Problem is, I’m an impatient guy, and also (unfortunately), new novelty cereals don’t come out every week, and also also, there are things I’m simply unwilling to eat. (One of many reasons why this series will always be a pale shadow of the one that inspired it: The Sneeze’s wonderful, wonderful Steve, Don’t Eat It!) The end result is that it’s been over a year since I braved the sugary depths of the breakfast aisle. Which is awful. But I’m here to make it up to you with not one, not two, but three new LIMITED EDITION “food”stuffs for your consumption.

Remember: breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I’m just saying.

Anyway, let’s take a look at our contenders in order of consumption. In this corner, weighing in at a slim 110 calories per serving, we have the latest addition to Post’s never-ending family of Pebbles products: PEBBLES BOULDERS!

They look like dog food, don't they?

As you might recall, our most recent Gross-Off entry was inspired by the last Pebbles product: Cupcake Pebbles, a cereal so powerfully sweet that Post didn’t even bother pretending it made sense to eat it for breakfast. They’ve altered course for Pebbles Boulders, billing it as a “Wholesome, Sweetened Cereal” and bragging on the box that a serving contains “less sugar and more whole grain than Honey Nut Cheerios.”

That’s a pretty powerful claim, even when you stop to consider that the breakfast aisle is loaded with cereals that everyone thinks are healthy but really aren’t all that great for you. (Crunch [ahem] some of the surprising numbers dug up by the Harvard School of Public Health, and then fast for a few days.) Honey Nut Cheerios have nine grams of sugar per serving; Pebbles Boulders have eight with a little cross next to the number, which either denotes some sort of disclaimer I can’t find or signifies that Christ died for them. Either way, these are a little less sweet than a cereal everyone feeds their toddlers, which is kind of surprising for a product line that made its name on Fruity Pebbles, a.k.a. Soggy Rainbow Sugar Pulp.

There are two problems with this. One, the number of parents who care about their children’s diet and are willing to inspect a box of Pebbles for this kind of information has got to be infinitesimal. Most adults see “Pebbles,” think “diabetic coma,” and move on to something more responsible, so I kind of think Post is fighting a losing (and silly) battle here.

Two, Pebbles Boulders are gross. The flavor is described on the box as “Stone Age Caramel Apple,” and that’s in the ballpark, I guess, since it smells sort of like a case of candy apples that’s been sitting in the back of a carny’s truck since Clinton’s second term. (If there’s one thing Post knows how to do when it comes to Pebbles, it’s coat them in suggestive odors.)

But when you get around to putting the damn things in your mouth, you realize the smell is a ruse to disguise the fact that Pebbles Boulders don’t taste like caramel (which is just as well, because caramel for breakfast would be disgusting), nor do they taste like apple — and it isn’t like they achieve apple flavor failure in a good way, a la Apple Jacks. They end up just tasting off, like…I don’t know, like maybe an Alzheimer’s patient’s dim recollection of apples. Crossed with Splenda.

I ate a handful while I typed that sentence, just to refresh the ol’ sense memory, and now I’m angry.

So, final verdict: Post isn’t fooling anyone with this “Wholesome, Sweetened” crap, Pebbles Boulders are a stain on the noble legacy of the proudly sugary Pebbles line, and cereal companies should stick with what they do best. Also, I just dumped a nearly full box of this shit off my deck. Maybe black bears are stupid enough to eat it. Grade: D

This brings us to our second contender, also weighing in at 110 calories, and boasting a surprisingly low nine grams of sugar per serving (as well as 10 percent of your RDA of Vitamin D, which is good for something, I guess). Ladies and gentlemen, say hello to COCOA PUFFS BROWNIE CRUNCH!

Oh my God, it's a bowl of chocolate chip brownies!

See what I mean about cereal companies sticking with what they know best? General Mills knew they weren’t going to get anywhere by pretending Cocoa Puffs are some kind of health food, so when it was time to debut a new flavor, they did the only sensible thing: they added chocolate chips and pretended the whole box came out of a fucking brownie pan.

HELL YES, GENERAL MILLS.

