Sweet Fristy's Oreo Truffles

One of the many perks of being a candy critic is all of the edible gifts you receive from beautiful women. Of course, women thrust their offerings (food and otherwise) upon me daily whether they know my work here at VCSE or not, but there is something particularly enjoyable about those presents that are dropped into my lap under the context of review: they are meant to be judged. The only thing better than free candy is free candy that you are allowed to hate.

This is not to say that I hate Sweet Fristy's Oreo Truffles—I'm calling them that because I can find no official documentation of their real name and can't find the inspiration within me to come up with a more whimsical title—no, I feel quite the contrary. It is impossible not to love them, as they are in fact vegan Oreo truffles, and I challenge anyone to prove me wrong. If there does exist such a person, I venture to guess that she also hates smiles, sex, and Harry Nilsson, or is diabetic. None of those types of people should be reading this blog in the first place.

For those of you with healthy senses of enjoyment and functioning pancreata, these Oreo Truffles will satisfy you fully and efficiently, like two-minute a body massage given by a solar-powered teddy bear. Their taste is undoubtedly rooted in the darker side of chocolate—which vegans and good people the world over know to be the better side—without entrenching itself too deep into the spectrum. What I am left with, breath-wise, post-consumption is neither the regret of Too Sweet's shallow dryness nor Too Bitter's hateful acridity; rather, these are just right. Oreo's staccato notes supplement the choco-rhythm, not overtake it as their dominant placement on the truffle might suggest.

These truffles' innermost texture was a surprise for its density. Ingeniously, Fristy (if it is a person) has engineered these bon bons to force the biter to chew slowly, leading an unexpected counterattack on the careless, authoritative forces of quick eating. With five truffles to the box, it's a much-needed strategy, and I am all the more thankful that it is in place.

If I have any problem with these truffles, it is their deceptive packaging. A sticker on the orange box indicates that the contents are probably cupcakes, when it is merely Sweet Fristy's logo, signifying that SF is known for its cupcakes, but not that they only make cupcakes. With no prior experience with the company or warning that these were coming, I assumed at first that these were some kind of new candy/cupcake hybrid model, which really poses no problem to me, but which is inaccurate. And yes, I do eat things that come in the mail before I realize what they are. Usually the results are delicious.

These are in a word, superb. They taste great after a night in the freezer or directly out of the box, melting all over your fingers. Trust me, I have had them both ways. Unfortunately, you might have to wait a while (forever?) to try them, and other Sweet Fristy goods, for yourself. Right now the store has seemingly vanished from its home on Etsy, promising to be back soon. Personally, I can't stand the wait.

Upcoming Reviews: Vegan Candy

Fear not, for this blog is still among the living! Check back with us soon for the following reviews:

• Truffles from Sweet Fristy!
• Giant Chewy Nerds!
• Skittles, probably!
• Donuts?
• A fifth item!

So, see you soon, albeit under more judgmental circumstances.

This Blog

This blog is amazing.  It is a revolutionary vegan venture.  The reviews here will guide you to all that is good. It will change your life.*

This blog is blogged by Matt and myself.  We're vegans.  He really enjoys candy, and while I do as well, I'm no where near the connoisseur that he is. So he's going to review vegan candy, and I'm just going to review...other things.  

Like this blog, which gets a big fat A+, or plain old praise if you're opposed to the stringent grading system of today's schools.  You hippie. 

You know you can trust me, because in my little screen capture you can just barely see a West Wing DVD floating in the corner.  We are Josiah Bartlet approved [Santos digs us, too (so maybe, by default, so does OBAMA?)]. 

So, Mr. TV President, you're saying this blog can save health care?

*Maybe.

SweeTarts

SweeTarts are one of the last true mysteries left on Earth. Their name alone warrants discussion, with its audacious capital "T" mid-phrase and its vague suggestion of a pun on "sweethearts." Audiolinguists and onomatopoeia enthusiasts may also notice that the name, when spoken aloud, echoes the sounds of a SweeTart pellet as one sucks it through his lips and fractures it between his molars, which is how I more often than not consume the candy.

This observation raises another query: how should one actually eat SweeTarts? Though they are emblazoned with the instructions "BITE EM," the aforementioned suck-and-bite method never feels quite correct, as the force necessary to break into a piece just barely constitutes an exertion, an act of labor, leading to the inevitable shock when the 'Tart cracks too soon and tiny shockwaves reverberate up the jawbone. Is this the punishment I deserve for eating too fast and neglecting the complex notes of flavor laden within? No, because the alternative—waiting minutes until the candy dissolves into a corn-syrupy, plaque-building anesthetic for the tastebuds—is no better.

Perhaps this stiff lack of grace can be attributed to the Spartan ideal this kind of candy espouses—these are nothing if not convenient, quick, and efficient. Indeed, these share a flavorial resemblance to Pixie Sticks, another short-form, sugar-high-friendly candy, more stimulant than actual food. So in terms of getting the job done (i.e. delivering glucose into the blood), SweeTarts are a clear winner. In regards to their flavor or the enjoyment one gleans from eating them, I can't say that these are an all-around success.

The sweetness-to-tartness ratio, the integral characteristic of these candies and indeed, their namesake, could stand to be improved. I would rather the scales be tipped in tart's favor and I'm certain that I'm not alone in this critique. An extra sour bite would provide a compelling counterpoint to their inherent expendability, forcing chewers to wince through their consumption but at the same time appreciate the soothing relief of sweetness as it pierces through the tang.

Variety is also a problem, with only cherry, orange, grape, green apple, lemon, and the always-indeterminate "blue" represented along the unregulated pastel rainbow that is the average SweeTarts pack. Somewhat disheartening is the apparent dearth of lemon—the flavor showed up in none of the three rolls I ingested prior to this review. Still, deceptively complex tastes abound in the mostly blue and purple spectrum. Green apple for example has notes of cheap bubblegum, while blue flirts with both classic fruit punch and chemical "razzberry."

Simply, SweeTarts are candies that don't give themselves enough credit. Their intended use betrays their subtlety and mystique. Did I mention that they were created by a man named J. Fish Smith? I refuse to give up on anything with such a noble origin.