Trader José's Chile & Onion Flour Tortillas

Some things in life just aren't fair. For a pretty benign example, imagine being a Pennsylvania resident (which I am) and going to an out-of-state Trader Joe's (which I have, on numerous occasions) and surveying the vast selections of consumable goods that just aren't available in your local store. It's unfair. I mean, I've been to the Woodmere, OH store on multiple occasions, and each time, I enviously eye them up. It's literally a whole section of the store. Why, as a PA resident, can I not buy the same goodies as a native of the good state of Ohio? Is it antiquated state law? Market demands?  Lingering animosity over the Buckeyes-Nittany Lions rivalry? I don't know, but it's not fair. Somebody get the governor on the phone.

Lest you think I'm talking about beer and wine (for those not in the know, PA does have antiquated state laws not allowing for alcohol sales in most retail channels, including grocery stores, so we're living in roughly the year 1792 here), this time I'm not. Though I did get some on my most recent trip, there's nothing I felt too compelled to review yet. The Stockyard Oatmeal Stout's pretty tasty, the Simple Times lager isn't great but is much better than their other cheapo option, and perhaps once we get in our new house Sandy and I will have the occasion to break out the wine.

But I am talking about the Trader Jose Chile & Onion Flour Tortillas. I first spotted these several years ago there and just had to try them, I loved them, an hoped they'd migrate just a little further east and south to my Pittsburgh home store. When they hadn't, I assumed they got discontinued for whatever reason. But no, they're still up at the Woodmere store, just outside Cleveland, along with other tortilla flavors that we in the 'burgh just don't have. We only have the run-of-the-mill flour and corn variety, with the Habenero and Lime  for an exotic option, which gets old after a while.

If these were regularly available to me, these would be my everyday tortilla. And I eat a lot of tortillas. They're just perfect. Take a good flour tortilla and add in onion and some actually legitimate chile spice, and BAM. They taste good plain, pair wonderfully with my fake chorizo/rice/bean delight I regularly make, and even taste alright and hold up okay after zapping a microwave quesadilla. Tell you what, though: fry them up in a little butter for a stove top quesadilla, and they are a-m-a-z-i-n-g. The tortillas crisp up perfectly, absorb in a little butter, and get all nice and flaky while the flavor just pops then. They're spicy enough to keep me intrigued but probably accessible enough to most flavor palettes. I've tried replicating their exact spice level by tossing in some red pepper flakes into the cheesy portion, but it just doesn't work the same.

These are some seriously good hombres, and they need to find a new home: Pittsburgh. Please come. I may be the bigger fan of these tortillas. Sandy kinda shrugged and said "I like 'em. They're good. I like 'em. Quote that." As you wish. I just wish I didn't finally eat the last one of them the other night after savoring them for a while. I'm giving them a perfect five and guessing for Sandy's score...

Bottom line: Trader Jose's Chile & Onion Flour Tortillas: 9 out of 10 Golden Spoons    

Trader Joe's Dark Chocolate Covered Pretzel Slims

I'm usually not one to toot my own horn too terribly much, but you know what? Today, I am. You see, yesterday was Labor Day, which I celebrated the good ol' fashioned 'merican Way by going to work. Meanwhile, my wife and now officially toddlin' lil' toddler were going to the local waterpark for a fun day of splashing and spraying. It sucks to miss out on those kinda days. Add in that I'm adjusting to a recent promotion with a bunch of added responsibilities at work (stress) plus we're right in the thick of selling our house, got back the inspection report, and there's some stuff our sellers want us to do, and we're waiting to get it nailed down with them before we make an offer on another house, meaning at present time I'm not 100% sure where my family is going to be living in a month (much, much more stress), and yeah, yesterday was a baldspot-inducing day. Sorry about that hideous run-on there, but man it felt good. My normal reaction to stress is 1) sleep more and 2) eat more, especially junk food.

I made an early morning solo run to TJ's yesterday to get some fruit for a Labor Day breakfast our brother was having, and right there, at the checkout, taunting me mercilessly, was his Dark Chocolate Covered Pretzel Slims. So,  I bought 'em, and if I would have devoured them while at work like I wanted to over and over again (it didn't help that our vending machine which conveniently takes fives didn't give me change back after getting a Dr Pepper, shorting me $3.75 to get another snack), Sandy would have never ever known. But, as the loving, sweet, kind, sharing husband I am, I brought them home, seal intact, for the two of us to share after our daughter finally settled down for the night dreaming sweet 'lil toddler dreams.

Anyways, enough about me, let's talk about these choco-tasties. I like 'em. Sandy likes 'em. They're pretty straightforward in every sense. By now, I'd imagine everyone's had a pretzel slim or chip or whatever you'd call it, and has had dark chocolate, and has had a chocolate covered pretzel, and so you can mentally add all those experiences together and imagine roughly what this would taste like, and you'd be pretty darn close. They're as light as something covered in chocolate can be, and crispy, and salty and chocolatey, and highly, highly snackable. It was way too easy to polish off the whole bag within a couple minutes.

It's not to say they're perfect. First, light handling is recommended, unless you enjoy random choco-smears everywhere. Seriously, these are some melty dudes. I'd say so much so that these are probably only a Mama and Daddy treat. Also, while I liked the crispiness of the pretzel slims, it make me wish there was a rod or twist or some sort of full pretzel in all its full pretzel-ly glory just to get some added crunch and girth to it. Lastly, I'm not sure what kinda difference two days really makes when it comes to a snack like this, but I didn't realize until I took the picture that the sell-by date was August 31 and I bought them on September 2. Not a big deal, but, well, there you go.

