Trader Joe's Indian Fare Palak Paneer and Trader Joe's Malabari Paratha

This whole week I've been crazy sick. My wife and I both got hit with what I'm assuming is H2N4, or "warthog fever" as I've been calling it. It's the latest mutation of the swine flu. I figure if the first strain had something to do with swine, then there was a second mutation that might have been named after potbelly pigs or something, and so on, up through boars and such, until they arrive at this horrific version which will logically be named after warthogs. Furthermore, when Sonia and I cough, it rather sounds like the grunting of a wild warthog. So there you have it: warthog fever.

I've been delirious these past five days from a high temperature and lots of medication. I take this generic NyQuil that makes me hallucinate so heavily that I believe that I've fully recovered overnight and then once it wears off, I realize that I'm still sick as a dog. It's a great scam: one becomes so attached to thinking that one is well, that you go ahead and take some more, even if there's little or no evidence that the medication is actually helping you fight off the flu. Er, but anyway, that's all just to say that if this blog post doesn't particularly make sense, it's probably because that cat got my girdle.

Oftentimes when ill, I like to eat spicy foods when I have enough of an appetite, as I find that the spices help clear my sinuses and charge up my body with a little energy and liveliness. Now, I don't keep track of what or how often I eat very well, unlike Russ who wisely keeps a detailed log of his daily intake, but I feel like I ate very little during this sickness. It's possible that I ate multiple meals during some of my NyQuil blackouts and I simply can't recall, however, I would think there would be evidence in the form of dirty plates and crumbs, etc. But again, I digress. All that to say that I was fairly hungry and ready to eat when we heated up these Indian dishes from TJ's.

Even though Mr. Shelly wasn't a huge fan of his most recent product like this, my last Indian dish from Trader Joe's was yummy, as was, incidentally, my last Indian snack from Archer Farms. However, all good international cuisine streaks must come to an end. And come to an end it did. The appearance of the palak paneer is as unappetizing as anything I've ever seen from Trader Joe's. It's a deep green mush, not unlike freshly juiced wheatgrass, but thicker and slightly darker. There are a few chunks of cheese throughout it, but by and large, it looks like...well, you know—something I've vowed not to talk about on this or any other food blog.

The taste is heavily vegetabley. And the "green" flavor as I shall call it overshadows the taste of the cheese bits. It's sort of bitter, although it's also kind of hard to describe, because it is a unique bitterness, if that makes any sense. There are some Indian spices, which did help clear my head for a moment, but they're not strong enough to make this dish worth trying simply out of love for hot Indian spices. Now, it might be the medication talking, but green sadness always makes the heart get grumpy.

Instead of eating this paneer with naan bread, we ate it with malabari paratha—an Indian food I've never heard of before. They're like little Indian pancakes. I really can't complain about these too much, but it's hard to separate them from the paneer, which I was definitely not a fan of. We cooked the paratha on the stove, and they came out rather oily...but maybe that's because we used too much oil when we pan fried them...? I didn't think we used that much, but who knows. In the state that Sonia and I have been in, it's a wonder we didn't pan fry them in TheraFlu. They're soft, white, and you can tear pieces off to dip in your paneer or whatever you've got. They don't have a whole lot of flavor, but I don't think they're meant to be a stand-alone item. 

Sonia gives 2 stars to the palak paneer. I'll be merciful and give it 2.5. Sonia gives 3.5 stars to the paratha, and I give it 3. It's been a sick, foggy week people, so everybody keep track of the sunshine, because the leprechauns are on the go this year.

Trader Joe's Indian Fare Palak Paneer. 

Bottom line: 4.5 out of 10 stars.

Trader Joe's Malabari Paratha. 

Bottom line: 6.5 out of 10 stars.

Trader Joe's Aloo Chaat Kati Pouches

Anything I can say about Hot Pockets, Jim Gaffigan has already said much better. As if I needed to remind myself, for whatever reason, a few months ago I was at Target and saw some pretzel/turkey/bacon/cheese montrosity that somehow looked, well, "appealing" isn't exactly the right word. It was more a word that somehow means "If such a thing as tasty Hot Pocket is possible, this would be it." Nope. Fail. Gross. Pretty much the cheese's fault. Maybe Archer Farms could take a better crack at it.

Anyways, despite the name of this particular product being Trader Joe's Aloo Chaat Kati Pouches, I will refer to them the rest of this post as being Trader Joe's Indian Hot Pockets, because you cannot tell me that they're not. They even come with crisping sleeves. They even call them "crisping sleeves." This is a Hot Pocket, through and through.

And, in stark contrast to most of our TJ's Indian food experiences whether current or past, they're a major disappointment. Chief reason: Look at the picture on the box. Looks like crispy, buttery, samosa-inspired crusty-carb incarnation. Then look at this picture, taken of my Indian Hot Pocket, after a few strategically placed bites:

Looks nothing alike. Furthermore, this particular crust? Uggggggggh. What comes to mind is stale Chuck E Cheese pizza crust flattened via steamroller. It's tough and chewy and not even remotely crusty. It's nasty. Granted, it could be better if baked, but I'm not going to eat these at home where I'm trying my best to eat meals without barcodes.

The rest of the filling is okay, I guess. To be honest, I wasn't much of a fan. Between my two IHPs there were about three discernible chickpeas, a whole bunch of mush, some typical Indian spices, nothing that really said "chaat masala" or "tamarind chutney" to me, and whole bunch of big ol' chunks of onions. Now, I like onions, quite a bit actually, but there were too many of them and too little of the other stuff. It was enough that my breath literally and tangibly felt funny until I could come home and brush. Plenty hearty and filling, though. It wasn't enough to dissuade me from being interested in an aloo chaat dish the next time I go to an Indian restaurant, especially if they look something like this, but I won't be running back to these, especially after gandering at the nutritional info. Forgive the Frankenstein Photoshop job, it's been years since I've messed with it.

Wisely, Sandy avoided these. Sometimes she misses something great, but other times she's absolutely right. I cannot even imagine her reaction if she tried one of these, but if the uncrusty crust wouldn't turn her off completely, the filling would. Fortunately, I made a call to the bullpen, and one of our Facebook fans, Martha, gave us a pretty complete rundown, which I'll copy here in its entirety: "I have tried them. The filling is delicious (and vegetarian, for the person who was asking). The crust, however, leaves a bit to be desired. I wanted the pastry to be delicate and buttery like a samosa, because that's how it looks on the box, but it's actually more like the crust on a hot pocket. If it had a better crust it would be an 8 or 9, but I have to give it a 5. Too bad." So I read that as her giving it a 2.5. That's more generosity than I can spare. There's just not that much good I can say here.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Indian Hot Pockets...err, Aloo Chaat Kati Pouches: 3.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's Pumpkin Greek Yogurt

This pumpkin-tastic season isn't over yet. So when Sonia heard the buzz about a "delicious" new kind of yogurt at TJ's via Instagram, she rushed out to get some for a review. She heard rave review after rave review as people posted pics of the product repeatedly. Pumpkin yogurt sounded weird to me, but I'll try almost anything once.

