Nate's Notes: this product is seasonal and done for the year already. It's only available around Thanksgiving and Christmas time for some bizarre reason. This was the first year we tried it and wanted to bust out a review for the benefit of Holiday Season 2026. Nothing says "holidays" like horseradish, right?
Trader Joe’s Ridge Cut Potato Chips Seasoned with Horseradish & Chives roll into your life like they’re here to do a job—and that job is structural integrity. These are thick, deeply ridged chips that feel like they were engineered by someone who hates flimsy snacks. They’re sturdy. They’re robust. They absolutely want to be dipped. If you’ve ever snapped a thin chip in half while reaching for French onion dip and questioned your life choices, these chips are your redemption arc.
The seasoning is where things get interesting. The salt level is dialed in just right—not bland, not salt-lick aggressive. The chive flavor is green, herby, and unmistakable, giving strong “savory dairy-adjacent” vibes without actually committing to dairy. And then there’s the horseradish. Oh yes. Trader Joe's Horseradish & Chives Chips bring that nasal-clearing bite that lets you know they mean business. Not painful, not prank-level spicy, but enough zing to make your sinuses sit up straight and pay attention.
That said, something’s missing. Specifically: creaminess. If your brain hears “horseradish & chives” and expects the cozy tang of sour cream and onion, you’re going to notice the absence. The flavor combo is bold but a little sharp around the edges. I kept wishing for a creamy, tangy element to smooth things out—something sour cream–like to bring balance to the force. Luckily, this is an easy fix: dip them in sour cream. Or French onion dip. Or anything vaguely dairy-based. Problem solved, marriage saved.
These chips would absolutely shine next to a roast beef sandwich, ideally one that’s flirting with a cup of au jus. The horseradish-chive combo just belongs in that beefy, deli-adjacent universe.
At $2.99 for a 7-ounce bag, these are an easy buy—and yes, we’d buy them again. Just maybe with a tub of sour cream riding shotgun. I think Sonia and I will both go with eight out of ten stars on Trader Joe's Ridge Cut Potato Chips Seasoned with Horseradish & Chives.
Trader Joe’s Sour Strawberry Candy Belts come in a hefty plastic tub that costs a very reasonable $3.49 which immediately puts them in the dangerous impulse buy category. You know, the kind where you toss them into your cart thinking "this will last a while," and then somehow the tub is empty by Tuesday. Inside, you’ll find roughly 30 candy belts—long, sugar-dusted ribbons that look like they were designed specifically to be eaten straight from the container while standing in the kitchen.
Let’s start with the texture, because texture matters. These belts are soft, flexible, and pleasantly chewy without veering into dental-work territory. You can bend them, twist them, roll them up like a fruit leather sleeping bag—no snapping, no jaw fatigue. Big win. If you’ve ever been betrayed by a candy that fought back, you’ll appreciate these.
Flavor-wise, they’re good. The strawberry taste is clean, familiar, and enjoyable. Sweet and sour in a friendly, non-threatening way. That said, let’s talk about the sour part. Or rather, the lack of commitment to sour. Trader Joe's Sour Strawberry Candy Belts are lightly tart, but they’re not making your face implode. If you’re hoping for a full pucker moment, you won’t find it here. And honestly, that’s fine—just know what you’re signing up for.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, has topped Trader Joe’s dearly departed Sour Gummy Ts and Js. They weren’t aggressively sour either, but the flavors—grapefruit, tangerine, lime, lemon—were elite-tier candy flavors. Compared to that lineup, strawberry feels a little… safe. Which brings us to the big wish: more flavors. With Sour Jelly Beans, Sour Scandinavian Swimmers, and Spooky Bats & Cats, Trader Joe’s understands that variety is the spice of sour life. Why limit these belts to just one flavor?
Still, if I had to choose a single sour flavor to live with, strawberry wouldn’t be a bad pick. Bonus points for using real sugar, apple juice concentrate, and fruit-and-vegetable-based coloring. Candy that’s trying a little to be wholesome is very on-brand.
Finally, these are a product of Turkey. Baklava? Sure. Simit bread? Absolutely. Sour candy belts? Unexpected, but okay, Turkey—you nailed the chew.
Bottom line: tasty, affordable, easy-to-like candy with great texture and solid flavor. Just don’t expect them to melt your face off. I'll go with seven out of ten stars for Trader Joe's Sour Strawberry Candy Belts. The beautiful wifey will throw out seven and a half.
Trader Joe’s Maple Brioche Style Liège Waffles arrive with a bit of continental swagger. Fun fact to drop at brunch: Liège is a city in Belgium, which means these waffles are technically more cultured than most of us before coffee. They’re imported straight from Belgium, so when you eat one you can briefly pretend you’re on a cobblestone street instead of standing barefoot in your kitchen at 7:42 a.m.
For $4.49, you get six waffles, each one individually wrapped like it’s a precious artifact. At first glance, the extra packaging feels a little dramatic—does a waffle really need its own outfit? But once you’re tossing one into a bag for work or ripping one open half-asleep, the convenience wins you over. No freezer burn, no weird waffle clumping incidents. Everyone stays in their lane.
Out of the wrapper, these are… fine. Perfectly acceptable. Pleasant, even. But let’s not kid ourselves: these waffles want heat. Toss one in the toaster, add a little butter, and suddenly things get interesting. The outside crisps up, the inside stays soft and chewy, and the pearl sugar does that magical caramelized thing it does so well. If you’re really chasing sweetness, a drizzle of extra maple syrup will send it over the top, though it’s not strictly necessary.
The maple flavor itself is noticeable but not aggressive. It’s there, quietly humming in the background, reminding you that fall exists. That said, it does make these waffles a little less versatile than Trader Joe’s Original Brioche Style Liège Waffles. The plain ones are a blank canvas—you can throw fruit spread on them, go savory-ish, do whatever your heart desires. These maple ones feel more opinionated. Butter? Yes. Syrup? Sure. Whipped cream or even a scoop of ice cream? Absolutely. But slathering them with strawberry jam feels… wrong. Like wearing flip-flops to a wedding.
Would we buy them again? Probably. They’re good, they’re convenient, and they scratch a specific maple-flavored itch. But if we’re being honest, we’d still gravitate toward the plain version most of the time. If I want maple, I can always add my own. Control is power, especially when waffles are involved. Seven and a half out of ten stars from Sonia for Trader Joe's Maple Brioche Style Liège Waffles. I'll go with seven out of ten stars.