Sandy agreed the meltiness factor was its huge error. After every bite she had to lick off her fingers so she could continue to hit up Pinterest in search of all sorts of decoration ideas for the house we're eying. Chocolate + keyboard = bad news. The fact she's insistent on no mini-fridges in what she calls the "family playroom" and I call the "man loft" = even worse news. We both agree these are a bigger win than the chocolate chips we had a while ago and not since, as these are a conceivable repeat purchase for the $2.99 they cost. Sandy says a four while I say just a small step behind.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Dark Chocolate Covered Pretzel Slims: 7.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's Gluten Free 3 Cheese Pizza

If the label hadn't so boldly stated that this product lacked gluten, I don't think I would have noticed. On the flip side, I wouldn't have noticed that there were three different cheeses if the label hadn't told me so, either. But I've never been able to count cheese types once they've all melted together like that. Nor do I feel that's a skill I need to cultivate.

I really just want the product to taste good, regardless of the number of cheeses. And with 18g of fat per serving, it had darn well better be good, wheat crust or not. Who knew you could substitute grease for gluten? This pizza had a rice and potato-based crust. I'm willing to bet you could make a pizza crust out of quinoa or something, and if you slathered on enough fatty cheese, nobody would notice or care. And both Sonia and I are on the same page that a single person could conceivably eat this entire $5 pizza in one sitting by themselves...that is, unless they check the nutrition information.

I know, I know, pizza's supposed to be a treat. It's supposed to be fattening. But if you take a gander at some of the other pizzas we've reviewed, you'll note that their fat contents tend to be lower than this one's. But enough about that, because I have more good things to say about this product than bad things.

The crust was thin, and it came out crispy. The combination of cheeses was flavorful, but not overbearing. There were plenty of Italian herbs, and they blended seamlessly with the big slices of tomato. I'm not a huge fan of raw tomatoes, but when they're cooked and covered in pizza grease, bring 'em on! There was also a thin layer of tomato sauce that tied the whole thing together pretty well. And again, if you're gluten sensitive, you can eat this product and just pretend you're eating a regular pizza. It doesn't taste or feel like a gluten free option to me.

And because of that, I'm going to give this product 4 stars. Sonia gives it 4.5, stating that she wishes they sold a larger, family-size version of this pizza.

Bottom line: 8.5 out of 10 stars.

Trader Joe's Marinated White Fish Vera Cruz

You know that person. Every office or work place has one, and most people hate them. If you are that person at your particular place of employment, may God have mercy upon your soul. This person I speak of...well, whatever you do in the privacy and ideally foul-stank containing walls of your home, go for it, live and let live, but the person who brings leftover fish for lunch at work and has the sheer audacity to microwave it so the aroma infiltrates and rudely intrudes the entirety of the circulation/ventilation system of your workplace, so everyone has to smell the scant traces of its fishy foulness...I have no words. That is a party foul that just high-fived all of humanity in its very face. DON"T DO IT. Even if you have leftover fish and have to decide between that and a sketchy dollar burrito from the roach coach. Even if you have nothing else to eat, or God forbid, have to choose between one of these atrocities and micro-zapped pescetarian remnants from the night before.

Which is why, when Sandy and I were enjoying the a dinner of rice, steamed veggies, and some Trader Joe's Marinated White Fish Vera Cruz the other night, when she suggested I take the third filet for lunch the next day, I really had to explain the blank, open-mouthed stare I shot her direction. No, dear, I wasn't throwing a fit of serving-size righteousness and indignation, I just didn't want to be that person who got shot a stinkeye the rest of the week. Nobody would be my friend at work anymore. I would be the very shame of my particular version of Cubicleville.


Good thing, this particular fishy delight is just good enough and intriguing enough to warrant a few extra bites, so deciding to share the third wasn't too much of a struggle. By "white fish", Trader Joe's actually meant "swai fish." I thought maybe this was a Swedish/Thai crossbreed or perhaps another name for one of the Swedish Chef specialties, but no. Come to find out, it's an Asian breed of "shark catfish" that would rank behind Sharknado as the most popular shark crossover product if it were actually, indeed, shark. I don't know, Wikipedia it. It's a popular for its moist flakiness and mild flavor, which I'll agree this particular version is, and it also made a good base for the "Vera Cruz-iness" of the dish. There's fancier versions around, which I'll admit to not having yet. Think of fairly spicy, semi-sweet salsa with a heavy dose of green olives, and that's more or less the marinade and topping for the TJ's version. Ours actually veered to almost too olivey, so it was a little out of whack with the lotso-heat/little sweet flavor profile, but it worked just enough to keep us going. The fish filets themselves were marinated deep enough that a lot of the flavor worked itself right into the flesh, which Sandy liked because she scraped off anything resembling a veggie due to textural concerns.

 In all, for a couple folks who are trying to eat fish once a week and needed a change-up from our usual fish o' choice and chili lime rub, the white fish Vera Cruz (sounds like a boat name, almost) wasn't a bad choice, and it's one we'll probably make again. For $5.99 a pound and getting three good sized pieces (pictured above is one that broke in half), it seems like a decent enough value. We're not overly wowed nor terribly turned off. A little less green olive would go a long way.

Just, please, don't microwave it at work. Please.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's White Fish Vera Cruz: 7 out of 10 Golden Spoons   

Trader Joe's Tropical Sweetened Matcha Green Tea Mix

I've never been a huge fan of matcha, but Sonia loves the stuff. The first time I ever had it was in a Jamba Juice smoothie. It was the first Jamba product I didn't like. Since then, I've had matcha mochi and regular green tea matcha. In each case, not a fan. 

