Trader Joe-San Wasabi Peas

“The mind, once stretched by a new idea, never returns to its original dimensions.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson

This is one of those "unsexy" bagged products that we generally avoid reviewing, at least while there are still weird, complicated dishes left on TJ's shelves that are as of yet unreviewed. But honestly, these understated little snackable morsels are what drew me to Trader Joe's in the first place, some 10 years ago. And not just the wasabi peas. When you're sitting on a park bench next to some local yokel that hasn't discovered Trader Joe's yet, and he sees you snacking on Orange Flavored (Dried) Cranberries, just think of the power you have over him when he realizes you're not snacking on raisins. Imagine that transcendent moment of mindblowing revelation that guy has—this poor schmuck who just realized that "craisins" were a thing—when he realizes you're snacking on orange flavored dried cranberries. Similar mind-altering epiphanies occur when that same dude who thinks you're crunching on peanuts realizes you're eating peas covered in wasabi mustard. If you're in NYC or L.A., you're probably thinking, "Yeah right! As if there are people who don't know about Trader Joe's Wasabi Peas yet." But trust me, in middle America, those people exist. They're still the majority in a lot of small towns. And I'm not belittling them. I used to be one of them. They're good, God-fearing Americans that aren't fortunate enough to have a Trader Joe's yet. 

But for the rest of us, the indoctrinated city-dwellers, Trader Joe's is nothing new. Sometimes when I'm meeting someone for the first time and I'm telling them about how I rob banks for a living, I often slip in something about my hobbies: this blog, for example. And I swear, on more than one occasion, the person has nodded his head, recollecting a life-changing event involving a stranger on a park bench with a mysterious snack bag, and said something along the lines of, "Yeah. That's cool. Trader Joe's. I love their wasabi peas." There's something iconic about these wasabi peas. And I'm not going to erroneously assume that TJ's is the only place you can get wasabi peas. But I might make the bold assertion that TJ's is the leading force in the world for making wasabi peas mainstream. They didn't invent the orange craisin. They brought the orange craisin to the masses. Actually, maybe Ocean Spray did that. But that doesn't support the point I'm trying to make. So never mind.

As for the peas themselves, they're very crunchy. They don't taste much like peas to me. It's more of a nutty flavor. They're similar to peanuts in terms of size and crunchability, too. Their wasabi level is not unlike that of the wasabi seaweed. Wanna freak out a Canadian tourist? Eat wasabi seaweed next to him on a park bench. Say, "They don't sell this at Tim Hortons, eh?" 

Can you tell I'm bitter about the USA not even medaling in hockey?

So if you haven't checked these peas out already, go ahead and do so. Find your favorite park bench and blow someone's mind. Be warned, though, it's difficult to eat a bunch at one time. Try them on a salad or in soup. They're tasty-ish, but the novelty factor does wear off eventually. Sonia gives them 3.5 stars. Me too.

Bottom line: 7 out of 10 stars.

Trader Joe's Orange Flavored Cranberries

Here's a semi-apology in advance of the rest of today's review. Admittedly, Trader Joe's Orange Flavored Cranberries are far from the sexiest foodstuffs that have been reviewed on this here blog. Originally, I was planning a longwinded exposition on the unexpected and unlabeled sheer cherry-ness (no, not cheeriness, but definitely cherry-ness) and the rare implementation of the double ampersand on the Blueberry & Pomegranate Flakes & Clusters Cereal, but Nathan beat me to it by about 8 months. Though we lack a perfect track record, we try avoid doubling up on product reviews. Wanna see where we goofed? Check this and this review of strawberry lemonade, or this one and this one going over the malabari parathra. Since it's been over a week since last stopping at TJ's (the shame!) when we loaded up on a lot of old trustworthy reliables, I had to scour the depths of my pantry to find something, anything to get reviewed, so here we are. At least I'm not making up fictitious conversations abut cans of coconut milk again.

Regardless, these are some pretty good little fruity guys. I kinda want to refer to them as "Nature's SweetTarts" but that's probably a little bit inaccurate on a few different levels. Meh. I've never had (or don't remember) ever having Craisins, but these are probably pretty similar. There can't be too much difference from one dried cranberry to the next. If you're not too familiar, think raisin, except a little tougher and chewier, and tasting like, of all things, a cranberry. Go figure.

Tell ya what, though: These are some serious flavor-packed dried berries. It's much more than what I expected. It kinda takes a few bites to really get the orange flavor flowing, but once that citrus tide hits, it's there to stay, in just about equal power to the cranberry. Think super juicy mandarin for a good flavor comparison. I honestly can't eat more than a small handful or two before being done with them - the juxtaposition of sweet and tart is just too potent for mass consumption by their lonesome. But mix them in some muffins or trail mix or a salad or whatever else you'd like, and they'd make a pretty welcome flavo-burst, methinks.

One thing I wonder, though, and I didn't notice them until I snapped the picture of the ingredients and nutritional info: for all this orange flavor, there's no Vitamin C. I'm no expert on such things, but if there's "natural orange and citrus flavor", that means something like some juices, and doesn't that have to transmit some Vitamin C? Unless it's something like some "natural" orange flavor Fun Dip or something. That just strikes me as a little odd.