Sonia's facial expressions are frequently enigmatic and very difficult to translate, even after 3 years of marriage. And her reaction to this stuff was no different. She blankly stared into space and smacked her lips. The blankness slowly became a grimace. I tasted it myself. It struck me that this pumpkin yogurt wasn't as thick as most Greek yogurts, which, I must admit, I don't really like. I thought this "Greek" yogurt had the consistency of a normal yogurt instead. Sonia agreed, and added that although most Greek yogurts are low-fat, the fact that this Greek yogurt was non-fat might have contributed to its thinner-than-expected consistency. 

I'm not sure what facial expressions I usually make when I try stuff, but I'm pretty sure I grimaced just like Sonia. To me, it tasted like aspartame. There's no aspartame on the ingredients list, to be sure, but I still swear it tasted like it. Sonia said it was too sour. We checked to make sure it hadn't gone bad. There was a month left until the expiration date. There was very little flavor. It tasted vaguely of sourness, nutmeg, and cloves, all in a small tub of plain yogurt. 

After all the expectation, all the hype, we felt pretty let-down. Especially Sonia. And again, maybe our taste buds are just numb to pumpkin after too many seasonal treats (most of which were way too sweet for our own good), but we weren't feelin' this Pumpkin Greek Yogurt at all. So once again, it was Pumpkin Butter to the rescue. The sweetness of the pumpkin butter made the yogurt much more palatable, and we were able to finish the little tub fairly quickly after that. But we're really reviewing these products for themselves, not for how well they mix with other Trader Joe's products. All in all, we felt this Greek yogurt was a big fail. But there are plenty of dissenting opinions out there. Let us know what you think of it in a comment below. Thanks! And happy Thanksgiving to everyone! Argh, I feel like a terrible person for putting up a negative review on Thanksgiving Day. Forgive me.

1.5 out of 5 stars from Sonia. 2.5 stars from me.

Bottom line: 4 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Golden Caramel Swirl Ice Cream

Imagine you bought a pepperoni pizza, and when it came time to eat said pizza, you realized there was only one solitary slice of pepperoni on the whole pie. How would you feel? Would it matter how good the melty mozzarella, how perfectly zesty the sauce, how delectably delicious the crust? Would it matter that, technically speaking, your purchase is a pepperoni pizza, as it is a pizza with pepperoni on it, just not as much as expected? I mean, when I worked at various pizza shops, there were standards for a large pepperoni pizza, namely, four in the middle, nine in the middle ring, and sixteen on the outer. Hooray for progressions of squared numbers!  Going back to our thought exercise, how long would your battle with your buddy/spouse/significant other/dog/other personality be over who gets the pepperoni and who doesn't? Namely, how cheated would you feel, and ultimately, what would be your opinion of your purchase?

I bring this all up in relation to Trader Joe's Golden Caramel Swirl Ice Cream because it's very relevant. At the very least, in our own purchase, there was no golden caramel swirl in the Golden Caramel Swirl. None. No swirl. At all. Zip. Nada. And I refuse to believe that, against all odds, the one that I, one of the galaxy's foremost amateur hack reviewers of all things Trader Joe's, just so happened to snag would be the only carton in existence nearly completely devoid of any caramel.

Notice I said nearly completely devoid. To be fair, my taste buds sensed caramel while consuming this particular ice cream....on only about two or three of roughly 100 bites I spooned myself. That's maybe what Sandy got, too, out of the whole carton, so it's not like there's some hidden mega caramel vein just waiting to be tapped. There's only three logical explanations I can think of for this: 1. We're idiots and don't know what we're talking about. While always possible, I sincerely doubt it in this case, considering we've reviewed the Fleur de Sel Caramel Sauce this particular dessert claims to contain. Barely there. 2. Both the chocolate and French vanilla ice creams are way too rich and vibrant for a flavor like caramel to really shine through, so it's there but way too subtle. Eh, maybe, but then again, probably not. 3. It just ain't there. Now you're talking.

Anyways...aside from the whole "for all intents and purposes, there's really no caramel in the Golden Caramel Swirl ice cream" snafu, it's actually good ice cream. The French vanilla is impeccable, and darn if it isn't some good, rich, tasty chocolate. But that goes back to the opening pepperoni pizza analogy - doesn't matter how good the rest of it is if what's supposed to be there isn't. The little write-up on the side of the package prattles on about this being some sort of "gold medal candidate" or some silly Olympic-ish verbiage. Well, in my book the abject absence of the caramel is pretty much an automatic disqualifier, and let's not even get the East German judge started. Ice cream seems to be something that's a hit or miss for TJ's, and this is a definite miss. Sandy's gonna be nice and, while noting it could use something like some crunchy ice cream cone bits, give it a 2.5 despite its major fault. Me? Sorry. 

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Golden Caramel Swirl Ice Cream: 3.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Ming's Pad Thai and Peanut Satay Noodles

So...I have to start this entry off with a congrats to Russ and Sandy, the other half of What's Good at Trader Joe's, on the birth of their first baby, an adorable girl, born on 7/11/12. Awesome. Everybody's healthy and cute and ready to eat more Trader Joe's food. Rock on.

You might not want this stuff to be the first TJ's food in baby's mouth. Number one, I'm not sure infants are supposed to eat semi-spicy, highly-salty, instant-type noodles. But since Sonia and I don't have a kid yet, there's absolutely no way to be sure. Number two, they're really not that good.

Sonia preferred the Satay. I preferred the Pad Thai. Make no mistake, this stuff is not nearly as disgusting as Trader Joe's Satay Peanut Sauce. That stuff tasted rancid. This stuff just tasted...not that good.

Both dishes were void of texture, except for some very cheap noodles in a slimy sauce. They weren't rubbery, which in my opinion, would be the worst-case scenario. They weren't tough. They were just there. There was no meat. There were no vegetables. No crispy ricey things. Just noodles. And sauce. We both decided they needed a little something. So we added the only other thing we had in our freezer: Lean Cuisine Fajita Spring Rolls, which by the way, they do not sell at Trader Joe's.

And some people say we're not real foodies.

The spring rolls added some vital texture to the dishes and made them edible. Sonia stuck with the Peanut Satay. She said the Pad Thai tasted sour. I thought the Peanut Satay tasted sour, when it should have been, like, nutty and sweet. Both of us put Sriracha on our noodles. It helped. But in any case, I think I'll opt for ramen in the future.