Some types of green tea products do float my proverbial boat, although our cross-state blogging comrades might not be quite as enthused. Sonia's tried everything matcha mentioned above, and then some. She particularly likes the matcha green tea from Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. She's an aficionado. She thinks it's delicious. Well...most of the time.

In this case, there's an abundance of mango and passion fruit flavor. Those seemed like odd flavors to mix with matcha to us, but who are we to question TJ's zany ideas, many of which actually work?

It's a very sweet mixture, and Sonia and I agree that the fruitiness outshines the matcha-ness. But conversely, the matcha is there enough to prevent this from being a fruit-flavored beverage. To both of us, it's just a very strange flavor that doesn't quite work. If it had just been me, we might have chalked it up to my not liking matcha, and had it only been Sonia, we might have attributed it to her being a matcha snob. But considering we both dislike this product quite a bit, we're going to have to declare this a Trader Joe's FAIL.

It's kind of "apples and oranges," but if you're looking for a sweet TJ's tea mix that's actually good, we recommend the Salted Caramel Chai.

Sonia gives this product 2.5 stars. I give it 2.

Bottom line: 4.5 out of 10

Trader Joe's Organic Corn Chip Dippers

Alright, so, listen: there's not too much point in delaying to make the obvious comparison here: Trader Joe's Organic Corn Chip Dippers, on first impression at least, are pretty much just like those big ol' Frito scoopers you can get at pretty much any corner store these days. I'm pretty sure the average consumer (who I definitely lump myself in with) would not be able to tell the difference in a blindfolded taste test. In fact, I can't convince myself that these TJ dippy chippies are not Fritos. That's an intentional double negative there, folks. It means two things: it's 1 a.m. when I'm writing this, and I mean business.

All that being said, there might be a small teeny tiny infinitesimal difference tastewise between the two possibly competing brands. I think these guys are a little thicker, a little crunchier, and perhaps a tad less salty and greasy. I don't eat Fritos often though, and when I do it's normally the regular sized ones, so maybe I'm pulling that comparison out of my arse. I don't know. But I like the fact that these are organic, and while not perfect, Trader Joe's has a respectable enough hisotry with labeling their snackfoods while Frito-Lay....not so much. Not that if I'm to be watching my health and caloric intake that one type of corn chip is really all that better in the grand scheme than another, but any slight edge here and there, I'll take.

Though certainly not bad, these dipper-doodles aren't quite perfect. The lovely specimen I have pictured to the left (smothered in Wal-Mart brand salsa, which is as appetizing as it sounds) is a fine chip made for heavy dipping and lifting duty, I could probably use it as a soup spoon. Too bad not all the chips were like that. Naturally some were more hairpin or latched shaped which made for suboptimal performance. It's a good thing these taste fine enough on their own, or good crumbled up on top of a bowl of chili, that the slightly-more-than-occasional faulty fellow isn't too much of a loss. 
 
 With football season in a few weeks and baseball playoffs starting just a little after that, I'd humbly recommend adding these to the snacking rotation with some guac or salsa or the TJ's pub cheese I keep meaning to try. Just skip the TJ black bean dip because nothing tastes good with that junk, unfortunately. If you're having the gang over and you're concerned that your moronic buddy who always calls end-arounds a reverse will start making foo-foo jokes about your dainty organic chips, just dump them in a bowl and he'll be none the wiser. It'll also save a couple bucks too - I think these were about $2 while the big boys cost something like $3 or $4. Sandy had a complete lack of anything interesting/slightly comical/vaguely embarrassing things to say about these chips, but I know she liked 'em, as did I, so split the score as you see fit. 

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Organic Corn Chip Dippers: 7.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's Cold Brew Coffee Concentrate

I like my coffee like I like my women: dark and sweet.

Actually, that's not really true. I'm not all that big a coffee drinker at all. I just wanted to start this post off with that line. My wife is dark-ish and sweet...well, at least most of the time. But if I drink coffee at all, I like it milky and sweet. I'm a wuss when it comes to coffee.

So if any of you are like me, you'll definitely want to prep this stuff up with lots of milk and sugar, and maybe even some water before you drink it. In the manner of a true foodie-hack, I did drink some straight from the bottle. It's bitter and STRONG that way. Whoowee! It tastes like arse, but it'll wake ya up, though. The bottle recommends mixing it with two parts milk or water for every one part concentrate, but that can be adjusted to suit your personal taste.

Prepared the proper way, with a bit of sugar of course, it's mild and tasty. I'm a little more into cold coffee drinks than hot ones, even in the winter. So I guess this stuff is kind of up my alley since it's meant to be drunk cold. I'm going to try to not dock any points just because I'm not a coffee guy, although Sonia, who's a little more of a coffee connoisseur, wasn't even quite as thrilled as I was.

And just for the benefit of you folks doing research on Trader Joe's coffees, and to keep you on our blog for a bit longer, rollicking in our ocean of glorious product reviews, I'm gonna go ahead and provide the following links to other coffees we've reviewed. We've checked out Café Pajaro, Italian Roast, Gingerbread Coffee, Kauai Coffee, and New Orleans Style Coffee. Of the ones I've personally tried, I would have to put this one near the top of the list. Sonia would put it somewhere in the middle. 4 stars from me. 3 from her.

Bottom line: 7 out of 10 stars.