It’s brilliant, and I have to say, Cocoa Puffs Brownie Crunch taste pretty much exactly like dried-up chocolate chip brownie bits — only not nearly as gross as that description makes them sound. They’re actually pretty awesome, in a “This is my breakfast and don’t you dare judge me” kind of way — and I say that as a man whose three-year-old son took a look at the box and uttered simply, “My dad is gross.”

Whatever, kid. You still don’t know how to wipe your butt right, and the other night, when I went into your room to find out why you were calling out in your sleep, I found you lying on top of your covers at the foot of your bed. I’m a man who knows a thing or two about unhealthy cereals, and I’m here to tell you that there isn’t a single thing wrong with Cocoa Puffs Brownie Crunch. You learn to wipe and sleep, and then we can have a serious talk about what makes a good bad breakfast.

What it comes down to is this: For a junk food cereal to be truly successful, it needs to be both sweet and simple, and Cocoa Puffs Brownie Crunch has both of those qualities in spades. Does it taste like chocolate? Yes, it does. Can you describe it in a single sentence? Yes, you can: They’re chocolate chip brownies in a bowl. BOOM. Shit for breakfast at its elegant finest. Grade: B+

Which brings us to our third and final contestant, also weighing in at a trim 110 calories, but boasting a muscular 11 grams of sugar per serving. It’s a name you know and trust, folks — the king of mouth-shredding, sinfully delicious cereal. Yes, it’s Cap’n Crunch and his new CHOCOLATEY CRUNCH!

Unlike a lot of breakfast cereal franchises, the Cap’n Crunch line has remained fairly consistent over the years. This is, I think, for two reasons: One, the core Cap’n lineup (original, peanut butter, and Crunch Berries) is pretty unbeatable, and two, most of the twists Quaker has tried putting on the formula have been awful. Christmas Crunch is just Crunch Berries with different food coloring, Oops! All Berries should be renamed Oops! Rainbow Diarrhea, and Cap’n Crunch’s Choco-Donuts are as foul as they are inexplicable. (What kind of sailor brings donuts on a long sea voyage?)

So I approached Cap’n Crunch’s Chocolatey Crunch with trepidation, to say the least. But I have to hand it to the mad breakfast scientists at Quaker, because they got it right this time — instead of trying to add some weird wrinkle to the Cap’n's fleet, they simply took the old school Crunch, made it chocolate, and put it in a box. Did I say Cocoa Puffs Brownie Crunch is elegant? Cap’n Crunch’s Chocolatey Crunch is sugary poetry in a bowl.

To their credit, Quaker doesn’t try and pretend this stuff is good for you — instead of bragging about Vitamin D or sugar content, they simply let you know that you’ll be ingesting a small amount of sodium and saturated fat in each serving. This is probably required by law, because really, who cares what’s in the box or whether it’s healthy? It’s Cap’n Crunch, dammit!

Here’s how cheerfully Quaker embraces Chocolatey Crunch’s non-goodness: on the back of the box, they recommend you use it as a “GREAT topping” for vanilla pudding, ice cream, a mocha latte, or — if you’re a figure-conscious wuss — yogurt. All of which sound pretty great, honestly, but the true test of a cereal is how it tastes in milk, and this stuff is damn tasty. Remember my sass-mouthed son, who cast aspersions on Cocoa Puffs Brownie Crunch? He can’t eat a goddamn cup of applesauce without making me break out the mop, but I let him try a bowl of Chocolatey Crunch (after his regular breakfast, judgmental toddler food hippies), and he didn’t waste a single crumb of its real cocoa-ey goodness.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. Grade: A

The history of the Chocodile is full of questions, many more questions than is usual for a confection that could reasonably be eaten in 60 seconds. For example, why is it called the Chocodile? (It can’t possibly be because anyone thought the pun was actually funny?) I mean, look at it: it’s obvious that it’s simply a Twinkie coated in chocolate. One wonders what kind of market research was done to determine that, in fact, it was worth it to create a whole new identity for what was, essentially, the cake version of peanut M&Ms. For those of you who are doubtful that any such cake ever existed, and suspect that I may be pulling your leg, rest assured that not only is the Chocodile real – if elusive – but that it once had its own cartoon mascot, Chauncey. This ethnically and regionally confusing character has since been retired, possibly because of his erroneous claim that “it takes a while to eat a Chocodile” (as I mentioned above, it takes no time at all).