On the right is displayed the nutrition info for the Pad Thai. Let it be noted that I was not able to display the nutrition info for the Peanut Satay opposite the Pad Thai because Blogger is being difficult right now. But I'll go ahead and tell you that there are somewhat fewer calories in the Peanut Satay. If anything, that's evidence to support my case: more calories = more deliciousness if you ask me...the Pad Thai is slightly better. Sonia's tastebuds must not be functioning correctly.

At any rate, she gives the Pad Thai 2.5 stars. And 3 to the Peanut Satay.

I give 3 stars to the Pad Thai. And 2.5 stars to the Peanut Satay. At $2 per box, I guess you get what you pay for.

Trader Ming's Pad Thai Noodles. Bottom line: 5.5 out of 10 stars.

Trader Ming's Peanut Satay Noodles. Bottom line: 5.5 out of 10 stars.

Trader Joe's Sweet Potato Gnocchi

Don't ask me why, but I don't think was even cognizant of the existence of sweet potatoes until I took up a high school job slingin' chicken thighs 'n sides at Boston Market. I'm pretty darn sure that my mom was way too busy making so many other great dinners that she never got around to making them, and while I'm sure they were probably present in some form at family Thanksgiving, I'd be too busy stuffing my face with mashed potatoes and/or my Aunt Brenda's pecan pie (easily the best in the world, and way better than any TJ knockoff) to notice. I'd have to come up for air for that. Anyways, at the Market, I saw them one day with the marshmallows and brown sugar on top, and figured, well, why not. I now know that those aren't even all that close to being an actual real sweet potato, but man, I got hooked. I think I nearly got fired from there from trying to sneak bites here and there while I thought the manager was too busy smoking in the back to watch. Since then, I've come to like practically anything sweet potato-related - fries, chips, casserole, heck, even the sweet potato/meat/onion/green pepper foil packs my dad, my brothers and I made on our Man Weekend last weekend. In fact, I've come to think with just an exception or two here or there (say, mashed potatoes and gravy), sweet potatoes are by in large superior to their regular homefriable homeboys.

Well, let's make another exception with the Trader Joe's Sweet Potato Gnocchi. Let's just say this isn't TJ's finest effort. Let me explain. I haven't eaten a lion's share of tuber-based gnocchi in my day, but I've given it the ol' college try on enough occasions. Every single time, it's been firm, kinda chewy, doughy yet solid, tasty ball of goodness. Not these, and it's not even particularly close, either. Think mushballs. That's the best way I can think of describing the texture. Really, the gnocchi seem more stuffing-like than anything else. I began to have a feeling they'd be like this while cooking them up in my fry pan. Yep, fry pan. You don't boil these frozen guys, you heat them up in a lightly oiled pan, and as the gnocchi warmed up, they all began to fall apart, especially when I got the spatula involved. Texturewise, they just weren't there. Just look at the picture up above - that oughtta give you a pretty good idea of what I'm talking about.

As for taste...eh...I'm kinda split on it. I enjoyed the first couple bites well enough, but before too long, they just didn't taste quite as good. The law of diminishing returns shouldn't work so quickly. I mean, they taste alright, kinda mildly sweet potato-ey, with the included butter and subtle sage sauce, but after a while, it just wasn't too terribly interesting any more, at least not to me. Sandy was a little more blunt and blurted out, unprompted, "These just don't really taste like anything." I'd disagree, but I understood what she was saying, too.

"I don't know why Trader Joe's is calling these gnocchi, because they're not really close to any gnocchi I've ever had," Sandy said. I could tell my girl meant business because with each bite her face just showed more and more displeasure, and I'm pretty sure she pushed her plate away more than once, which honestly I'd never seen her do before. That's why I was kinda surprised when Sandy said she'd give 'em a two. Not that I'm one to question her judgment (that's straight to sleeping on the couch territory there), but, uh, since I assume she's rounding up I'll go ahead and round down my score. Make a firmer, boilable version of these sweet potato gnocchi, Trader Joe, and this score could definitely rise. 'Til then, you gotta settle for 1.5 from me, buddy.

Trader Joe's Sweet Potato Gnocchi: 3.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Ming's Citrus Glazed Chicken

We've all had one of those weeks. You know the kind I'm talking about. The ones where you (and perhaps your spouse or partner) look around in the fridge and pantry, kinda say "meh", then think of the all the busy nights and things you gotta do, and say "Screw it, I'm not going grocery shopping this week." It doesn't matter that you don't even remember buying half the things, or that saltines and peanut butter would have to be a viable meal option to make it all work, it's your decision and you're sticking to it.

Sandy and I had one of those weeks last week. We were literally busy with something every single night then we were going out of town for the weekend, so it seemed kinda pointless to make our weekly TJ trek. While we weren't quite scraping the pantry enough to unearth some garlic bread sprinkle that expired in 1977, there still were few enough options that it took a little planning so we could talk ourselves into it. Dinners seemed to be doable enough if we relied heavily on our staple foods, but then my lunches came up - gotta eat, and no way in h-e-double bendy straw I'm gonna turn myself into a dollar menuaire for a week. That's just nasty.

That's when Sandy spotted the bag of Trader Ming's Citrus Glazed Chicken and gave me the look that said "There's a couple lunches for you right there, buster. I'm not gonna touch it, no matter what." We first picked it up months and months ago, hoping it'd be another Trader Ming orange-tinged classic, but were kinda disappointed by it, so naturally I bought it again soon thereafter if for no other reason to remind myself of why we didn't like it so I could warn all of you. That's what I do for you, readers. Anyways, naturally, since we remembered not liking the dish, we avoided it...and avoided it....avoided it some more...hid it in the back and covered it up...forgot about it...ate everything else...and now its time had come. There's only so many microwave quesadillas I can eat in one week, anyways.

The citrus chicken wasn't as bad as I remembered, but that's not to say it was all that good, either. Let's go with some positives first. First, it's ridiculously easy to make, to the point where Trader Joe's has taken the trouble of even cooking rice and including it for you, if you'd just be bothered enough to cook it up in a few tablespoons of water while you're sauteing up the chicken and veggies. Also, the chicken tastes about as reasonably good as some frozen white chunkified chicken can, unlike some other TJ's we call fowl play on. And the glaze, well, it's not overly citrusy, so it tastes alright, but you won't be scraping up every bit of it, either. Plus, you get a little baggy of cashews, kinda like how you get a little prize or sticker with your Cracker Jack.