Trader Joe's Uncured Black Forest Bacon

There comes a time when you just have to be honest and come clean. That's me right now. As much as I've tried to delude myself into thinking I'm a vegetarian, as much as I've actually wanted to be a vegetarian, I no longer honestly refer to myself that way. I've tried living a more-or-less meatfree existence the past few months, partially for health reasons (I've dropped close to 40 pounds since January!), but man, meat keep sneaking it's way back in. At first I was okay with still eating fish and shrimp and stuff like that, so much more accurately, I was pescetarian. Then I tried the mantle of "gracious vegeterian", as in, if I'm somewhere for dinner and meat's what's for dinner, I will graciously accept that, I just won't choose to eat it if given the choice. That worked for a bit. Then...well...onwards and forwards and blah diddly blah blah, Sandy and I thought it'd be okay if we purchased a weekly "meat cheat" and since our last one was so severely disappointing, we had to make up for it this time around.

Hence the Trader Joe's Uncured Black Forest Bacon we picked up our last trip. Oh goodness. No picture I could take of the this bacon could truly do it justice. It's thick cut, with much more meat per slice than first glance, and dark and sweet and savory. Being semi-lazy and weary of grease spatter burn circles on my forearms, when making bacon I usually opt for the baking-in-the-over option. Though easier, it's also much easier to overbake and blacken, which is a death knell for many an inferior pork strip. Not so with these guys. Even when they got a little scorched, the crisp and crunch remained in tact, with the full flavor of sweet salty pork, without even a trace of it turning to charcoal. There's some other TJ bacon that I've enjoyed, and perhaps maybe it was more the previously bacon-less existence I led for far too long talking, but man, this was absolutely terrific and well worth the fivespot we dropped on the package.

It was after we cooked up the second go-around that Sandy and I came to the realization that yes, we cannot honestly call ourselves vegetarians. I think we're okay with that. We'll probably still skip it at least a few nights a week, so a little more intentional that just observing a Meatless Monday. I'm just glad we made this decision before heading up to Cleveland and hitting up the Westside Market because man....so much good looking meat there, we packed up a Styrofoam cooler to truck back down to the 'burgh, along with some TJ drinky drinks we'll review soon. Thanks, bacon, for being yummy and keeping us honest. Sandy goes with a four, as do I, plus an extra half-spoon just 'cause.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Uncured Black Forest Bacon: 8.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's Peaches & Cream and Mango & Cream Yogurt Cups

Many moons ago, we took a look at Trader Joe's Blueberries & Cream and Vanilla & Cream yogurts. They were both deemed delicious, thick, and among the best-tasting yogurt products that we've ever tried from TJ's. This other yogurt duo has some things in common with the blueberry and vanilla, and a few differences.

Let's start with the commonalities. They're both beautifully-packaged, they're both ultra-thick and creamy, and they both have the word "and" mentioned three times in their product titles, though two out of the three are cleverly disguised as ampersands. They both come in small cups, but are still very filling.

But unlike the blueberry and vanilla combo, this one features two flavors that wind up being a little too similar. Mango really shouldn't taste that much like peach. But in this case, Sonia and I both felt that it did. It's not that we couldn't tell the difference between the two flavors, because we could...but the mango flavor seemed, well, just a little peachy. Also both flavors look the same, too. They're just slightly different variations on this pastel shade of orange...I guess it's tangerine? Or coral? Saffron maybe? Anyway, that's beside the point I guess...the point is, you almost have to look at the picture on the cup to figure out which yogurt you're eating.

Also beside the point is why "peaches" is plural and "mango" is singular. Is it because they used multiple peaches per cup but only one mango? My guess is that they went with "mango," singular, because they didn't know whether to spell the plural with an "e" or not: "mangos" or "mangoes." That zany mango presents quite a conundrum. 

And certainly, mango is the riskier of the two flavors. Peaches and cream is what started the whole "fruit and cream" craze. It's a classic. If you actually get the yogurt to taste vaguely of peaches and/or cream, you pretty much can't go wrong, and they nailed it. It's delicious. But in our opinion, the mango flavor tastes a bit like peaches and cream too. It's not like Trader Joe's doesn't know how to do mango. They've done mango gummies, mango juices, mango chocolates, and mango cereal, among other things. Just type in the keyword "mango" in the search box below the intro to our blog and four pages of mango-related products will pop up. And good or bad, virtually all of those products tasted like mango. But for once, Sonia and I actually wanted more mango flavor. And that's our biggest complaint.

But still, this is a great product overall. If you're looking for a thick, sweet, dessert-like yogurt, look no further. You don't even really have to like mango. You just have to like peaches and cream. Sonia gives this product 4 stars. I give it 3.5.

Bottom line: 7.5 out of 10.

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*Since the nutrition information is a little hard to see, here are some of the stats you might be missing: Total Carbs 20g, Fiber 0g, Sugars 17g, Protein 4g.

Trader Joe's The Dark Chocolate Lover's Chocolate Bar

Even when I was a much younger rumblin' tumblin' typhoon of a kid, I always disliked the word "lover's" in the name of any food. Prime example: Pizza Hut's Meat Lover's Pizza. Now, I like pepperoni and sausage and beef and whatever other bits of carnation that get piled on top, but I think the simple act of saying the name was like a confession I wasn't willing to openly, unabashedly proclaim: "I love meat! Mmmmm meat!" Plus, let's face it, there's better, more verbally understated ways of celebrating one's appreciation of meat, like ordering a bacon-wrapped filet mignon. Or a turducken. Or, when given the opportunity like I have recently, unashamedly taking a thick cut of pepperoni and smearing a swath of buffalo chicken dip all up on it and savoring every last bit....ummm, I mean, dear, I totally didn't do that this past weekend at your cousin's kid's birthday party...I'm a terrible, terrible absolute hack of a vegetarian wannabe.