Anyways, TJ's orange cranberries are a fairly regular resident of our pantry. Sandy regularly makes oatmeal for a breakfast on the go on weekdays, and she usually opts for plain oatmeal with some of these and a smal handful of almonds. I thought she picked these up all the time because she really, truly enjoyed them, but come to find out, that's not the case. " Eh, I usually get them because they're about the cheapest dried fruit I like," she said. I think a sackful costs about two bucks for a seemingly generous cup and a half, so it's not a bad deal. She gives them a three, while I see that and raise half a spoon.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Orange Flavored Cranberries: 6.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons   

Trader Joe's Ancient Grain Pizza

When a bag of grains has been sitting in Trader Joe's warehouse for a couple years, instead of wasting it, they stick it in one of their products like this pizza, a loaf of whole grain bread, or a tub of hearty Lentil Soup. The word "ancient" is actually a subtle disclaimer that lets you know these grains have been around for a while, as required by the FDA. It's either that or "Trader Joe's Really Old Expired Grains Pizza," so of course they go with "ancient."

I hope that most of you have realized by this point that the previous paragraph is entirely ridiculous, fictional, and hopefully mildly amusing. If you want to read about the ancient grains trend as well as the inevitable backlash against it, click here. I won't even pretend I know about all that stuff. When choosing food at Trader Joe's, my mental process goes something like this: "Ooh! Ancient Grains! Something about asparagus! This is potentially better for me than a McDonald's cheeseburger! I'll take it!" But seriously though, pizza doughs featuring einkorn, emmer, and spelt—or any grains that automatically get red lines beneath them from spell check (which all three of those did)—inevitably give rise to more interesting conversations than pizza doughs made exclusively with wheat.

Which brings me to my first point and major complaint about this product: why go to all that trouble to build a time machine, go back to the ancient Fertile Crescent to raid unsuspecting Mesopotamian farmers, take their unique grains back through the stargate with you, all the while risking hazardous temporal paradoxes that could negate your very existence, just to pollute your ancient grain medley with wheat flour? That's right folks, "wheat flour" is the main ingredient in this pizza's crust. I mean, really TJ's? Either you're playing some cruel trick on gluten-sensitive people, or einkorn, emmer, and spelt just really don't taste that good by themselves. I thought the ancient grains were the main attraction of this product. Apparently not.

So that's definitely something working against this product. Another weakness was the texture of the veggies. Sonia and I both agree that asparagus might have worked had they only used asparagus tips. But there were no tips. Just stalks. And even the best asparagus stalks are a little chewy/stringy. These were no exception, though I must note that they tasted fine and made a decent side dish when removed from the pizza. Also the tomatoes were a bit too chunky. Both Sonia and I would have preferred fewer/smaller tomatoes and more of the tomato sauce, which was spread quite thin, but tasty. And Sonia is a huge fan of whole raw tomatoes, while I am definitely not. I love tomato sauces, soups, and derivatives, but not the fruit itself. So for me, it was partly a taste thing, while for Sonia it was more about texture.

So there are a few weaknesses with this pizza for sure. But there was enough good stuff going on that we enjoyed it overall. Wheat or not, the crust was very good. It kinda reminded me of Trader Giotto's Whole Wheat Dough. It was nutty, hearty, and had a bit more body than ordinary pizza crust. And it went perfectly with the delicious blend of cheeses: provolone, maasdam, and reibekase. The cheese and the crust by themselves were amazing. Sonia and I got to talking about what toppings, if any, would have enhanced this crust/cheese combo. We decided some crisp sliced peppers wouldn't have been bad, or maybe even some fake meats. All in all, it's a unique pizza with excellent crust and cheese, but we weren't thrilled with the selection of toppings. Plus, we're not sure why they didn't go the gluten-free, wheat-free route. Double 3.5's for this one.

Bottom line: 7 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Sai Tung Green Curry & Red Gaba Rice

Well, I've written at length before about my love of most Thai cuisine, so let's skip all that mumble grumble and get down to the business of reviewing one of the latest, greatest, easiest, tastiest, purportedly authenticish dishes that has been scavenged from the corners of the earth and brought right to a freezer aisle near you -  Trader Joe's Sai Tung Green Curry & Red Gaba Rice.

Man, that's a long product name.

Anyways, according to Trader Joe's, "sai tung" is Thai for "take out." I wasn't able to find independent verification of that translation in the 5 seconds I spent on Googling the matter, so let's roll with that. Hmm, ethnocentrically speaking, I thought that take out food was more or less an American thing. I wonder what the quality of take out Tupperware in other parts of the world are.

Overall, the sai tung is a pretty respectable dish. First, it's MASSIVE. The product shot I included here? That's less than half of what came on our $2.99 platter. It's kinda obviously packaged to be a microwavable lunch or dinner onto itself, which even for a guy with a bottomless pit of a stomach like me, would be a bit much. Sandy and I instead used it as a side dish the other night with some baked fish. The rice and curry come frozen in a compartmentalized plastic dish, not (unfortunately) the cool looking bowl on the box cover. And even though I followed the instructions carefully, it still took almost twice as long to nuke as the directions stated because both the rice and the curry are so densely packed in. Maybe Nathan can give me some lessons, that microwave wizard him.