The big problem is the veggies. I remember this being true the first time Sandy and I had it, and it was true this time around, too, so I'm thinking it's not a fluke. By the time they're stirfried up, they're just kinda mushy and bland. That's true for the green beans, red peppers, broccoli, carrots, and whatever else is in there. It's a shame, because I like each one of those, but was impartial to slightly repulsed by many a bite. For me, a good stirfry has veggies that are firm, with a little snap to them, and still have a lot of natural flavor to them. Not true here. Also, because there was so little chicken, it seemed like the bag was over 90% suboptimal vegetable matter.

Sandy has a lot of "food rules," and the biggest one is "no wimpy veggies - fresh is best." So yeah, she was only too willing to pass up a second round. Kinda like the Pittsburgh Penguins and the playoffs recently.* I can't really ask her for a grade, but I'll go out on a limb and assume. Really, knowing her, if she couldn't just pick out all the chicken and leave the rest to me, I'd doubt she'd give it more than a one. Me? Eh...I don't know. Part of me wants to give it the benefit of the doubt for being in the freezer for a while then eating it only reheated, but to my memory it tasted about the same both times. My general impression is, it's not all that great, so let's go with a 2.

Bottom line: Trader Ming's Citrus Glazed Chicken: 3 out of 10 Golden Spoons
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* I live in Pittsburgh so I can say that. If you don't, you can't.

Trader Joe's Organic Whole Wheat Penne Pasta...and More

Sundays usually are my favorite day of the week. I really don't care that the day after Sunday is Monday, meaning a whole new work week. My take on Mondays is, they make up 1/7th of your life, so you may as well enjoy them. Thursday, though? If I had to say I didn't like one day of the week, I think I'd pick Thursdays. By then, I'm usually ready for it to be Friday, but it isn't yet. That's really not Thursday's fault, as I'm guessing it just drew the short stick in the days of the week rotation, but tough noogies. Anyways, Sundays. Love them. Like this past Sunday, it meant a little sleeping in, church, lunch with my folks who were visiting from out of town, a run out to get a crib on sale and to make a stop by the used bookstore before visiting a friend who just had a baby, and some Rita's before finally heading home to relax with some Netflix and our puppy. All in all, it was a good day, and despite some of the busy-ness, it was pretty relaxing, too. In fact, it was so relaxing that it took a couple episodes of "Bizarre foods" to realize how hungry we were. It was time for dinner, and both Sandy and I needed something good and easy.

I quickly thought to myself, "Okay, we have Trader Joe's Organic Whole Wheat Penne Pasta.... a bag of his Party Size Mini Meatballs...and some of that Giotto fella's Three Cheese Pomodoro Pasta Sauce....voila!" Pasta and meatballs are such a good comfort food, yet so simple, so let's run thru these one at a time here.

First off, we have the whole wheat penne, which in the gluten world is the complete opposite of these a-maize-ing noodles. Both Sandy and I really like the corn pasta (pretty happy there's a widened selection at our usual shop!) and to be honest, we should have stuck to it. The corn pasta tastes pretty close to regular noodles, whereas these, not so much. Simply stated, these are too wheaty, in all the wrong ways. Appearancewise, these boil down to this very drab, unappetizing watery colorless grain tube. The penne itself is thicker and chewier (think of the difference between homemade bread made with and without wheat flour, and you got an idea), while tasting kinda grainy. I guess we should've expected that. I liked them a little bit, which is more than poor Sandy did. "Blah," she said. Yet, we plowed on thru them, because it's not only bad to waste food, but also we had...

...a good helping of Party Size Mini Meatballs to go on them! Whoo-hoo! Party on, Wayne! Well, okay, they're not so spectacular. But that doesn't mean they're not good. Each meatball is made of both beef and pork (two animals = bonus) with whatever the usual kinda meatbally spices are. They're pretty well seasoned, for sure. I also like them because, as opposed to regular-size frozen meatballs, these mini guys defrost all the way thru while cooking them. Unless I cut them in half, the bigger ones tend to scorch on the outside while remaining tundrified in the middle. I figure these are a good option if you're the type who likes to fancy-glop up some meatballs on a toothpick for a party hors d'oeuvres, too, but for the two of us, they work for a regular ol' dinner. Both of us, despite the shortcomings of the pasta, enjoyed pretty much every bite that had at least a little meatball action on t, particularly if also smothered by....

...some of Trader Giotto's Three Cheese Pomodoro Pasta Sauce! To be honest, I'm not a fan of most of TJ's pasta sauces as they come in a jar. I find I have to doctor them a little bit to make them palatable to me. Not this. There's not a thing I would either add to or subtract from this sauce. It's light and mild, certainly not acidic, and has plenty of cheesy goodness to it between the romano, Parmesan and asiago cheese. I'd venture to say that unless you're a shaker cheese addict, it's fairly unnecessary for this sauce. There's also little bits of diced onion and garlic in there. It's just good. The only thing is, there's occasionally a medium-ish chunk of onion or cheese or some other ingredient that get's mixed in. I've noticed that in a few different jars we've bought, and poor Sandy (who's chunky-cooked-veggie adverse enough as is) pulled one out of her bowl much to her displeasure, and looked at me quite incredulously as I first inspected then ingested it. "Weirdo," she said. She certainly got that part right.

Anyways, so that's that, except for ratings. I don't recall the exact prices on these, but think the pasta was around $2 for the package, whereas the meatballs and sauce were more in the general $2.50-$3 range. Put us down for low marks each for the wheat pasta (say, a 1 for the Mrs. and a 2.5 for me? Not gonna argue.). For the meatballs, let's say a 4 each, and for the sauce, a 5 for me and 3.5 for my beautiful wife. I'm guesstimating her marks based on reaction and a couple things she said. Clearly, her favorite part of our dinner was the meatballs. I should have been more of a gentleman and offered her some more of mine, and even pull out the whole "Lady and the Tramp" routine, but I liked them too much myself, especially with my favorite TJ pasta sauce so far. I'll save the wheat pasta for a night when I can choke them down as she babysits...like she usually does on Thursday nights when I rarely see her much...hmm, coincidence?

Bottom lines:
Trader Joe's Organic Whole Wheat Penne Pasta: 3.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons
Trader Joe's Party Size Mini Meatballs: 8 out of 10 Golden Spoons
Trader Giotto's Three Cheese Pomodoro Pasta Sauce: 8.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's Chocolate Cheddar Cheese

Want to know the best thing about having a pregnancy in the household, besides the obvious impending joy of welcoming a child into the world and the ongoing daily discussions about the comfort of your spouse's pants? The power of suggestion, especially for food, is so strong. Sandy will just be reading something that mentions a cookie, and she'll say "Mmm, I want a cookie!" That was definitely the case with one of Nathan's latest cupcake reviews and so we got the same tasty ones just a day or two later. But I definitely have this power as well. A few weeks back, for no other reason than that I'm a guy, I really wanted a buffalo chicken pizza. Pre-pregancy, this *might* be open for debate - "Where from?""What do we have here?""Can't we just get pepperoni?" - but with the bun in the oven, immediately once I said it, Sandy's eyes lit up and said YES. Bingo, we ordered Pizza Hut that night. But like Uncle Ben told Spiderman, with great power comes great responsibility, so I try to not pull off that trick too often. I also try to be fair and indulge most of hers, which are limited mainly to things like tasty fries.