So, Trader Joe's The Dark Chocolate Lover's Chocolate Bar. I'll skip over the long awkward name bit (e pluribus unum at TJ's) and focus on that word again: Lover's. Now, I like dark chocolate, but love? Can't go there. Sorry, dark chocolate, you've been friendzoned.

 If the "85% Cacao" label on there isn't indication enough, this is one seriously dark chocolate bar. Kinda like an early days/obscure b-sides album, it's not for everyone even if you're otherwise a fan. It's the darkest TJ's carries, and unlike so many of their other fine choco-creations, there's nothing else mixed in to break up the flavor. And honestly...I didn't expect it to be so sweet. Granted, it's more bittersweet than anything, but I'll confess to have eaten straight baker's chocolate squares before, and I kinda expected the same flat kind of flavor despite the "smooth and fruity" the labels proclaims these bars bring to the table. Nuh uh. Smooth and fruity, while bitter seems about right, plus there's this kinda alcohol-y bit to it, though of course they're booze-free. Is floral a word I can use to describe chocolate? I don't know, but I'm tempted to anyways. It's dark, it's strong, and it's unexpected...hard to adequately describe, but if you've tried you know what I mean.  This ain't no Hershey's.

For a $1.49 for two (!) bars, it's a small, risk-worthy pick-up. I thought Sandy and I would each plow our way thru our own piece. Oh no. It's chocolate worth nibblin' on and slowly enjoying, like a mature grown-up or something. I'll admit that my first impression wasn't so hot, but with each successive smidge I liked it a little more. One bar between the two of us was more than plenty for one night. Sandy enjoyed it a bit more than I did and goes with a four. It's a bit potent for me, but I don't think I'm quite the intended audience, so I'll be fair and say a three...nah, 3.5.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's The Dark Chocolate Lover's Chocolate Bar: 7.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's Chicken Recipe Jerky Sticks for Dogs

Trader Joe's Chicken Parmesan Lollipops

What's the deal with meat on sticks?

Sorry, that was me channeling my inner Jerry Seinfeld.

But really, what's the deal? I have a theory: Our ancestors used to have to run around and club animals with sticks then roast them over a fire to eat. But no, not our modern selves. Nowadays, we put meat on a stick for fancy occasions (say, hors d' ouevres at a wedding) or at mass gatherings of civilizations (like county fairs) or in the case of these Trader Joe's Chicken Parmesan Lollipops...well, I'm not sure why there's a stick in them. I guess it's just to remind of us of how far we've come. We're ahead. We're advanced. We're the first mammals to wear pants.

Sorry, that was me channeling my inner Eddie Vedder.

Let's talk about these inner chicken on a stick thingies. I'll try to be careful about how I refer to them, because calling them certain things sound a little, um, phallic. Use your imagination if you so choose.

Channeling my inner Abraham Lincoln, I'm going to be straight out honest with you, to perhaps a fault: I have not been this sorely disappointed by a Trader Joe's product in a long, long time. The best way I can think of to describe them is, imagine you're eating some breaded chicken parm, and some of the breading slips off and gets all mixed in with the sauce and cheese, with maybe an itty bitty teeny weeny bit of chicken in it. Taste good? Yeah, sorta. Would you pay $5 for a box of 10 McNugget sized pieces of that? No? I sure wouldn't....except I did when I bought these. I'm almost tempted to tag these as vegetarian, because I truthfully cannot verify if any actual chicken is used in these, because whatever was included was so scant it was pathetic. As one of the very few "meat cheats" I make as a roughly 85% vegetarian, it's even more disappointing, and honestly I'm feeling a little bit ripped off and cheated..

Sandy was even more enthusiastic initially about them then I was, and as I pulled them out of the oven, she excitedly ran to the fridge, curiously yanked out her self-proclaimed "favorite condiment" and then as she picked up her first chicken stick, dejectedly exclaimed "Ugh! Why's there red stuff in it?" I was very confused about this sequence of events until I realized she transposed the words "chicken" and "parmesan" and was expecting slightly cheesy chicken nuggets ideal for dipping into mustard, not infantile quasi-Olive Garden knockoffs. She harrumphed the rest of the night away. "They'd be okay for appetizers but that's about it," she said. She also noted the complete absence of discernible clucky parts, so it wasn't just me. Sandy's giving them a two, graciously, I think. Me? When the best thing you can say about a product is that it comes with it's own toothpick, that's not really a ringing endorsement. Perhaps I'm just unreasonably grumpy about the whole thing, but I'm channeling my inner Richard Dawson. Survey says....

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Chicken Parmesan Lollipops: 2 out of 10 Golden Spoons     

Trader Joe's Pomegranate & Blueberry Cereal

When it comes to Trader Joe's cereals, we've collectively only found one worthy of the Pantheon so far. And each half of the WG@TJ's team has found at least one offering that we can't wholeheartedly recommend, like the Twigs, Flakes, and Clusters or the Loaded Fruit and Nut Granola. 

This Pomegranate and Blueberry cereal is the only one in recent memory that falls right in the middle of those two categories. I highly recommend you try it if you're into pomegranates and blueberries, but I can't give you my personal guarantee like I might something in our Pantheon.

