saltiness. I'll blame the cheese(s) - according to the ingredients list (which I'll link to, my pictures came out awful), there's six here: burrata, mozzarella, mascarpone, pecorino romano, parmigiano reggiano, and fontal. It sounds like a nice and fancy blend - I'd butcher half the names - but the outcome just isn't that great. It just tastes kinda flat, without too much flavor except a little olive-oily and salt, with some faint garlic, and more or less feels spongy on most bites. Once again, perhaps my tongue isn't sophisticated enough to enjoy the complexities of a fine cheese meld like the stuff on here, but, once again, meh.

But I guess I'd understand people liking this a lot. Like Sandy, for instance. The fact this was a fairly acceptable white pizza-esque consumable good was a big plus for her- no tomato sauce! Not like that dissuades her from enjoying regular pizza, but, anyways. The arugula and crispy crust were also a hit with her, enough to make this a desired repeat buy for the $4.99 it cost, though she'll admit there wasn't much memorable about the cheese mix except how fancy it sounded. Sandy went ahead and gave it a four. That's just too high for me - not enough flavor to really compel me, and when the absolute highlight of a pizza is the crust, I think it says more about the pizza as a whole than the crust. I just can't muster much more than a perfectly middlin' 2.5.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Burrata, Prosciutto & Arugula Flatbread: 6.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons.

Trader Giotto's Arugula & Parmigiano Reggiano Ravioli

Every time I hear the word "arugula," I think of the movie My Blue Heaven with Steve Martin. I was too young to really appreciate the film the first time I saw it, but the scene in the grocery store where he asks for arugula has stuck with me for the past 25 years. "It's a veg-e-ta-ble."

And apparently "parmigiano reggiano" is just a fancy way to say "parmesan cheese." But put together like that, it's pretty hard to speak the title of this product without trying to sound like an Italian mafia don from New York City. Near the end of a recent podcast episode, you can hear my sad attempt at saying "Trader Giotto's Arugula & Parmigiano Reggiano Ravioli" with an Italian accent. And if you like that, please check out my even-more-offensive Indian, Danish, and Japanese accents on our YouTube channel.

Whether you say it with an Italian accent or can barely pronounce it at all, you have to admit that arugula and parmigiano reggiano is a great combo. And it's even better inside ravioli pasta. It's a far cry from the bizarre "fusion" experiment we recently checked out called Trader Joe's Chicken Pot Pie Ravioli—admittedly, a mostly successful experiment. But this product tastes classic...like a time-honored family recipe from the Old Country—not that I know anything about the Old Country. I'm about as Italian as the Queen of England. But it tastes like something that you'd get from a mom and pop's Italian place. Not a hole-in-the-wall pizza place, either. Like maybe The Olive Garden, but much better. It's a delicious, balanced blend of veggies, cheese, and pasta, and it goes great with olive oil and Trader Joe's Shaved Cheese Blend. All of the flavors are somewhat subtle, but very pleasant. They go together so well because no single ingredient outshines the others, taste-wise.

The amalgam of parmesan and arugula is nice and smooth. There are no chunks of veggies or cheese. They're blended together to an almost creamy consistency. There's definitely a little more substance to the mixture than just plain cheese by itself, but it's not a "chunky" experience by any means. Even the Chicken Pot Pie Ravioli had more body to it, since there were hunks of carrots and peas and tiny whispers of chicken in that product. We enjoyed the texture in both cases, but for different reasons.

This pasta is easy to prepare and reasonably priced at $3 for the package. Sonia and I both recommend it.

Bottom line: 8 out of 10.

Trader Joe's 5 Cheese Greek Spiral

Every once in a while, someone makes the assertion that I am a talented writer. Even more every once in a while, that someone is not my mom. And then, yet even more every once in a while, I get the question of why I basically only write about Trader Joe's products, and not things like politics or social issues or other weighty, important muckity muck like that.

Easy. We all need a break from that. Just check your Facebook newsfeed. And just consider me pretty hesitant to add yet another clamoring voice to that festering noise pile of opinion, when really, at the end of the day, I'll either agree with you, or we'll balance each other out, so either way we're good in my opinion. Let's talk happy stuff like food instead.