Obviously, American culture is impossible to imagine without the seductive but admittedly vulgar Twinkie (though it was eschewed by the culinarily superior Europeans), which could, throughout my childhood, be purchased in packs of two in any self-respecting deli or bodega within walking distance of my home or school. By contrast, Chocodiles were, as previously mentioned, harder to find, and sold only as singles. Perhaps Hostess had found that, when chocolate was added, a Twinkie became so sugartastic that just one packed all the emotional and caloric wallop that the average eater could stand. My own Chocodile-consuming habits bear this theory out: it was entirely possible for me to buy, and eat, more than one at a time, yet I rarely did so. In a world in which “more” is almost invariably considered synonymous with “better,” Chocodiles remind us that better than “more” is “enough.” Woe to him or her who overindulges in this unusually perfect treat.

Like so many of the pleasures of my youth, the Chocodile has been cruelly taken away from me. It has disappeared from New York City, and, I am given to understand, from the east coast entirely. This is, no doubt, at least partially attributable to the general cultural shift which has made pariahs out of sweet snacks, especially those that come pre-packaged and can survive in your cupboard for decades. Even the once-ubiquitous Twinkie two-pack has all but vanished from New York’s store shelves, replaced by dried fruit, granola bars and Smartfood. However, you can still get them boxed in the supermarket. In order to find Chocodiles – and more than a few are out there trying – one is obliged either to get in a car and hunt them down across state lines, or order them in bulk from an Internet source that may or may not be Hostess-approved. I may take the latter course, and if I do, I am sure that the reunion between me and my favorite snack will be fraught with emotion – like Penelope welcoming Odysseus home at last.

And if you know your ass from a hole in the ground when it comes to breakfast foodstuffs, you know that nobody hops on a culinary trend like our good friends at Post. I mean, who can forget Bacon-Wrapped Alpha Bits? Or Golden Crisp with Quinoa? Or…Cupcake Pebbles?

Yes, that’s right. You heard me. Wipe that drool off your chin and hustle down to your nearest supermarket, because Post has done it again. In a sugar-mad blend of old and new, classic and cutting-edge, those crazy fuckers have taken yesterday’s “you cannot possibly be considering eating that for breakfast” menu and added a bold new stroke.

If you haven’t been lucky enough to surf the next wave of deeply inappropriate first meals, I’m going to try and give you an idea of what to expect — but oh my God, you guys, I wish the Web was scratch ‘n’ sniff, because words can’t describe the overpowering blast of cupcakeness that uncoils itself, panther-like, and lodges in your nostrils when you open a box of Cupcake Pebbles. It almost literally punches you in the face. If Betty Crocker and Mike Tyson decided to open a bakery together, I think they would aspire to the visceral scent-clubbing this cereal delivers — it’s so thick, by the time you tear open the bag, you feel like you’ve already eaten several bowls.

But don’t let that stop you from chowing down, because I’m here to tell you that if you’ve ever wished you could eat hundreds of tiny cupcakes in a bowl of cold milk, shoveling them madly into your mouth during the 35 seconds before they get soggy — and who hasn’t? — then Cupcake Pebbles is a dream come true. The only bad thing about it is that I can’t imagine where in the hell the “dessert as diabetes-inducing alleged breakfast” game can possibly go from here. All I know is that the dudes who make Cookie Crisp had better respond to this quickly. (Hint for Cookie Crisp dudes: Figure out how to turn ice cream Drumsticks into a cereal.)

In fact, Cupcake Pebbles are so clearly a horrible idea for breakfast that, in an industry first, Post has pretty much given up pretending you should eat it for anything but dessert. It’s sold in the breakfast aisle, but nowhere on the box are Cupcake Pebbles shown anywhere near a bowl, spoon, or milk; instead, you’re given all sorts of helpful tips on how to throw yourself a “Pebbles Party.” I was too busy shoveling myself into a sugar coma to read closely, but from what I can remember, “Pebbles Parties” are pretty easy to put together — all you need is a box of Cupcake Pebbles (natch), a box of yellow cake mix, an oven big enough to fit a cupcake that Dino can jump out of, a belt with at least three extra holes in it, and a terrific health plan. Oh, and family members who will drive you to the hospital for a shot of epinephrine instead of simply disowning your disgusting ass when they come home and find you passed out in a puddle of sweat, pink milk, and soggy Cupcake Pebbles.