Once it was finally heated, it tasted downright good. The red rice is of the sprouted variety, so it's a little extra protein and a lot of extra bite, kinda a texture closer to quinoa than regular white rice. Grainy, a little chewy, but definitely good. As for the curry, it doesn't disappoint. The sauce starts off nice and sweet and coconut milky, before laying a spice wallop on the taste buds before quickly retreating back to the sweetness. I'll admit it took me a few bites to really get into it, but once I was, I was hooked. I've had curries that were a little more complex and layered out at restaurants, but for a freezer meal, it was more than acceptable. There's a lot of not-common-in-USA greens mixed in - coconut shoots, morning glory, banana flowers - which if you don't mind chomping on something that kinda looks and feels like a soggy forkful of yardwork actually tastes pretty darn good in a greeny way. Sandy strategically avoided all that shrubbery, leaving more for me, which I didn't mind one bit.

"Oooooooh I like it," Sandy said when I asked for her thoughts a few minutes ago. "That curry sauce...." Whenever she says mentions she likes something and kinda trails off (which happens fairly commonly) I always kinda mentally picture her doing the Homer Simpson "Mmm, beer" thing. It was kinda surprising when she said she'd give it only a 2.5, though. She explained she artifically lowered her grade because she was subconciously upset she couldn't have more of it thanks to a diet regime she's trying out for a few weeks. "If I could've had the whole thing, like for lunch, I would've given it a four, probably," she said. Well, I'll give my a score a little boost to try and compensate. Good stuff.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Sai Tung Green Curry & Red Gaba Rice: 7 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's Coffee á Cocoa

I think this item was first brought to our attention via Instagram. Sonia pointed out the photo to me, and somehow I got the impression that it was like a mixture of hot chocolate and coffee.

It's not.

It's coffee with traces of chocolatiness. Perhaps I'd describe it as having a "chocolate finish" if I were feeling generous. Disappointing for people like me who don't really like the taste of coffee. I'm not sure what "Chocolate Fudge Oil" is, but it's not nearly as chocolatey as it sounds. I've never even heard of it before, and I lived in Chocolate Town, USA for five years. That's right, just a few blocks from Hershey Park. It smelled like chocolate there, although some say the chocolate smell is artificially produced to cover up the smell of the nearby sewage treatment plant. People used cocoa shells for mulch there. But there wasn't much talk about "Chocolate Fudge Oil." Probably because it's not that chocolatey.

Now don't get me wrong, I know Hershey's isn't the best chocolate on earth, especially by chocolate snob standards. Like coffee, I'm not really into chocolate all that much, either—Hershey's or otherwise. I'm not one of those weirdos that dislikes chocolate, either. Given the choice between coffee and chocolate, I'll take the chocolate. I always mention Hershey's because I lived there. That's my reference point. It's what I'm familiar with. If I had grown up in Bruges, I would undoubtedly have an extraordinarily sophisticated Belgian Chocolate reference point that would make me seem waaay more suave, sexy, and worldly. But hey, I'm from Pennsyltucky, yo. Go Hershey Bears!

There is talk about "mocha" on the can. But the mochas I've had are a bit heavier on the chocolate part of the mixture. Plus, you actually make this by putting ground coffee in a filter and putting it in a coffee maker. It's not a powdered mixture like hot chocolate.

But I must say, on the plus side, it does have a rich, medium-dark roast type flavor going on. Smooth and a little nutty, like it says on the can. I think if I hadn't expected something "choco-riffic," I might have been a lot more impressed. If they had pitched this as some random Brazilian Arabica coffee and not emphasized chocolate so much, I might have been thoroughly pleased. As I've written before, one of the ways I measure the success of a coffee is how little sugar and milk I need to add to make it palatable. And I added relatively little to this happy blend.

So right now, I'm going to summon my inner coffee connoisseur and give this three stars. No wait...three and a half stars. No. Wait. Three stars. And I'm going to make a confession. When Sonia isn't around, I often guess her score. I've published posts with her score as just a guess on my part, but I pass it off as her official score. BUT, the thing is, I'm almost always right. Like dead on. So I'm going to go ahead and guess her score with this product. I think she'll give it four stars. It's not rocket science. She's a predictable lass. That's LASS, with an "L." Gotta love her, though. So cute.

Aha, her text just came in. I was right. It's a four.

So. Bottom line: 7 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Organic Brown Rice & Quinoa Fusilli Pasta

Ever see the Portlandia bit about pasta? If there's one Portlandia skit that could sum up Sandy and I, this would be it, much like this one's so true about Pittsburgh or this one about my brother and sister-in-law. I mean, I'm not sure if you could say that we absolutely love pasta, but we sure as heck eat it often enough, at least once a week. In my bachelor days, it was probably closer to three or four times a week. And I think we'd miss it quite a bit if we had to remove from our diet altogether. That's just something so comforting about a bowl of warm, saucy pasta, the way it slides in, barely needing to be chewed, before continuing its way to the depths of your bely to sit like a brick for a few hours. It's even better with a little hot sauce splashed on - believe me, if you haven't tried. I don't care the shape - long noodles, spirals, elbows, penne tubes, twisties, itty bitty orzo, or my favorite to say, "acini de pepe" - just give me pasta, dang it.