The flakes are hearty, rigid, and very crunchy—even more than I expected. They're borderline "scrape up the roof of your mouth" style flakes, and they're surprisingly sweet, coated in what I guess is "milled cane sugar." There was a decided lack of blueberries in my box, which is unfortunate, because they were my favorite part of the cereal. They're dried and slightly shriveled, but they taste like lightly-sweetened real blueberries...because that's what they are.

But the most pleasant surprises in the mix were the delicious crunchberry-esque wads of purplishness that I'm guessing are supposed to be pomegranate-flavored. To me, they tasted more like cherry, but either way, they were tasty. And yes, if you read the ingredients list, you'll note that there is both real freeze-dried pomegranate and cherry puree in this cereal. These lavender bunches crunch like clusters of granola, and they're both sweeter and more tart than you'd expect. Plus, unlike the elusive dried blueberries, these fruity chunks were omnipresent in the box.

The cereal stays crunchy until the end of the bowl, and while your milk won't turn super-purple, there are hundreds of flecks of dark blue floating around, and there's just enough sweetness to make it worth reliving your childhood, putting the bowl up to your lips, and chugging it dry.

Sonia gives this cereal 3.5 stars. I give it 4.

Bottom line: 7.5 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Hot & Sweet Mustard

As I've written before, with the notable exception of hot sauce, I'm just not a condiment kinda guy. I don't know why that is. I mean, I like the idea of adding different kinds of sauces and whatnot to a sandwich or pile of fries or whatever, or the idea of salad dressing to spruce up an otherwise dull plate of greens and veggies, but when push comes to shove, more often than not I'll just pass. Maybe I just like my food to taste like however it's going to taste without too much outside interference. Don't like ketchup. Don't like pretty much any salad dressing. And don't get me started on mayonnaise. And most importantly, if it's in a squeeze bottle that makes farty sounds, no way on earth I'm trying it. Them's the rules for me. Blecch.

One very occasional exception to this would be mustard. And I must say, very, very, occasional. I'll put some on a pretzel or, back when it was a viable lunch option, let my Subway sandwich artist put some on every once in a great while. It's no great loss when they don't. So, when someone (I think my brother, not sure) told me that Trader Joe's Hot & Sweet Mustard was more or less the best thing ever, I felt good about trying it out despite my usual prejudices (keep those in mind as you read the rest of this).

This mustard, to me, just isn't all that great. Not that it's terrible, either. "Hot and sweet" is not a completely honest description for it - "sweet and sour and a wee bit of something that approaches hot" seems a bit more accurate. Trader Joe's repeats their fairly classic mistake of assuming vinegar equates to heat (prime example: their black bean dip) for their "hot" and loads up on sugar for the "sweet" part (see first ingredient). So imagine very sweet, vinegary mustard. Maybe that's tantalizing for you. For me, not so much. To be fair, after dunking a few pretzel sticks in it, the back of my throat began to sense something a little spicy, or perhaps overly bitter, in a kinda horseradish-y sense. There's no horseradish in this mustard, of course, but that's the closest thing I can equate it to. Overall, the mustard seemed okay, not bad enough to keep me from snacking, but not good enough for me to keep on craving it. For whatever reason, it tasted a little better the one night we dipped our chickenless tenders in it instead.

My wife's admiration more than makes up for my ambivalence. "Oooooooh, this is so good, I could drink it right out of the jar!!!" Sandy exclaimed. I offered to snap a picture of her doing so and can't believe she said no. That would've been a much more interesting visual addition than our usual product shots. She agrees that it's closer to sweet and sour than hot and sweet, so good to know I'm not just making that up. It's not a terrible pickup for the measly $1.49 it costs, but if solely up to me, it's not one we'll make often. Sandy gives it a four. For me, about the fairest I can be is to call it right down the middle with a 2.5.

Bottom line: Trader Joes Hot & Sweet Mustard: 6.5 out of 10 Golden Spoons     

Trader Giotto's Bambino Pizza Formaggio

Back when I was a kid in elementary school, one of the highlights of the academic year was participating in the BOOK IT! program, which apparently still exists. It involved reading books for free pizza. Each student got an oversized button with 5 or 6 blank star-shaped spaces. For each book we'd read, we would receive a little star sticker to put on our button. We're not talking Crime and Punishment and Moby Dick, of course. We're talking Amelia Bedelia and Freckle Juice—books we'd be reading anyway, even if there weren't free food involved. 

So we'd read like mad in anticipation of our free personal pan pizza from the local Pizza Hut. On the day of redemption, we'd turn in that button at the pizza counter feeling like kings. The little round pizza would come out steaming hot, and it tasted better than any pizza we had ever had before, because we knew we earned it.

These Bambino pizzas from TJ's remind me of those personal pan pizzas from pizza hut in size, shape, and appearance, but the flavor is a little more grown-up. They taste just like really good Sicilian-style pizza with plenty of Italian herbs and spices in the mix. Although, I must say that unlike the picture on the packaging, you can't really see flecks of green herbs (I guess that's oregano?) all scattered across the tops of the pizzas. You can taste it, but you can't see it.

Each Bambino pizza is about the size of one large slice of pizza, so if you're having this for dinner, you can probably count on each person eating at least two. They come in two individually wrapped packages of two pizzas a piece. I like my crust fairly crispy, so I wound up leaving my pizzas in the oven for a minute or two longer than the instructions called for, but other than that, the baking time was spot on. Like most other frozen pizzas, I simply can't imagine these being half as good if cooked in the microwave.