But you know what? No one ever said it was easy, living life among the culinary vanguard. You have to pay a price for stepping outside the bland Midwestern standards other people have set for themselves at the breakfast table. Trix? Apple Jacks? Please — that shit is tired. Tomorrow’s fake breakfast cereals will beg for literal tubs of frosting even as they promise to be excellent sources of vitamin D, and Cupcake Pebbles are a delicious harbinger of that future. These are truly exciting times. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go swallow a bag of uncooked rice to try and soak up whatever the hell I just ate, and find a toothpaste strong enough to scrape the smooth coating of self-loathing off my teeth. What does Andrew Zimmern use?

Today, we’re going to talk about the new limited edition offering of Heritage Dr. Pepper, but before we get there, I feel like I should give you a personal rundown of how I became a Dr. Pepper fan. To do this, we’re going to chart my soda drinking history, brand-by-brand.

Before I became a Pepper, I was originally a Coke guy, or Mr. Pibb if I could get it. I loved going to work with my dad, because they had a pop machine at the office that served up nice cold bottles of my favorite beverages, and I could always get my dad to lend me a few coins to pick one up. For me, there was nothing better than an icy cold bottle of Coca-Cola, one of the true pleasures in life that was just as good as the commercials that you saw on television. Unlike the fast food sandwiches that you saw on television that looked completely different in person (read:  gross), the experience of drinking a Coke was as advertised, completely awesome. Coke was it.

1985 came around, and Coca-Cola had the brilliant (insert sarcasm here) idea to change the formula of their classic soft drink, setting off one of the largest marketing disasters of all time with the introduction of “New Coke.” Reaction was quick, and it was negative, and worst of all, I could no longer get my favorite drink. It was New Coke, or no Coke at all for the 11 year old me. So I chose “no Coke” as my option, and moved to drinking Mr. Pibb exclusively. Eventually, Coca-Cola tried to save face with the introduction of Coca-Cola Classic, but even that tasted somehow different from the original Coke that I had once known and loved.

When we moved to Ohio, Mr. Pibb was not widely available at local grocery stores, and it was at that point that I officially met Dr. Pepper, my beloved drink which many have come to associate as a signature part of my personality.

While I’ve consistently been a Dr. Pepper drinker since the late ’80s, I am always interested in soda developments as they come and go, although I never quite got up the nerve to try Jolt Cola – their marketing ploy of “all of the sugar and twice the caffeine” made my head hurt, just thinking about it.

Some other beverage thoughts:

Diet beverages, i.e. Diet Coke, Diet Dr. Pepper, Coke Zero – “taste just as good as the original.” Um, not quite. Further, Coke Zero is complete flavorless crap. It really is truth in advertising – Coke Zero= taste that is zero, and enjoyment that rates at zero. Yuck.

Soda Myth: When ordering a beverage in a restaurant that does not serve Pepsi products, root beer is an acceptable substitute for Dr. Pepper.
Truth:  Not even close.  Waiters and waitresses, please take note and stop lying to us.

Speaking of root beer though, Mug Root Beer allegedly sent the foam straight to the end user’s brain – and while I can not specifically comment on that, Mug Root Beer was delicious, and I miss it. Although it’s apparently still in production, I can’t find it in Ohio. Boo.

Cherry-vanilla Dr. Pepper – while this seems like a good idea on paper, ultimately it tasted like a flat Dr. Pepper that had been left out on the kitchen counter overnight. I hear that the newer Cherry Dr. Pepper is better, with a more pronounced cherry taste – something that I’ll look forward to trying. I refused to try the “Berries and Cream” version of Dr. Pepper that was briefly available in 2006/2007 – that just sounded gross to me.

Which brings us to Heritage Dr. Pepper, a product that began appearing in stores this past November. Made with real sugar, instead of the high fructose corn syrup that the company has been using since the ’70s, Dr. Pepper fans can finally drink (albeit, for a limited time only) a version of Dr. Pepper that is likely as close to the “original stuff” as you’ll ever taste, unless you’re willing to import the original formula from Dublin, TX (or unless you live in the UK, where they apparently also get the full sugar experience).