Every once in a while, though, I figure it doesn't hurt to go and try something different to help fix my pasta jonesin'. A week or two ago, I was this close to getting the same ol' usual sack o' semolina when I happened to spy Trader Joe's Organic Brown Rice & Quinoa Fusilli a little further down the shelf. It looked yummy. It sounded healthier (Is it? I really have no idea). It was also priced a quite a bit spendier - $3 versus $1 for the usual - but I figured it'd be worth the try.

Being honest, if Sandy were to buy this, not tell me, then cook it up without saying anything, I probably wouldn't have noticed much difference, except for the color. Even then, I would've figured it were wheat pasta, which this certainly isn't, being gluten-free and all. Knowing it was different, though, I tried to take note of any discernible distinctions. There's not much to work with, though. The taste is pretty close, perhaps slightly grainier, though certainly not grainy. I thought maybe it were a little thicker/chewier with a little more bite, but I'm not sold on it. The second time I made it, I mixed in a small handful of leftover elbow macaroni we had, and texture-wise the two were pretty close. Overall, I'd say the bite was much closer to the a-maize-ing corn than the cringe-worthy rice for pasta alternates.

For those in need of a celiac-friendly diet, I'd heartily recommend the rice and quinoa fusilli - it's darn near authentic-tasting without much of any drawback. For those who aren't, well...it's not anything terribly special. In the end, I kinda want it to be - I mean, organic pasta made from quinoa and brown rice kinda should have something  distinctive about it, right? Maybe this does, but I'm not picking it up. Sandy agrees. "Eh, it's like pasta" she said. "Nothing too much to say one way or another." Much like me. I think we'll call it matching threes.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Organic Brown Rice & Quinoa Fusilli Pasta: 6 out of 10 Golden Spoons.

Trader Joe's "Just Sauce" Turkey Bolognese

As the package boldly indicates, this is indeed "just sauce." And in case there's still some confusion about the issue, we'd just like to clarify that this item does NOT come with bread, it does NOT come with crackers, NOR does it come with any form of pasta. It's just sauce. But unless you enjoy eating sloppy joe filling by itself, you'll probably want to supply your own bread or bread-like substance. I suppose this dish could be likened to a beanless chili of some kind and consumed via spoon, but really...I recommend eating it with bread. Pasta would work, too.

In fact, Bolognese sauce traditionally pairs with pasta. As the name would suggest, it originates from Bologna, Italy. And that reminds me of my wife's childhood nickname: "Sonia Bologna," which I affectionately resurrect from time to time when I feel like I need to be smacked. But that's neither here nor there.

I liken this sauce more to a sloppy joe filling than to a pasta sauce since most pasta sauces I've experienced either have a tomato-esque flavor, as in Marinara sauce, or they're creamy, as in Alfredo sauce. This sauce is meaty. Turkey is definitely the main attraction here. The only other flavor that jumped out at me was licorice. Black licorice. 

I looked on the ingredients list, and of course, there's no black licorice. However, dried fennel is listed. I began Googling "fennel tastes like..." and just as I expected, the search box auto-completed my inquiry with "licorce" and "black licorice" before I even finished typing. Voila. I knew I tasted something licoricey. Granted, fennel and black licorice are not the same flavor, but they are extremely similar.

Here's a picture of the product by itself. It's not much to look at. It brings to mind things that should never ever be mentioned on a food review blog.

Try it on pasta if that floats your boat. But I say try it on bread. Just think of a decent sloppy joe, replace the beef with lean-ish turkey, and add black licorice flavoring, and that's pretty much what you have here. Both Sonia and I wished it had beans, onions, or some other substance to it, but I guess then it would be chili.

I give it 3 out of 5 stars. Sonia gives it 3.5.

Bottom line: 6.5 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Egg Nog Ice Cream

As I mentioned in a post long, long ago: I. LOVE. EGGNOG. To me, sipping a smooth glass of eggnog is like drinking liquid Christmas. Southern Comfort brand eggnog is still at the top of my recommendations list, but I'm also a fan of Hood now, too. And as I mentioned before, Trader Joe's brand falls somewhere in the middle of that list.

All of those brands come sans alcohol, including SoCo, and I've always thought that liquor kind of ruined the thick, golden goodness of the 'nog...that is, until I discovered Jägnog. Rum, whiskey, and bourbon are all too harsh to mix with eggnog. If you're debating what to mix with your holiday beverage, it's Jägermeister all the way. Trust me.

And if you're debating about which eggnog ice cream to go with, as much as I want to recommend this Trader Joe's brand, I simply can't get behind it wholeheartedly. I've only ever had eggnog ice cream once or twice before this TJ's pint, and the only other brand name I can recall having for sure is Turkey Hill. Given the choice between the two, I'd have to choose TH.

Sonia's only developed an appreciation for eggnog in the past few years, but she's come a long way since her days of eggnog-less-ness. She now recognizes it as the nectar of the gods that it is. She's also found a way to embrace our friend Joe's "Super Premium" eggnog ice cream even more than I have.

What do I have against it? Well, it's hard to put my finger on...but it's just kinda boring. I feel like the flavor lacks spices. The ingredients testify that there are indeed nutmeg and vanilla bourbon flavorings present, but it just doesn't taste that way to me. It's just a big vat of yellowish sweetness with a few flecks of something or other floating through it. And I guess all eggnog is bad for you, but ohmygoodness look at the nutrition information. 