There's the every-so-often Trader Joe's indulgence as well, of course. So many crazy things in that store...We were perusing the cheese selection when she saw the TJ's Chocolate Cheddar Cheese. Kinda like the Yeti, I've heard rumors of such things but had never seen it, 'til right then in my wife's hand with the all-too-familiar pretty-please look in her eye. Truth to be told, it didn't sound like a good idea to me, but she had found the smallest chunk (good thing, it's 10 bucks a pound, our piece cost like $2.80), and well, I guess I owe it to you all, too, so I said sure.

There's only a few things out there that I'd find too weird to enjoy, but this is definitely one of them. I like the cheddar part of it, quite a bit actually. I'm not exactly a cheddar aficionado, but have had enough of the good (like Cabot's - I've been to their factory!) and not so good (can you say Valu-Time?) to know what the good stuff tastes like. This is good stuff. It's sharp, rich, crumbly cheddar at first taste...which totally falls apart once the dark chocolate kicks in. I suppose it's good chocolate, as most TJ's dark stuff is, but I find it just muddies up the overall flavor. At the end, my mouth and tongue just feel perplexed and not remotely satisfied, and my stomach's definitely discombobulated. The dark sweetness just contrasts the sharp bite of cheddar way too much. There's not an over-abundance of chocolate taste, but what's in there just ruins it all for me. It might be better if the cheddar wasn't as sharp as it is. Blecch.

I have a theory I think I've mentioned before called my "chocolate gum theory," which actually has two applications. They are 1. Just because two things are good separately doesn't mean they're good together. Also see: Mick Jagger and David Bowie. 2. Just because something is good in theory doesn't mean it's good in practice. Also see: Subaru cupholders (that's the least controversial example I can think of). This chocolate cheddar cheese fits both corollaries of my theory well - separate good, together bad and could be tasty in thought, but it just isn't. It's just not a winner for me.

Sandy, though, with her pregnancy hormones and whatnot? She actually likes it, but not overly, and I think it's because she said she can't taste the chocolate as much. "I mean, I kinda do taste it, but not really," she said. "It's okay for a bite here and there but I don't think I could make a whole snack around it." Indeed, I was kinda glad that after we sampled it, her craving switched to a small bowl of mint chip ice cream. She took a slightly positive middle-of-the-roadish 3.5. Me? Generally speaking, I think this is probably a love or hate item for most folks, my lovely wife not included. I think I've made it clear where I stand. I just hope Sandy eats enough of it so it won't get all moldy in the fridge. I'll give it a 1.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Chocolate Cheddar Cheese: 4.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's 24 Chocolate Days 'til Christmas

Busted. This isn't really a food item. Well, part of it is. Chocolate. Well, really, if you've tried this product, you'd know that the "chocolate" involved here isn't really even food.

The chocolate in this advent calendar is quite probably the most revolting chocolate I've ever ingested during my 33 Christmases. (I'm 32 years old, but you have to count the one Christmas I lived through before I was a year old). And, yes, if by some strange chance I had worse chocolate at 6 months of age in December of 1979, I would have remembered it. In fact, I would have been so scarred by the incident, that I would have written off chocolate for the rest of my life and been one of those rare souls that dislikes chocolate for reasons they can't fully explain.

The chocolate in this advent calendar tastes like a combination of plastic and cardboard, with an emphasis on the cardboard...with an extra dose of the weird glue that holds the particles of board together as a solid substance. The graphics on each window are fairly cute and well-designed, but really, they have nothing to do with Christmas at all. Not secular Santa-style Christmas. Not the true Jesus-inspired Christian Christmas. There's a baseball on there, for crying out loud. This might as well be a countdown to Labor Day.

Granted, there are other versions of Trader Joe's Advent Calendars, but I'm reviewing this one...which very well could be four years old or so. The chocolate tastes like it's at least that old...which reminds me of the time my grade school friend and I handed out 5 year old chocolate at Halloween. It was white. And I don't mean it was white chocolate. I mean it was traditional brown milk chocolate that was so old that it was turning back into sugar. We gave it to a group of cheerleaders that went to our high school. They returned a couple hours later and threw the half-eaten candies at us. It was hysterical. It was worth it.

It seems that karma has seen to it that I am now the brunt of such a joke—a cruel joke perpetrated by my old friend TJ. Good one, buddy. This stuff tastes like butt, and you tricked me into paying you for it. With other advent calendars, we would generally fight each other over who gets to eat the chocolate, but with this top-shelf quality product, my wife and I bicker about who has to eat the chocolate each day.

TJ's could have at least thrown us a bone and put Bible verses with the Christmas story behind each window, or maybe individual lines to The Night Before Christmas. But no. Everything is just blank. The chocolate isn't even good for you...not even a little bit. All things considered, I'd rather be eating carob.

And I hate carob. Well, except for Sunspire Unsweetened Carob Chips. Those are yummerific.

I give this stuff a 1. Way to go, Santa Joe. I'm'a have the fire going Christmas Eve, buddy. Don't try to enter through the chimney. Sonia gives it a 2. I don't feel bad. Call me Scrooge. Merry freakin' Christmas, TJ's. 24 Revolting Chocolate Days 'til I Puke My Face Off.

Bottom line: 3 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Peppered Uncured Turkey Bacon

Nathan's right. It s kinda silly that leading up to Thanksgiving we've featured Thai products two posts in a row. So let's talk some turkey, shall we? Chances are, in just a few days time, you'll have more turkey leftovers than what you'll know what to do with - too good to throw out, the food pantries won't take it, but before too long you'll be sick of it. Never fear; there's some okay looking recipe websites out there that'll give you plenty of tips (although some look a little gross. Like Thanksgiving in a Cone. Blecch).

Not a single one of these sites will tell you how to make turkey bacon, though I can presume how it's made: mix and mash up all the random turkey bits you can, process them down with a couple random spices, form into a thin loaf-like shape, put a heavy coating of pepper on the outside, and cut into thick strips. To cook, drizzle some oil in a pan and cook to either it's limp, greasy and heated, or burn the crud out of it and hope for the best.