That's why in this review of Trader Joe's 5 Cheese Greek Spiral, I'll avoid all that Greek/EU economic WTFery going on (that's a Greek spiral in its own way). Instead, revisit my classic 5 Cheese Frusta review here, because perfect segue...

Much like that frusta, all the cheeses in this spirally guy just kinda melt all together in an indistinguishable meld. And instead of cheesy, I'd say it tastes more salty and perhaps even gritty. I know for sure what gouda is supposed to taste like - not there. And I've been to enough Greek food festivals to be confident that I'd be able to identify the others, even if I'm not 100% sure what either "semi-hard" (flaccid?) or "blue" (not "bleu") cheese is...and no feta? Hrmmm.

That's not quite all, either. The phyllo roll seems to be one long, long section of dough sheets rolled up, but no base to hold them together, so cutting the pie-shaped section like the one picture on the box front results in multiple crescent-shaped sections. Plus, while baking in the oven, the whole thing was just kinda spewing out grease and stuff, which dampened my enthusiasm somewhat. It's not like that should have been unexpected, but still. The end result is a greasy, crispy, kinda bland, yet kinda salty dish that would be okay alongside some other, more successful Greek-inspired TJ's products, but don't make this one the star of a Greek feast.

 Not too much else to say. Sandy seemed indifferent when we ate this about a week ago, so I was surprised when she decided to give it a four. "Just so crispy!" she exclaimed. I'll give it that....but not much else.  It takes a little more to get my zorbas dancing.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's 5 Cheese Greek Spiral: 6 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's Blarney Scone

Before moving to the greater Philadelphia area, which has a huge Irish population, I was unaware of the existence of Irish soda bread—or other authentic Irish traditions like "Irish Potatoes," corned beef sandwiches with sauerkraut, and Shamrock Shakes. Okay, I'm just kidding about the Shamrock Shakes. 

And to be fair, Irish Potatoes aren't Irish either—they're...Philly-ish. Not really sure about corned beef. It seems like there might be some contention as to whether that's an Irish tradition, or an American one...or possibly even an English one. The very fact they eat it with sauerkraut might even give the Germans some stake in the matter, and...well, I've digressed far enough already.

But, Nathan, you say—with your extreme whiteness, red features, and "MacFarland" for a middle name, aren't you super Irish? No. I'm not. I mean, not strictly. On one side, I'm descended from Scottish Presbyterians that lived in Northern Ireland for some time in order to persuade the stubborn Irish that the King of England wasn't really that bad and that the Pope in Rome wasn't really that great, and that shaving off a third of their island was a small price to pay to avoid having their butts kicked repeatedly by the Brits. So...Irish in a sense, yet probably not at all popular with proper Irish folk. And now that I've publicly made myself a target for the IRA, here ends the digression. I promise this time.

A clever play on the words "Blarney Stone," this loaf of high-rise bread is not a true scone, at least not in the sense that I think of. It's not particularly sweet, except for the raisins scattered throughout the bread. It's not at all like "raisin bread" either, in that there's no cinnamon and very little sugar. It tastes similar to rye bread to me—but with no marbling of any kind. What makes it "soda bread" is the presence of baking soda as a rising agent, rather than yeast...and it might be my imagination, but I want to say you can taste that difference pretty clearly. It's nothing spectacular in the flavor department, but not at all unappealing, either.

Texture-wise, it's a nice, soft bread, but very crumby. Too crumby. It was extremely difficult to cut individual pieces off of the loaf, and nearly impossible to place said pieces in a traditional toaster without losing most of the bread to the fiery recesses of the sweltering appliance. I enjoyed just grabbing chunks from the sizable 10-serving "scone" and eating them plain. I must say, it goes well with cream cheese too, if you're craving a bit more flavor. The $4 loaf was a decent value and fun to try, although don't expect anything super exciting in tastebud-land. This isn't really a dessert. 

Double 3.5's and Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Bottom line: 7 out of 10.