It does taste like eggnog—but it's a very bubblegummy eggnog. I realize most eggnogs taste similar to bubblegum, but if they added a little pink coloring, I feel like this could pass as "Trader Joe's Bubblegum Ice Cream." And my biggest problem is the aftertaste. I don't remember TJ's Premium Egg Nog having any aftertaste at all, but this stuff lingers like pine needles through the living room carpet in January. Sonia says she didn't notice it. I'm curious if I'm alone here. Who's right? Me? Or my beautiful wife? Yes, yes, we know the wife "is right," but I mean who's really right? If you've tried this ice cream, leave a comment below to fuel our good-natured spousal disagreement.

Sonia gives this eggnog ice cream 4 stars. I give it 2.5.

Bottom line: 6.5 out of 10.

Trader Giotto's Panettone Classico

Since panettones were originally holiday treats from Milan, Italy, I decided to write my praises for them in the Italian terza rima poetic style. It's in near-perfect iambic pentameter, too, just FYI. Wanna hear it? Here it goes:

This single panettone looked really great, 

And though the box suggested "eat alone," 

The look on my wife's face said "Heck no, Nate."

I'd suffer wrath from Sonia's shrieks and moans.

We shared this yummy treat from Italy. 

I like it more than all of TJ's scones. 

Its soft and flaky crust was buttery. 

The candied orange peels and raisins did 

Bring such great joy to us, my wife and me. 

Inside the bread the dried fruits deeply hid, 

But plentiful they were, not one alone. 

A grown-up taste, yet sweet enough for kids. 

I recommend this scrumptious panettone 

That comes from off the shelves at Trader Joe's. 

Sonia was actually not as impressed as I was, mostly because she's had panettones before. Kind of like Russ and the poutine I guess. It's much easier to impress us when we don't have anything to compare TJ's product to. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. Sonia thought the orange peels made it taste too citrusy. I'm usually not big on eating orange rinds, but I thought they worked in this instance. 

So yeah, the last two lines in that third stanza aren't entirely true. Ever heard of poetic license? I give the panettone a 4. Sonia gives it a 3.

Bottom line: 7 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Belgian Dark Chocolate Bar

I've been known to exaggerate or flat-out make up stories time to time, but this one, I swear, is true: Back in college, between my junior and senior year, I worked with this one guy whose name I cannot remember, but he was rather, well, unique. Whenever he spoke (which was quite often), he spoke in this rich, silky, charming British accent that even made me swoon a little bit. The ladies loved it. So, one night when we were finishing a shift up, it was absolutely jarring and disorienting to hear him speak....with no accent at all. I think I just stared him stupidly, all wide-mouthed and whatnot, as he caught my expression and said, "Yeah, I actually grew up like 20 minutes away from here. I use an accent because the chicks dig it...it makes me sound mysterious and interesting." I asked him how well that was working out for him. He winked as he flipped his accent back on and said "Very well." That was the only time I ever heard him break character. 

I kinda thought about that guy as I reflected upon the consumption of the Trader Joe's Dark Chocolate Bar. It comes down to appearance management, to make oneself seemingly different from the "ordinary," even when the "ordinary isn't even necessarily a bad thing. There's nothing wrong with a guy from Port Matilda as is, nor anything wrong with a typical candy bar. But let's embellish it a bit. See here.  First of all, this is "Belgian" dark chocolate. How's that different from regular dark chocolate? Going into the purchase, I couldn't tell you, but the fact it said "Belgian" made it sound much, much cooler. Then there's also Thing on the label, holding that To/From gift tag, implying this is one serious present-worthy chocolate bar.

Welllllll....I'm not saying it's a bad dark chocolate bar. It's pretty decent, actually. Think of a good, dark but not crazy-dark chocolate bar, and you'll have this. But there's the point. Perhaps it's my complete lack of Belgian cultural awareness outside of pricey Trappist beers and classic cinema, but I can't tell you what makes this different and/or sets it apart from, say, a Hershey bar made in the good U.S. of A. I'm aware of the fact that the package says it is made in Belgium, which as my wife strained greatly to point out to me, makes it a "Belgian" bar, but I wanted to know what made it Belgian, if you know what I mean. The package isn't even the colors of the Belgian flag. Maybe one or two of you kindhearted, patient souls can out there can point me in the right direction.

Regardless, it's one thick, hefty bar that made out of six segmented logs (so it's only half the bar pictured). It's not easy to bust them apart - Sandy accidentally thwacked it off the kitchen table and it merely, begrudgingly, broke in half. If you had to build a house out of chocolate, they'd be a pretty good exterior wall. Yet at the same time, they're not too cumbersome for biting and chewing. Must be some of that chocolately melt in your mouth, not in your hand magic.

I'm pretty sure I paid two bucks for it at the local TJ's shop. I'd gladly enough pay another two bucks for it again, if they didn't have one or two of our other favorites readily available and I really needed that chocolate fix. My beloved wifey deems it worthy a four. I'm a little behind that.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Belgian Dark Chocolate Bar: 7 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's Pumpkin Cream Cheese Muffins

These should be called "Pumpkin Muffins with Cream Cheese" because as they are, it sounds like they're regular muffins with pumpkin cream cheese. But they're pumpkin muffins with regular cream cheese. Just sayin'.

Unlike the recently reviewed Pumpkin Croissants, the pumpkin seeds on these muffins didn't really add much to the product. In fact, I wish they had done away with them altogether. The cream cheese, while pleasantly creamy and rich, was just a single slab right in the middle of the muffin. 