If that doesn't sound so great, well, there's a reason: it isn't. I've extolled my love of bacon before so I'm not going to go over that all over again. But dangit, bacon is either pork, or it isn't bacon at all. Trader Joe's Peppered Uncured Turkey Bacon is no exception. It tastes just like how presume it was made, which kinda left me with the impression it was Turkey Spam. For cooking, we went the "blacken and pray" route, and while the outside got burnt and semi-palatable, the insides were left chewy, kinda funky, and Turkey-Jerky-esque. The cooking instructions say to heat for a couple minutes on both sides but all that produces is the aforementioned big floppy greasy strip of meat. The directions also ominously say "results may vary." Tastewise, it's mostly pepper, though the meat is a little sweet from the applewood smoking it undergoes. It's okay, but it doesn't taste enough like bacon to either one of us. I should've guessed that before buying, with poultry being such a lean meat and fat being such a key part of the bacon equation, but the thought didn't cross my mind. I just saw cheap ($2.99) bacon and decided to try it out.

I can understand people liking it though. Nutritionally, it's a bazillion times better for you. Almost no fat or calories, no nitrates, yada yada, all that good stuff. And perhaps things like turkey bacon are an acquired taste, and perhaps this is good for the aficionados out there, and if it is, go enjoy. For Sandy and I, we're just a little confused that while TJ's can consistently offer a reasonably good alternative meat products like soy chorizo, veggie sausage, beefless ground beef, or heck, even a meatless corn dog, they can't do the same for one animal stepping in for another one. I made us a panfull for breakfast over the weekend, and for once my scrambled eggs were the highlight on the plate. Sandy, who I thought would be in a better place to appreciate this TJ product, actually had much the same thought as I did. "It just doesn't get crispy, which I like, and it tastes kinda weird," she said. I concur. She went with a 2.5 for it, while I'll knock it a half-spoon down from there.

Bottom line: 4.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's Fat Free Spicy Black Bean Dip

Before I ever met Sandy, I seriously doubt I ever ate a single black bean in my life. There's not a single childhood dinner I can recall with them included - the only beans I can remember were green, Boston baked, or red kidney when my dad and I made chili. And I think my mom very occasionally made lima beans when my siblings and I were being jerks and deserved to eat something nasty. But black beans? Except black jelly beans (my absolute favorite - there was a candy stand my folks took us to every Easter Saturday that sold a bag of only black ones - I was in heaven), nope. I'm willing to bet my surviving baseball card collection on it. It might be worth a whole $20...thanks early '90s market glut!

But once Sandy and I started spending some QT together, one of the first things I learned was, girl loves her black beans. Loves. That might not be strong enough of a word. Any way she can eat them, she will and be on Cloud 9. Black bean burgers, omelets, quesadillas with corn too, beans and rice with chorizo, bean chips, pizza, brownies...the only thing she won't touch with black beans is my homemade chili. She has no idea what she's missing. I've quickly learned to really enjoy them, too and I'd say they're now considered a definite staple of our diet, and I don't mind that one bit. They're good, wholesome, tasty, and satisfying. Both Sandy and I like hot and spicy fare as well (I can stand hotter and spicier, but she has a pretty boffo palate, especially for a girl), so hot and spicy, black bean based dishes are almost always a hit for us.

Which is exactly why TJ's Fat Free Spicy Black Bean Dip is so incredibly disappointing. If TJ's dips and salsas were Jennifer Lopez, this would be her "Gigli." If it were Sean Connery, this would be George Lazenby. If it were a basketball team, it would definitely be this year's Miami Heat...sans the heat, that is. And what talents Lebron James may or may not have brought.

Hate to do it, but I have to call out the pepper spice-o-meter on the label on this one. It's about 2/3 full, so I was expecting it to be at least somewhat spicy. Well, the dip is 2/3 full...of vinegar. Once again, Trader Joe's, VINEGAR ≠ SPICE. No no no no no no no. I took a bite tonight and immediately made the bitter beer face the instant this assaulted my taste buds. Ugh. It was if someone condensed all the flavor from a bag of salt and vinegar chips, ground it down and dumped it into the one corner I lifted with my tortilla chip. Each successive bite wasn't much better except I was able to brace myself better and not stomp as much. Maybe that's your kind of thing. For me, heck no. To be honest, by now, I so distrust that pepper pictogram and believe it is so full of lies and deceit I expect it to run for office any day now, or at least call me about a credit card offer.

That's all you taste, the vinegar. Nothing else. TJ's might as well have marketed this under dark vinegar hummus-y matter. Sandy, who likes it marginally more than I do, wholeheartedly agrees. "I wish it actually tasted like black beans or was actually spicy," she said. I concur. I look at the ingredients label and wonder where all the other stuff is - Onions? Jalapeños? Bueller? - it's indiscernible in this horrid mix of blahness. I took several tastes of it trying to figure out if there was any other aspect to the flavor but there's absolutely none. It's just nasty, not the nastiest thing I've ever had from Trader Joe's, but not too far off either.

Like I said, though, the love of my life also loves her black beans madly, and like she has to do with me from time to time, I think she affords the black bean dip a certain level of grace. She gave it a two despite her misgivings...then again, she loves salt and vinegar chips, too, but this is a low, low grade for her with anything involving black beans as a primary ingredient. I have to go lower. I originally thought one, to give it some of the doubt, but seriously considered a zero too. I think something has to be truly epically bad to be given a zero, though, and this falls just short of that criterion. Half a star from me. Hate to be harsh, but have to call it as I see it.

Bottom line: 2.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's Spiced Cranberry Cider

As a young boy, my parents would regularly take me to visit my grandparents and various elderly friends of the family. During these visits I noted that older folks, for some reason, were quite fond of putting out candy, often unwrapped, in little dishes on endtables and coffee tables throughout their homes. That didn't bother me one bit. A source of free, quickly-replenished, easy-access candy was the stuff that my young dreams were made of. Before my parents could call me off, I would easily down a third of the dish. Then, inevitably, they'd yell something about spoiling my dinner, and I'd stomp off reluctantly with bits of chocolate smeared on my face and shirt.

One of the types of confections I'd frequently discover in such a candy dish were multi-colored, fruit-flavored gumdrops. I loved trying each flavor to see which was the best, and then I'd attempt to eat every gumdrop of that flavor in the entire dish. Or, I'd take one yellow gumdrop and one green gumdrop and try to create my own flavor combination: lemon-lime. In short, I loved gumdrops.

However, I can distinctly recall on one occasion stuffing my face with what I assumed were sweet, delicious gumdrops, only to be shocked by a biting, unpleasant flavor. I grimaced and choked back my gag reflex. The aged owner of the candy dish, taking note of my sufferings, said, "Aw! You don't like the spice drops, hmm?"

