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.