Sonia kept expressing her desire for more cream cheese. I do agree with that sentiment, but I also must point out that my well-thought-out biting strategy went a long way in preserving the lone dollop of cream cheese until I was nearly done with the bread part of the product. The procedure involved biting straight in from the perimeter of the cupcake and placing the incisors just at the edge of the cream cheese center. In this manner, a proportional amount of cream cheese came with each bite, and there was even a tiny amount left in the core of the muffin which could be coupled with the portion of bread just beneath it. This method can be improvised, but for greater accuracy, you might want to employ the use of a compass and protractor. I would draw a diagram for you, but alas, I am not as talented as my cross-state blogging comrade when it comes to MS Paint illustrations.

I personally liked the bread quite a bit. It was moist and slightly pumpkintastic. I would have eaten it sans a heavy topping, but Sonia insisted that it required cream cheese or frosting to be palatable. That's unusual, since I'm normally the one pining for more sugar and fat.

All in all, I think these make a happily-autumnal snack or dessert. If moist pumpkin bread sounds good to you, check 'em out. Just don't expect a whole lot of cream cheese.

Sonia gives them 3 stars. I give 'em 3.5.

Bottom line: 6.5 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Dark Chocolate Cashew Brittle with Sea Salt

Have you seen those Jimmy Kimmel videos of parents who tell their kids that they ate all of their Halloween candy? It's so cruel yet just so hilarious. I'm not sure that I'd ever do such a thing to my daughter when she's old enough for trick-or-treating and a big pillowcase full of candy to gorge herself on within three days just like how dear ol' dad used to do.

But I have no problem doing that with Sandy. None whatsoever. So one night, as she was coming down from upstairs, I hid the last few remnants of our box of Trader Joe's Dark Chocolate Cashew Brittle with Sea Salt in our utensil drawer. When she asked where it was, I simply said, "Umm, sorry, ate it all." Please note: this was entirely plausible, as let's just say I have a history. Her reaction: Perfect, from the initial eyebrow raising, to the lip mini-quiver, to a definite pout, to only semi-playfully punching me in the arm. By that, I mean it's a good thing I don't bruise easily. It's also good that I'm a terrible liar (I smile waaaay too much), so she only half-believed me and took it easy. To really sell this next time, maybe I need to go get that plastic surgery some poker players get to help disguise their tells. 

Long time readers may know of my crazed, professed love of Trader Joe's Peanut Brittle. Seriously, it got weird for a while. It's safe to say I'm not quite as enamored with this particular version. It's not that it's not tasty or anything like that. Quite to the contrary. Much like it's aforementioned brethren, there's plenty of pieces the size of Greenland mixed in with itty bitty shards. Each piece is also definitely thicker than most brittles, adding an even bigger-than-usual crunch, and the sea salt makes a nice little addition. That's all well and good.

But there's two issues: the nuts and the chocolate. By "nuts" I more precisely mean nut distribution - some of those mega pieces had scarcely a nut or two in them, and if they were in there, they were hiding pretty deep down where you couldn't see them - like I said, it's very thick brittle. Meanwhile, some of the postage stamp-sized pieces had five gazillion cashews in them, which seems impossible except it isn't. Must be Time Lord technology, being bigger on the inside and all. And the chocolate - well, it's certainly good chocolate, as is most if not all of TJ's dark chocolate selections, but it just doesn't add that much, and instead kinda muddies the flavor some. Think about it this way: you already have a bunch of salty nuts fossilized into a rock solid chunk of corn syrup - how much more do you really need to play up the salty/sweet angle?

All that being said, yeah, Sandy and I housed it over two nights. The box isn't that big where we feel too guilty about it. It wasn't a terrible pick up for the four bucks or so, and it stands a more-than-decent chance to be a repeat purchase, even if just for something like a worky-office-holiday-party-type thing. Sandy's between three and a half or four spoons, and I'm a smidge behind that.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Dark Chocolate Cashew Brittle with Sea Salt: 6.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons  

Trader Joe's Mini Pecan Pies

I'm not sure how old Nathan is, but he must be older than I thought, or at least he has a much more old school music taste than I do. While I consider myself having a fairly encyclopedic song knowledge base, when he referenced that "Sweet Little Lies" song a few weeks back for a previous review of Trader Joe's Mini Pie Medley, I couldn't place that song whatsoever. Still can't. And it's not the first time that's happened, either.

I do, however, know another song called "Sweet Little Lies" by Michael Franti (one of the best concerts my wife and have been to, despite Franti's recent and kinda disappointing career turn), which she and I nearly simultaneously broke out into upon our first bite of Trader Joe's Mini Pecan Pies: "Give me pies, pies, pies, sweet little pies/ I gots to feed my sweet tooth/ Give me pies, pies, pies, sweet little pites/ Ummmm.....Help me fit into a toll booth?"

We added that last line because man, look at the nutritional information for these guys. Or maybe don't. Make of it what you will, but.....daaaaang. All that for a couple little bites of a little pie, when I honestly could eat two or three and not feel guilty until I looked at that? I'm 31, balding, mortgage, wife, kid, regular chiropractic appointments....I need to start watching that stuff.