I thought to myself, "What on earth are spice drops?" For a moment, I thought I had eaten something that was intended for decorative or aromatic purposes only. Had I inadvertently eaten some bizarre form of potpourri?

Drinking this cider was a similarly disappointing experience. Maybe I should have taken the word "spiced" in the title as a warning sign. But I thought they meant they put a dash of cinnamon in it or something...

Typical spice drop flavors include: cardamom, clove, allspice, pimeneta, spearmint, anise, and licorice. This drink tastes like a base of cranberry juice with each and every one of those spices dumped in it. It's like drinking a glass of liquid potpourri. We finished the bottle, but it took some effort. Honestly, I'd rather down a bottle of Nyquil than drink this stuff again. Not a fan.

Sonia gives it a 2. I give it a 1. Bottom line: 3 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Chile Spiced Mango

So, Nathan and I are kinda similar overall. We both love eating Trader Joe's stuff and blogging about it, we both graduated from Penn State at more or less the same time, and the two of us significantly outkicked our coverage with our much better looking wives. My folks when they first saw our write-up from the good folks at The Daily Meal said judging from our pics on there, we could have been twins separated at birth, which if that's the case, there's some dark family secret I don't want to know about. I'm the squintier looking guy.

It seems like, at times, we have similar shopping habits and curiosities nearly simultaneously. For instance, Sandy got one delectable looking Trader Ming treat a month or two ago, and planned to eat it on a certain night so I could review it ... well, that same day Nathan posted his review on the same tasty beef and broccoli treat, so that got nixed. Doh. Last week, I dodged a bullet of sorts when he decided to try out an adventurous chile-mango combo at the same time I did ... he did the frozen version though, and I picked up the dried fruit version. Whew.

Unlike Nathan, though, my awesome Comcast Internet connection has been on the fritz all week until now, not allowing me to write or post any reviews. Thanks for holding down the fort, sir.

Anyways, like Nathan, as a good old Pennsylvania boy, chile and mango is not a combination that I was accustomed to growing up. The craziest we got with flavor combos in my childhood was putting pretzels on our ice cream. I've been to Mexico twice but have somehow avoided the chile and fruit phenomenon down there, so I'll admit this is my first foray into this gustatory realm.

It's not something I'm willing to give up on quite yet, but I don't think the Trader Joe's Chile Spiced Mango dried fruit chunks made the best introduction. The issue is, I think, for a flavor combination to work, there has to be at least two flavors present. With these, literally all you can taste is the chile. It's coated on the mango pieces like sand on some cheap sandpaper. And since it's dried fruit, with juiciness being the essence of mango flavor, well ... the mango flavor is there, barely perceptible. It takes a lot of work to get at it, and with the heat level radiating off the spices, it may not be something you're willing to do. I wish Trader Joe's would halve the spice on these and redistribute it in some of their other goods, and try to figure out a way to let the mangoey goodness shine through. It's just so imbalanced that it doesn't really work.

Sandy and I tried a piece at the same time. She didn't have quite the reaction I expected, but it wasn't exactly positive either. I think she managed to get down her one small piece she took, but that's all she's ever going to have. I can munch on them here and there, but I'm not the biggest fan of them either. It's not that they're too spicy for us (though I think they are the spiciest thing we've ever purchased at TJ's), but the heat drowns out any trace of the mango. Honestly, you could tell me these were chile-laden chunks of tough orange leather, and I would have no basis to not believe you. About the only thing I'm looking forward to in regard to these is bringing them into work, having them on my desk, and daring coworkers to try them. They already think I'm weird enough because of my occasionally shaved head, my expressed love of long bike rides, my French press coffee, and my generally persistent amicable demeanor. Bringing in the remaining bagful of these guys might ratchet me up to a whole 'nother level.

Sandy gives them a 1. I'll be the slightly more gracious one this time and give them a 2. Kinda like my thoughts on chocolate flavored gum and the cupholders in my Subaru - good concept, but in practice, it just doesn't quite work, at least not in this case.

Bottom line: 3 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's Chicken Satay Party Skewers

Trader Joe has great taste when it comes to American cuisine. When it comes to Thai food, however, he should take a note from his buddy, Thai Joe.

These Chicken Satay Party Skewers aren't great. They're a little chewy and not super flavorful. They don't taste bad, but they're not exactly dripping with savory chicken goodness. We felt the images of the chunks on the packaging were slightly deceiving, since the little bits of thigh meat you actually get seem significantly smaller. As a bonus, though, you get little pointy sticks through each piece of chicken, with which you might poke your friend or partner in the arm for selecting such a poor choice at TJ's.

Oh well, maybe the chicken's slight lack of flavor was intentional...in order to allow the taste of Trader Joe's Satay Peanut Sauce to dominate the dish...

But wait, that doesn't make sense either, because this stuff's even worse. Way worse. Sonia and I have both had chicken satay with peanut sauce from more than one restaurant, and this is by far the worst either of us has had. The sauce doesn't even taste like peanuts. There are little chunks of actual nuts in the sauce, but somehow they just get lost in the mess of flavors crawling around in this stuff. I don't even know how to describe it. Sonia thought it tasted like fish. For those of you who've had real Thai chicken satay with peanut sauce, you should know that it is NOT supposed to taste like fish. I personally wouldn't describe it that way, but I certainly wouldn't describe it as anything positive. This peanut sauce is an emphatic thumbs down from both of us.

All in all, we just recommend you get something else from TJ's. If there were some other super-delicious sauce that was intended for use with the Chicken Skewers, it might be worth trying. The Skewers aren't gross enough in and of themselves to tell you not to ever try them. They're really not that bad...they're just not great. It's the sauce that really made this meal a disappointment.

Trader Joe's Chicken Satay Party Skewers. Sonia gives them a 3. Me too. Bottom line: 6 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Satay Peanut Sauce. Sonia gives it a 1. It just dawned on me that if I had no idea what satay peanut sauce was supposed to taste like, it might not have seemed quite so disgusting, so I'll be merciful and give it a 2. Bottom line: 3 out of 10.

Trader Joe-San's Green Beans

There are some things that, when it comes down to it, I really don't quite get. For example:

- Justin Bieber's hair cut
- Why some comment trollers think it's a good use of time to argue about politics on every news article. I don't understand what the Westminster Dog Show has to do with what's going on in the Middle East. At the end of the day, you've accomplished what, exactly?
- The fact that Sandy grew up right outside of Pittsburgh and she doesn't care about the Steelers or Penguins one iota, I grew up just outside of Philadelphia and was raised (and still am) a die-hard Phillies fan, yet we're so excited for the Pirates' home opener we both took the day off from work to go.
- Why every Jack Johnson song sounds the same but is yet so good,
- Any math problem more complicated than "3x + 1 = 7."