I was interested to sample Heritage Dr. Pepper for myself, and finally got the chance when I tracked down my own twelve pack of the hallowed beverage at Christmastime. After icing it down in the refrigerator for several hours, I opened my first Heritage Dr. Pepper and took a sip. The taste was definitely different, although not necessarily in a positive way. I found that the use of “real sugar” actually took away some of the traditional flavor, rather than the enhanced flavor that I was expecting/hoping for. In fact, the expected taste that I was hoping for was far enough removed from what I’m normally used to, to the point that it almost had a bit of a diet taste to it, lighter than the current formula. Old school (read: older than me) Dr. Pepper drinkers have said that the sugar taste is an adjustment for anyone used to normally drinking beverages fueled by the high fructose corn syrup.

Whatever the case might be, I’ll stick to the more familiar blend of Dr. Pepper that I know and love. The authentic blend of 23 flavors might not be quite what the doctor ordered for some soda fans, but for me, it’s just right. I’m inclined to believe that whether it is made with sugar or high fructose corn syrup, you’re really splitting hairs to say that there is a significant difference in the taste. Sorry guys, I’m just not that much of a beverage snob. I will definitely argue that the taste of any brand of soda will always be superior when it comes from a glass bottle. The soda drinking experience lost a lot when they moved to packaging them in plastic bottles and cans – it just doesn’t taste the same.

However, my curiosity has been piqued, and I will add Dublin Dr. Pepper to the list of things that I will plan to try in 2010, along with Mexican Coke, which I’m also very curious about. There are at least subtle differences between Heritage Dr. Pepper and Dublin Dr. Pepper – HDP uses a cane and beet sugar mix, while DDP uses pure cane sugar. The difference? We’ll have to wait and see on that one.

Who knew that drinking a simple soft drink could be so complicated? I did learn a few things along the way, including the significance of the numeric sequence of 10-2-4 that once could be found on containers of Dr. Pepper. In the ’20s, Dr. Walter Eddy discovered in his studies at Columbia University that all of us experience a natural drop in energy at 10:30am, 2:30pm, and 4:30pm. He also discovered that people are able to avoid that energy drop with a quick snack or drink at 10, 2, and 4. And hence, Dr. Pepper had a marketing strategy on their hands that famously targeted the beverage as the 10-2-4 solution to avoid the energy drop. And with this bit of gained knowledge, I’ve finally learned something that I’ve been trying to convince many of for years – Dr. Pepper really is good for you!

I’m kidding. Kind of.

Taco Bell

In the years to follow, I’ve watched and wondered in silent amazement at the knack that Taco Bell has for continuously making new creations out of the same basic seven ingredients, and each time it tastes different somehow. How the hell do they do that?

As an underpaid working professional with no money in my 20s, I ate Taco Bell a lot. For five bucks, you could grab food for a couple of days and forget, for one brief moment, how bad you were getting screwed by the man.

My not-so-inner fast food junkie eventually branched out from the traditional tacos and burritos, first with the Mexican Pizza – two crisp shells packed with ground beef (is it really?) and beans, topped with pizza sauce and multiple cheeses, please hold the tomatoes. I discovered that 20something me could easily pack away two of those bad boys, and potentially a soft taco or two if I really wanted to kill my will to do anything for the rest of the day.

The Chalupa. Ah yes, one of the early times that I had that feeling that perhaps I might be leading myself towards eventual clogged arteries by the time I was 30. Because those shells can’t possibly be healthy, can they? They taste too damn good. Grab yourself a Nacho Cheese Chalupa, and you too might feel the feelings of pain and remorse after combining ground beef (still questioning this), nacho cheese sauce, and the previously mentioned potentially unhealthy chalupa shell.

The Crunch Wrap Supreme. This combines my love of the Mexican Pizza with my love of the Double Decker Taco Supreme into one unhealthy package that I nicknamed the “Taco Bell frisbee” because of the circular shape of this item, combined with the fact that I was really, really bored on the day that I first ordered this. I apparently fixed that boredom by naming my food. Mark this down as one of my early cries for help. (P.S. – these really suck as a leftover.)