So the question naturally becomes, are the micro-pies worth it? An excellent question, and I kinda waver back and forth on it. In the end, I'd say probably not, because I can't decide how much I like them. I mean, they're tasty, but....probably the tastiest part is the actual pie crust itself. It's shortbread style with some sugar glazed over top to add some sweetness that lingers and lingers well after the taste of the nut filling has gone away. It's like they put a lot of effort into the crust, and succeeded, but only to cover up the deficiency of the insides. It's a fair amount of pecans, and tons of brown sugar, and it tastes a little nutty and sweet but there's something missing. I'm not sure what it is. I've admitted before that I'm a pecan pie snob thanks to my Aunt Brenda's traditional Thanksgiving pie, and I'm not sure what she does differently (maybe she just licks her fingers while making the pie), and I know that it's probably not really a fair comparison, but man....there is something missing, and I can't shake that thought.

Regardless, the pies make for an okay dessert pick up. Just eat lots of raw veggies the rest of the day. I think the six pack cost somewhere around four or five bucks, and heat up in the oven in about 10 minutes. There's also a thaw-on-the-counter option, but that's been not-so-great before, so Sandy and I skipped out on that. Just a word to the wise: give them a few minutes to cool off before consuming, because the filling gets white-hot and stays that way for about five minutes after baking. Right, dear? Sandy liked them plenty, saying she wished there was more filling in them. About the only way that could happen would be a bigger pie, as they are amply engorged with the nutty parts. She gives them a four. I counter with a 2.5,

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Mini Pecan Pies: 6.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's Thai Lime Shrimp Skewers

I've never been to a Thai restaurant outside of Pittsburgh, so I don't know if this is the usual protocol or not, but when you order your fried rice or curry or what have you out here, you're asked how spicy you want it on a scale of 1 to 10. There are certain things I may do in my life with a questionable percentage of my gluteus maximus invested, but heat is not usually one of them. I have to go ten. Sometimes, I get extra spice on the side. One particular time several years ago, an acquaintance whom I was dining with stated he could handle hotter food than I ever could. Game on. Ordered a ten, got extra spice, coated every bite with the hottest chile powder, peppers and curry paste, and didn't take a single sip of water, drip one tear, or heck, even cough. He tried to match me, and it was a cute effort, but it fell far short. That guy's still intimidated of me to this very day.

So, yeah, the Thai spices. Love 'em, though I'm also learning to appreciate other flavors and aspects of Thai cuisine, like sweet coconut undertones, and as experienced here and there, lime leaves. It's a good thing, because otherwise, these Trader Joe's Thai Lime Shrimp Skewers would've been a rather large disappointment.

If you have any preconceived notions that all Thai food is spicy, throw it completely out the window here. These are not spicy at all, in any way that any tongue, branch of science, or philosopher could ever discern. In yet another example of TJ's exemplary track record in overall shrimp quality, each one of these are firm, fresh, non-fishy tidbits that heat up quickly and easily. For flavor, instead of the usual spicy suspects, it's all about the lime, but not in a citrusy Warhead-esque way, It's more refined. Such is the way of the kaffir lime. Not sure how to accurately describe it - Wikipedia uses words like "aromatic" and "astringent" which sounds like a smelly zit remover description to me - but perhaps it's like a limey answer to lemongrass. The citrus is subtle, while the herbal taste isn't but it isn't overpowering either. It's just good.

However, it ain't all perfect. This is yet another silly pet peeve that I'm slowly becoming more cognizant that I have, but the tails on? Really? Haven't we evolved past this? I hate shrimp tails, especially because it's not always easy to get the last little shrimp nub in them. My toddler daughter also kept reaching for pile of tails, much like she usually does while making a scene trying to grab clementine peels, except she loves clementines and didn't care for this shrimp whatsoever. Also, these got cold really fast after finishing cooking them. I'm talking ice cold in about three minutes. That might be more me than my little crustacean cronies - anybody with some insight? I could also live without the skewer itself, but meh. Also, please just a little spice. Please.


All told, the shrimp skewers aren't a bad buy. They're definitely much better than our previous meat-unnecessarily-on-a-stick purchase. You get five sticks with five shrimp on each for either five or six bucks. That's less than a quarter each, and given that I saw a bar advertising 90 cent wings as a special the other day, I'm thinking a restaurant would charge much more. Sandy liked 'em enough to score them a four without much to say one way or the other. I'll counter with a three.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Thai Lime Shrimp Skewers: 7 out of 10 Golden Spoons

 

Trader Joe's "this pumpkin walks into a bar..." Cereal Bars

Why did the pumpkin roll into a bar? It fell off the wagon.

Why was the jack-o-lantern scared to enter the bar? It had no guts.

Why did the pumpkin walk into a bar and then divide its circumference by its diameter? It wanted pumpkin pi.

These jokes are even worse than my strawberry walks into a bar jokes. And those were pretty bad. Plus, if any of you are like me, you're getting sick of pumpkin already. Thank goodness Russ's most recent review gave us a brief reprieve from What Pumpkin Products Are Good at Trader Joe's? But hey, this will be the last pumpkin review for a bit. Promise. Unless of course we see a really cool pumpkin product at TJ's that we've never had before. In that case, all bets are off.