And I guess I don't get these Trader Joe-San Green Beans either.

Don't make the mistake of thinking these are some sort of fresh vegetable product. The fact they're in the snack aisle should be a pretty good clue that they aren't. They certainly resemble green beans in appearance (except they're lightly dusted with some indiscernible junk), and they taste a fair amount like a green bean (again, except for whatever they coat these guys with, it's not salt). But the end product just isn't so good. Take a good hearty crunch to taste for yourself.

I'm not too texture-adverse when it comes to most foods, but these kinda weird me out. The only kind of parallel I can think of is, imagine sitting down, getting to ready to eat something that resembles a delectable-looking ribeye, only when you take a bite it tastes like steak but is made of Jello. They're that disorienting for me. Green beans are supposed to be firm yet a little soft, a little juicy, fleshy, and just good. They certainly aren't supposed to mummified, crispy shells of themselves like these are. To get them this way, apparently they get fried up in canola oil ... I don't really get how it works. Some of them seem to be fried up a little differently than others, so when you bite down, they can seem a little sandy or quartzy on the inside, which is not good at all. Others seem to not be fried as much, so the insides seem lighter and crisper, which make them semi-passable. But overall, they're inconsistent and discombobulating to my palate, and really don't seem to be a viable snack option on a regular basis to me.

Sandy doesn't like them all that much either, though the texture thing doesn't seem to bother her as much, which if you know her, that's an amazing statement to make. It's more the taste that gets to her - "I've had better," she said. "I don't know how to say it, except the other ones had more flavor." I'm presuming that means some saltiness to them, which these pretty much lack. I really can't figure out what the semi-greasy semi-dusty coating they put is supposed to add to the flavor. Anyways, Sandy gives them a two, and she has a little more faith in them than I do, because I can't justify giving them more than a one. I'd be surprised if we pick them up again.

Bottom line: 3 out of 10

Trader Joe's Whole Grain Hard Pretzel Sticks

Okay, let me cut to the chase here:

These SUCK. Do NOT, under circumstance, get these. Whole grain pretzel sticks look like they might be a good premise, a good healthy snack. Well, they might be healthy, but they are horrible, horrendous, and just plain disgusting.

How bad are they? If pretzels were Willie Mays, these would be wearing a Mets uniform. If they were Sly Stallone, these guys would be "starring" alongside Dolly Parton in "Rhinestone." If they were the Beatles, ... well, let's just say Yoko Ono would be involved. These pretzels take something so good, so pure and enjoyable, and turn it into crap.

I mean, I love pretzels. Any kind of pretzel - sticks, rods, nuggets, those little grid-like guys, soft, extra dark, splits, sourdough, honey wheat, soft pretzels, flavored bits and pieces, pretzel buns, anything remotely pretzel-like. I went through high school eating two soft pretzels for lunch everyday (well, except taco day, okay). Sandy made awesome homemade soft pretzels a few days ago that once I polished them off I was begging for more. They are definitely one of my favorite snack food groups, partly because they're healthy compared to chips and cheesy doodles, and also because they're just good.

And these guys ... blah. I tried to like them. I really did. I wanted to like them. But there's nothing redeeming about them. They're bland, tasteless sticks of particle board. They're sparingly salted, which is okay, but there's no flavor to them otherwise, except burned. I took a look inside a stick I halfway crunched, and there's an orange-brownish ring surrounding a teeny white core. So they are just overbaked - I guess maybe that's to help them boast about their claim to be "hard", but they're really not - they're really not any more crunchy than any other pretzel stick. But they are much drier, which makes all the saw dust they leave in your mouth much trickier to swallow. After only two or three I needed a drink to literally wash them down.

I guess it's part of the whole grain curse. Whole grain foods, when made right, taste wonderful and nutty and delicious and help fill you up healthfully. But when made wrong ... man, I don't care how good they might be for you if they don't taste good. The marginal health benefits don't outweigh the taste experience for me. And these pretzels are about the best example I can think of for this.

I had Sandy try one. She munched down half a stick, made a face, went to the fridge and got out a jar of peanut butter to dip the other half in. That sounds like an epoxy recipe to me. "They're better with something," she said. I can buy that, but then that pretty much defeats the whole purpose of having a healthy snack. It's like making broccoli to eat healthy but dumping molten Velveeta on it - having to add something unhealthy to make an otherwise good-for-you food edible seems counterproductive and deceptive.

Anyways, I cannot find anything good about them. I considered returning them to the store, but maybe I'll save them for our dog when we run out of his treats. He wouldn't know the difference. Sandy is a little more forgiving than me, and she said she'd give them a two, "maybe a three," so that sounds like a two-and-a-half to me. Well, that's all they're gonna get. Absolute zero from me.

Bottom line: 2.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's No-Tomato Chicken Lasagna with Spinach & Roasted Garlic Bechamel Sauce

I hate to start this blog off with a negative review, but as fate should have it, I ate this Trader Joe's Chicken Lasagna today for lunch and was not impressed. Sonia tried the same lasagna last week and warned me that it was quite bland. She didn't even finish hers, which is not like her at all. She's not one to waste food, simply on principle. There are starving children in Africa.

Anyway, this lasagna is virtually devoid of flavor. It boasts "No-Tomato" on the label. Well, friends, if God didn't want lasagna to have tomato, he would have banished the enigmatic fruit/vegetable from the nation of Italy back when the usually-delicious pasta dish was being developed some centuries ago. But of course vine-ripened tomatoes thrive in the lush gardens of Mediterranean countries, and are, therefore, an essential ingredient in many Italian dishes.

I found myself pining for the taste of tangy tomato sauce so greatly, that I raided our miscellaneous drawer for some leftover hot sauce and salsa packets from various fast food restaurants. After adding them, I found the flavor much improved, and was able to finish the dish. Now, in the lasagna's defense, I did prepare mine in the microwave, not in the oven. The label does say microwaving is a viable option, however we all know things generally come out better when cooked in the oven.

I'll be honest...I don't know what Bechamel sauce is. It is apparently green, mushy, and flavorless, save for a hint of garlic. Furthermore, I could detect neither the taste nor the texture of chicken in this so called "Chicken Lasagna." If there was chicken in the food, it was evidently pureed beyond recognition, and somehow sapped of all indigenous flavor.

I will say the lasagna feels pretty light...my stomach is not in agony, nor do I have any weird aftertaste haunting me, reminding me of the experience...I do not remember the price of the item. Somewhere in the ballpark of $3, I believe. With all of the delicious items TJ's has to offer, I do not recommend trying this one unless you're really desperate for something new. Two out of Five Stars from Nathan...One out of Five Stars from Sonia. Bottom line: 3 out of 10.