And then the brilliance ended at Taco Bell HQ. Someone decided that it would be a good idea to inject potatoes into the list of magical ingredients for potential Taco Bell goodness. Now, while I can eat tubs and tubs of the standard Fiesta Potatoes from Taco Bell, I’ve discovered that they seem to taint every Taco Bell creation that incorporates them with the previously mentioned ground, um, beef, beans, or any other substance. Seriously, who looks at beans, beef, potatoes, eight packets of Fire Sauce, and says yum?

Taco Bell does, that’s who.

But now they’ve gone too far.

I was sitting at home watching the always brilliant Rescue Me on my DVR, fast-forwarding through commercials, when I saw it: The word “Bacon” was plastered on my television, and miles and miles of bacon-loaded pictorial goodness splashed across my screen, forcing me to dive for the remote and rewind to believe what I had just seen.

Bacon Cheesy Potato Burrito.

Four words that should have made me say no. No way. No chance in hell.

Instead, I got in my car and drove two blocks over to the nearest Taco Bell location.

I placed an order for two of these potential gifts from God at $2.99 per burrito. That’s value in this time of alleged recession and financial struggle. Not. Thanks a lot, Taco Bell.

Upon arriving home, I sat down at the table and unwrapped the first burrito.

Here’s what they want you to believe that it looks like:

In reality, it actually looks closer to this:

No matter how carefully you unwrap one of these suckers, the visual fraud is very quickly unmasked.

On a side note, who are these people that get paid to set up the fast food glamour shot with every precious ingredient in its proper place, and do they get paid big bucks? More importantly, are they all obsessive-compulsives?

Now, let’s eat!

I had a quick debate on whether I should add my customary hot sauce, or experience it for the first time sans sauce, potentially as intended by the Taco Bell culinary craftsmen. “Screw ‘em, bring on the hot sauce,” was my quick assessment of the situation.

Digging in, I quickly wolfed down the first burrito. Tasting lots of ground beef (fine, I’ll call it beef with only minor snickering,) nacho cheese sauce, potatoes, etc. But I get to the end of burrito uno, and my first thought is that I didn’t taste a lot of bacon in this so-called “Bacon Cheesy Potato Burrito.” Based on the name alone, this burrito should be bursting with bacon-loaded flavor, taste, and texture. Worse, as you would expect, they’ve gone the cheap route and provided bacon in the form of bits that may or may not even be real bacon.

I’m tasting potatoes and remembering how much I previously hated the inclusion of potatoes with previous Taco Bell burrito experiences. What the hell am I doing? I’m left with the complicated decision: Do I forge onward and eat the remaining Bacon Cheesy Potato Burrito, part of my almost $6 two-burrito Taco Bell investment?

Who the hell spends $6 on two items at Taco Bell anyway? This asshole. That’s who.

I ended up eating about three quarters of the burrito before deciding to pitch the remaining portion. Interestingly enough, they seem to have taken all of the bacon bits that were missing from the first burrito and dumped them into the second burrito. In theory, this should make things better, but the whole experience feels beyond bland by the time I’m done eating.

Normally when I finish Taco Bell, I’ve got a feeling of satisfaction mixed with the feeling that I’ve done something horrible to my body. I don’t have that feeling of satisfaction here – instead, I just wish that I’d eaten something else.

Nutritionally, how does this bad boy stack up? Well, let’s take a look at the official full-disclosure rundown from Taco Bell’s site.

680 calories: While some of you are gasping at that number, some of my favorite things that are really bad for me are way over the 1,000 calorie mark.

70 milligrams of cholesterol: I kind of want to forget that I just read this, so that I can lie to my heart surgeon in 15 years.

57 grams of carbs: I’m assuming that that’s bad for most of you that are on whatever fad diet it is that you’re on. As the furthest thing from a “health nut,” I have no idea. I have learned from Popdose mainman Jeff Giles during recent conversations on Twitter that lasers don’t belong anywhere near your eyes. That really has no practical application here. Let’s move on.

36 total grams of fat: Cool! So when I am feeling regretful about that weight gain, I can pin a lot of that Vandross-esque fluctuation on the Bacon Cheesy Potato Burrito, right where it belongs.