So let me just cut to the chase here. These are pretty typical cereal bars. I think they taste like pumpkin, Sonia does not. She thinks they smell like pumpkin, probably due to the presence of pumpkin spices, but says they could just as easily be fig or apple. I totally disagree. They're just as sweet as a figgish flavor, but again, we have cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and allspice present; unmistakably pumpkinesque spices. 

And unlike any other pumpkin product we've reviewed this season, the main ingredient of this product is actually "pumpkin filling," which in my opinion virtually guarantees a satisfactory pumpkinosity level. (Special thanks to reader stevenp for allowing me to steal the word "pumpkinosity.") Granted, the main ingredient in the pumpkin filling isn't "pumpkin," but pumpkin isn't the main ingredient in anything. "Pumpkin" isn't even the main ingredient in a pumpkin! Water is. And that's your science lesson for the day, kids.

For her perceived lack of pumpkin, Sonia only gives these 3 stars. But then, Sonia smells like a giant piece of pumpkin pie this time of year. No, she doesn't have pumpkin spice perfume. There's just enough pumpkin in her system that the excess is coming out of her pores. I can't give this a lower score than I gave to the other "walks into a bar" bars. It's still a moist, bready, snacky, yummy breakfast bar, and this one has a fun, seasonal theme. So 4 stars from me.

Bottom line: 7 out of 10 stars.

Trader Joe's Country Pumpkin Spice Granola Cereal

Five little pumpkins sitting on a gate:
The first one said, "Oh my, it's time we ate!"
The second one said, "There are spices in the air."
The third one said, "And lots of TJ's fare."
The fourth one said, "Let's munch & munch & munch."
The fifth one said, "Let's have something with crunch!"
OOOhh OOOhh went the wind
And out went the lights
And the five little pumpkins rolled out of sight.

Then the five little pumpkins came upon a bowl of country granola. The first one said, "Hey, let's eat this stuff." 

And the second one was like, "Yeah, and let's put some pumpkin in it!"

"Pumpkin makes everything better," said the third one.

The fourth pumpkin added, "Especially around fall time!"

But the fifth pumpkin shook his head and said, "Dudes, I'm not into cannibalism. In case you hadn't noticed, we are pumpkins."

"True that, Number Five," replied pumpkin Number One, nodding.

Just then, pumpkin Number Two spied some innocent raisin people nearby. They were a deep purple color, had wrinkly skin, and were very tiny, even compared to little pumpkins. Number Three had a sinister look on his face. He knew what Number Two was thinking. Suddenly, Number Four said it: "Let's throw them in instead."

...And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how this granola came into being.

I recently made the observation that pumpkin-flavored products can taste very similar to cinnamon raisin products. That certainly applies here, where "raisins" are one of the main ingredients, and we see "dried pumpkin" after "vegetable oil" and "coconut" on the ingredients list. There's more coconut in this product than pumpkin, folks. It's not a terrible granola and raisin cereal, but I didn't find that happy homegrown harvest flavor I was looking for. There are hints of allspice, nutmeg, and ginger...and maybe just the subtlest ghost of actual pumpkin, but I personally wouldn't have minded a tad more pumpkin and nutmeg.

Sonia agrees about the pumpkin, though overall, I think she enjoyed the hearty oats and wheat base of the cereal even more than I did. She gives this product another 4. I give it another 3, and the five pumpkins are just happy they didn't have to sacrifice one of their own.

Bottom line: 7 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Pumpkin Spice Coffee

Maybe it's because I don't like coffee that much, or maybe it's because my taste buds are overloaded with pumpkin, but I wasn't particularly thrilled with this coffee. Sonia enjoyed it, however, and insists that this product is the first Trader Joe's pumpkin item this season that does have an adequate amount of pumpkindiculous flavor. 

I feel the opposite. I was happy with the pumpkinicity levels of our previous selections, but not with this one. We recently tried a Krispy Kreme pumpkin coffee beverage that was really sweet and really punkinny. It was a hit with the whole family. It tasted like candy. This coffee...well...tastes like coffee.

It reminded me a little of the Gingerbread Coffee we tried one chilly Yuletide long ago. Neither selection tastes bad, but both need a fair amount of sugar and milk to be palatable, in my opinion. There's a hint of pumpkin spice, but other than that, I just taste normal old coffee, complete with bitter earthiness and a bit of acidity.

But I'm no coffee connoisseur. I'm slowly earning my stripes as a pumpkin-flavored-thing expert, but I'm not sure how that will help me in life outside of this blog.

A few weeks into this fall season, and I think Sonia and I have overdone the pumpkin thing a bit. I'm starting to wish there were more fall-themed items that did not involve pumpkin. There are always harvest apple type dealies. And apparently, some sausages are associated with autumn. So maybe on our next Trader Joe's trip, we'll look for more stuff like that. But you folks who are jonesin' for more pumpkin, don't worry, we've still got a couple more pumpkinlicious product reviews coming down the pipeline. Plus, apparently Sonia is not ready to give up this nasty pumpkin habit. Even as I compose this post—I kid you not—she just sent me an email with the subject line: "Made with Real Pumpkins!!" Apparently Yogurtland is jumping on board the pumpkin bandwagon.

Sonia gives this coffee 4.5 out of 5 stars, stating that she likes the way the pumpkin spices and the medium roast flavor blend together. I give it 2.5 out of 5 stars.

Bottom line: 7 out of 10 stars.