If you're a fan of Sicilian pizza, check these out. I was really happy with the texture and taste, and I give them 4.5 stars. Sonia will give them a 4.

Bottom line: 8.5 out of 10.

Trader Joe's Organic Strawberry Lemonade

It's tough to type this without it sounding like a out-and-out whiny complaint, but maaaaaan July and August in Pittsburgh are fairly unpleasant. It's all about the humidity. It's atrocious. For the past couple days as I've left for work at about 8 a.m., it's felt like I've left the comfort of my home and stepped straight into a vaporous incarnation of a sponge hot hot and fresh from the dishwasher. Our power went out twice last week for hours, leaving us in a hot sticky mess where the usual standing order for goodnight hugs and baby snuggles were temporarily suspended for sheer survival's sake. Ugh. It's just bad. At the same time, I realize I could live somewhere else that would be prone to tornadoes or wildfires or massive widespread flooding, and my heart goes out to all communities affected by all those recently, especially Prescott, AZ. In the grand scheme,a couple months of hot steamy mugginess in the summer is not a bad truce to have with Mother Nature. I'm just glad for when those times come, God invented air conditioning.

I'm also glad he invented Trader Joe's Organic Strawberry Lemonade for these summer months. At the very least I can say he inspired those who manufacture this delicious concoction, as I believe it is truly the product of inspired divinity.

How can anything possibly taste this impossibly good? It's improbably perfect. Every sip has the proper balance of tart lemony citrus and sweet sugary strawberry that blends together in a smooth, cool, refreshing taste that however temporarily brings it all down a few degrees. And this ain't wimpy stuff, oh no. It's potent and unrelenting in it's powerful tastiness.  I tell you, it's addicting and highly chuggable for those in search of liquid refreshment. Heck, I don't even want to stop there. When I rule the world, or at least the local waterpark, I will replace all water with this lemonade. Can I wade into a wavepool churning and swaying with strawberry lemonade? Can I coast down a long twisty turny waterslide (err, lemonade slide) and splash land at the bottom, face-first mouth-open? Can I grab an innertube and float down a lazy river armed with just a swimsuit, shades, and an extra long straw for the occasional sip? Believe me, if I could, I would. It's so impeccably funktastalicioso that I'll overlook the "black carrot concentrate" added "for color" and wonder how in the h-e-double Bendi straw that works. And it almost goes without saying that add some booze and ice cubes for the adults or freeze it into some popsicles for the kiddos, and you get yourself one cool treat.

Obviously, I'm about as high on the strawberry lemonade as I can be. I think the wife and I have bought it four times thus far this summer, and seeing as that we're currently out, I'm beginning to get the DTs from withdrawal. That's just me, as Sandy's not nearly the aficionado that I am. "Eh, it's just lemonade to me," she says. That's like saying the Beatles were just a pop band or that, for his time and era, Jonathan Taylor Thomas was just another child actor. Sandy continues, "It's not like 'Ermergerd, it's strerberry lermernerde!'" It hurt just typing that, yeesh. She gave it a mere three. I file my five in protest, as this may be one of the best drinks Trader Joe's carries. Better than sweet tea. Better than the Arnold Palmer. Better than the vintage root beer, and way better than this primordial green ooze. Yums all the way around in my little world.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Organic Strawberry Lemonade: 8 out of 10 Golden Spoons       

Trader Joe's Petite Seafood Croquettes

With Surimi imitation crab! Oh boy! That's the best imitation crab meat of them all!

Or so I might believe after perusing the cover of this product. I've actually never heard of Surimi until now, but I have known for a while that a lot of times "crab meat" is actually nothing but fake crab meat that's really only dressed-up fish. I just find it funny that TJ's advertises it so boldly on the cover of the product. Well, it does say "seafood croquettes," not "crab croquettes." And really, I think if it were real crab meat, they'd just go ahead and call them "Petite Crab Cakes" or "Mini Crab Cakes." But I do get caught up in the semantics too easily. It's the English major in me.

Let's talk about grub.

These are good. But not quite as good as the Maryland-Style Crab Cakes we reviewed a while back. Maybe that's because...they aren't crab cakes. But they're so similar to crab cakes...they might as well be. You could call them "Fish Cakes," but that would be boring. I guess the best thing

to call them would have been "Imitation Crab Cakes" or "Surimi Cakes." But what marketer would put the word "imitation" in the title of a product? One who's slightly crazier than the one that put "made with surimi imitation crab" immediately below the title of the product.

They're slightly firm on the outside, and significantly softer on the inside. You can taste things like peppers, celery, and cream in the mix. It's actually a good bit like Thanksgiving stuffing...mixed with fish. They're not very spicy, but you can detect a hint of seasoning. All in all, not a bad appetizer, but there are plenty of hors d'oeuvres I'd take over these.

Sonia gives them 3.5 stars, adding, "They were a little too eggy for me, even though I like eggs." I didn't notice the egginess so much, but I give them 3.5 too, because they were snackable enough, but not particularly memorable.

Bottom line: 7 out of 10 stars.

Trader Joe's Gluten Free Joe-Joe's

I'll admit this right up front: I'm most likely the last person in the world who should be reviewing these. I have no gluten sensitivities or any need to be wary of pretty much anything I eat. I'm also not a huge fan of Oreos and sandwich cookies in general - yeah, I mean, I'll eat them, but they all kinda taste the same to me, and if I'm eating a cookie, well, dangit, if it's not homemade I want it be something not so ordinary more times than not. Notable exception: add mint and dip into dark chocolate.