31 grams of protein: Here’s the good news folks: Forget everything you read previously, this sucker is loaded with protein, and it’s good for you. So instead of chugging that Slim-Fast shake for your next meal, you can have one of these instead. Okay, I’m probably wrong about this point.

Here’s the bottom line: Fiesta potatoes are a horrible ingredient for any recipe idea at Taco Bell. Unless it’s a pure unadulterated side of fiesta potatoes with the standard sour cream, cheese sauce, etc., just say “pass.” Any other decision will leave you with deep feelings of regret, sorrow, and shame.

Bacon Cheesy Potato Burrito, I wanted to be friends with you, I really did. But unfortunately, I have to give you the big thumbs down. All that you had to do was just seduce me gently with a little bit of real bacon, and I’m talkin’ strips of bacon here. But that didn’t happen, did it?

So, where do we go from here?

My suggested trip to the promised land of Taco Bell happiness includes the following: two chili-cheese burritos, two cheese roll-ups, four soft tacos, and lots of hot sauce. I recommend the signature Taco Bell “Fire” variety.

Now, the hole in your stomach lining after you consume all of that hot sauce for an extended period of time? That’s going to cost you extra.

If you’ve ever tried to make a Boston cream pie, you know they’re also a pain in the ass to put together. I looked up a random recipe at AllRecipes, and counted over 20 ingredients and seven steps; unless you’ve got an afternoon to kill, or are specifically seeking out a dessert so labor-intensive that you earn it by making it, you’re liable to seek out something simpler.

For instance, a Boston cream pie you make in your toaster.

Ah, yes, the Toaster Strudel. For kids of my generation, who thought Cookie Crisp was the apex of the dessert-as-breakfast food subgenre, Toaster Strudels represented a new frontier. Of course, Toaster Strudels aren’t really strudels at all — they’re more like flakier, even less nutritious Pop-Tarts — but only the most annoying 10-year-old on the planet cares about stuff like that. The bottom line is that Toaster Strudels are stupidly delicious, even if you don’t squirt the pack of crack-laced icing that Pillsbury thoughtfully includes for each Strudel.

So who better to turn the Boston cream pie from pain-in-the-ass dessert into damn-near-instant breakfast treat? Nobody, that’s who. Those d-bags at Yoplait think they’re all clever because they started making yogurt that tastes vaguely like strawberry shortcake? Ha! Here’s some Doughboy foot in your ass!

Well, okay, so maybe Boston Cream Pie Toaster Strudels don’t really taste anything like a Boston cream pie. Or look like one:

Not that I really expected these things to live up to their billing. I mean, I ate Strawberry Cream Cheese Toaster Strudels for years, and they don’t taste like strawberry or cream cheese; if Pillsbury can’t get two relatively simple ingredients right, I see no reason to believe they’d be able to distill something messy and complicated. Really, I’m not sure I’d give Pillsbury credit for getting much of anything right — anything, that is, besides taking false advertising to delicious new heights.

What do Boston Cream Pie Toaster Strudels taste like? I don’t know. A little like chocolate, I guess, with a touch of something else, and a delicate bouquet of flaky pastry-like substance. It is not, strictly speaking, very good, and yet I have somehow eaten an entire box in less than the time it would have taken for me to make my own actual Boston cream pie — which means that Pillsbury has somehow simultaneously engineered a terrible defeat for real flavor and honest food and scored a victory for my breakfast. Much like a toaster-derived Boston cream pie, this should not be possible — and yet it clearly is. Bravo, Pillsbury. Bravo!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go brush my teeth over and over again.

Suck it.

Do you see what I have here? You do? Let me spell it out for you anyway: I have a box of Triple Chocolate M&M’s Premiums Chocolate Candies. Yes, that’s right — Premiums. As in, better than those crappy regular M&M’s sitting in that bowl on your desk right now.

How do I know they’re better? Easy: They cost $10 a pound. Yeah, you heard me, nuns at St. Agatha’s who predicted I’d be sweeping streets for a living by now — I’m sitting here wolfing down a box of obscenely decadent chocolate, the likes of which your sorry asses have never tasted. Yes! Premiums! Me! Can you believe it?