But fear not, I (for once) have a plan. Since I lack the proper gluten-free perspective and a healthy fondness for these kinda cookies, I'm actually going to take a small step aside here for a moment. One of my good friends, Allison, has had to adopt a gluten-free diet for the past several years, and when she, in a little bit of a break from the norm, started raving on Facebook about how tremendously awesome Trader Joe's Gluten Free Joe-Joe's are, well, it got my attention and so I invited Allison to share her thoughts about them.

"In eating gluten free, you generally find good replacements (IF you search around-there is a lot of bad gluten-free food that you have to weed out). Products that are a good substitute, however, are exactly that: a substitute. TJ's gluten free Joe-Joes are the first gluten-free product I have tasted that taste just like the original. They are oh-so chocolaty, and have an amazing texture, reminiscent of Oreos (in my opinion, better, since you can taste the real vanilla bean in the middle). I had my non-gluten-free husband try them, and he loved them as well, guessing that he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference in a blind taste test," she wrote. "I would also add that good chocolate flavor in cookies and cakes (gluten free or not) is hard to do. Many times the chocolate flavor is flat, especially in packaged cookies. These cookies give you a full, robust, chocolate flavor, satisfying any chocolate lover's craving."

Well, there you have it. Sandy and I picked up a box of the regular and the gluten-free guys to compare and contrast. They're pretty close overall but to be honest, we both kinda sided with the the gluten-free ones being a tad bit better despite their nearly identical taste. The gluten-free guys have this particular crunch and "clean crumbliness" to them that make them more fun to munch. Sandy also she said she liked the middles of the gluten free cookies better, but I can't tell the difference. 

There is another difference though, which Allison tipped me off to, but apparently is par for the gluten free course. The box of regular Joe-Joe's cost $2.99 and had 42 cookies, so about 7 cents a cookie. The gluten free ones cost $3.99 (so a third more) and had 28 cookies (so a third less) which computes to about 14 cents a cookie. For another example, regular TJ's mac 'n cheese (yum!) goes for a buck a box, while the far inferior rice/celiac friendly version costs a paper Jefferson. Yeesh. How do you all with gluten sensitivities and a budget do it? Mad respect. And perhaps I'm a bit slow, but I can't think of a great justification for the widely divergent price points, and find all of that to be a wee bit unfair. 

Alrighty, Golden Spoons time. I'm keeping out of this one altogether for two reasons. First, Allison is the leading gluten-free expert I know, so I'm giving her the courtesy of scoring on my behalf. Secondly, if there's anything that over 3.5 years of marriage (and just over 1 year with a delightful daughter!) have taught me, it's that when there's a question of whose opinion matters more, there's not a question after all. Sandy just went "mmmmm" while munching a mouthful and flashed me all five digits. That texture's got a hook on her. Allison agrees. "For really great junk food (that would also make an amazing pie crust) gluten-free or not, I give it a 5." There you have it. All you gluten-free peeps out there, rejoice.

Bottom line: Trader Joe's Gluten Free Joe-Joe's: 10 out of 10 Golden Spoons

Trader Joe's Lemon Curd

A month or two ago, in the downtown area of our tiny little suburb right outside the City of Brotherly Love, my wife and I found ourselves hunting for some vittles one bright Saturday morning. We settled on a new diner/cafe right on the main street. It was a quaint mom and pop's joint. It reminded us of a little place we used to go in Hollywood called "The Corner." 

Now, my wife Sonia usually eats an hour or two after she gets up, whereas I am in the habit of eating at least a little bit of something immediately upon waking, usually accompanied by a caffeinated energy drink of some kind. That meal, a true break-the-fast is often very small, allowing me to eat a little more a little later and join Sonia when she finally does eat breakfast. Inspired by our good friend Peregrin Took, Sonia and I refer to that latter meal as my "second breakfast."

But second breakfast can't be as big as a normal meal, since it's book-ended by first breakfast and elevensies. So when I searched the menu at this little cafe for a small-ish meal and declined when offered a hashbrown add-on, our waitress of course decided that I must be a cheap SOB and that she would undoubtedly receive little or nothing in the way of a tip. We received little or nothing in the way of service after that, as our waitress strived dutifully to fulfill her own prophecy, but when my meal finally came out (pancakes with lemon curd) everything in the world was right as rain. I was delighted at the tart, tangy, lemoniness of the curd. I was upset that something so delicious would be called "curd." I giggled like a schoolboy as I smeared it 'round my flapjacks. Then I literally licked my platter clean.

Sonia, apparently offended by the streams of yellow drizzle on my face, said to me flatly, "You know they sell that stuff at Trader Joe's."

My eyes widened at the realization that I wouldn't have to go back to this goofy little diner for lemon curd. BUT, would TJ's version taste as good as the poor-service cafe?

In the time that's passed, I have confirmed that YES, TJ's version is every bit as good as the one I had at that diner, and in fact, that the two taste so similar, I'm guessing the cafe's lemon curd "supplier" IS Trader Joe's. 

It's got the consistency and feel of honey, but it's RIDICULOUSLY lemony. It made me want to scream "Lemony Snicket!" like I did when I ate the Lemon Bars. It goes well with pancakes, with toast, with scones, with cookies, or just about anything you want to taste like lemon candy. It's super sour, but also super sweet. I'm in love with it. I don't know if anywhere else sells this stuff in the states, and I'm pretty sure Trader Joe didn't invent the stuff, but I'm going to give TJ's the credit for introducing me to it. 5 big stars from me. 4.5 stars from Sonia.

Bottom line: 9.5 out of 10.