You’re feigning disinterest, but I can see through your pathetic attempts to choke down all that jealousy. I bet I know what that jealousy tastes like, too: the waxy, downmarket chocolate in your stupid regular M&M’s. Do you want to know what’s in my fancy Triple Chocolate M&M’s Premiums? No? Fuck you, I’m going to tell you anyway: One layer of dark chocolate, one layer of white chocolate, and a delectable milk chocolate center. All in one overpriced candy! How do they do it? I don’t know. All I know is that I’m living the Premium lifestyle, and you aren’t.

I repeat: Suck it.

Some people may try and tell you that M&M’s Premiums aren’t really worth the extra money, or that they are not, in fact, all that “Premium” at all. These people are dirty liars. Do you really think MARS Snackfood US, LLC would charge extra for chocolate that tastes suspiciously like the shit they put in the M&M’s they make for poor people? You do? Ha! You don’t even understand capitalism, do you? Of course you don’t. If you did, you might have an economics degree, and you’d be able to live the Premium lifestyle, instead of having to gag on poverty-flavored M&M’s. Too bad for you!

I know what you’re wondering: How did I, someone who barely had a 2.0 grade point average in high school, make it past the velvet rope and into the Premium party? Especially you, Mom and Dad — you must really be pissed that all those lectures about not being able to get anywhere in life if I didn’t do my homework ended up being the load of total crap I always knew they were. And you know what? I’d give you the answer to your question, except I’m chewing on a handful of scrumptious Triple Chocolate M&M’s Premiums Chocolate Candies, and I’ve got too much class to talk with my mouth full.

No, I will not share with you. Don’t even think about touching my M&M’s, either. These ones are so Premium, they don’t even have a hard candy shell. They will, in fact, melt in your hand. So hands off!

In closing, I would like to add that the Premium fun doesn’t even end with Triple Chocolate. No, we’ve got other varieties to choose from — namely Mint Chocolate, Mocha, Raspberry Almond, and Chocolate Almond. Don’t they sound fan-fucking-tastic? You bet they do. Unfortunately, the prices of annoyingly non-Premium foods like milk and bread keep going up, and I wasn’t able to convince my stupid wife and kids to go along with the “Seven Nights of Ramen” menu I proposed, so I haven’t gotten around to sampling those other varieties yet. But I will. You can count on it — once you start living the Premium lifestyle, you never go back. Even if it means siphoning your neighbor’s gasoline once in awhile.

Those were good times, weren’t they?

Not good enough for Mars Incorporated, apparently, because awhile back, the company started rolling out new Skittles varieties all willy-nilly. I believe the tropical flavors came first, followed by Wild Berry, Smoothie Mix, the so-disgusting-they’re-awesome Sour Skittles, and — if the candy’s Wikipedia page is to be believed — all kinds of strange and terrible spinoffs, like Skittles Mints, Liquorice Skittles, and, dear God, Double Sour Skittles.

You’d think they were all done, right? No more fruit frontiers to explore? Every pot of gold at the end of every rainbow plundered? You’d think that, all right, but you aren’t an evil genius in the employ of a dark and powerful candy empire. Behold, bitches! Chocolate Mix Skittles have arrived!

Looking at this bag, two immediate reactions seem appropriate:

1. What, is chocolate a fucking fruit now?
2. (As spoken by my wife when I came home with these) Chocolate Skittles? Aren’t those M&M’s?

Not to spoil anything for you, but the answers to both questions are a loud and hearty “no.”

So here’s the deal with Skittles’ Chocolate Mix. Each bag gives you five flavors: S’mores, Chocolate Caramel, Chocolate Pudding, Brownie Batter, and — inexplicably — Vanilla. There are problems with this, and they aren’t the ones you might think. Observe the following:

The picture doesn’t totally do the bag’s contents justice, but as you might have noticed, it’s roughly 85% Brownie Batter. Also, what you totally can’t see in the picture is that Skittles Chocolate Mix is gross.

Now, this isn’t exactly objective reporting, because I probably haven’t had a single Skittle in almost 10 years. No matter how few I eat, I always come away from the bag feeling like it was too many. Aside from a brief fascination with the aforementioned Sour Skittles (it ended badly), my intestines have been a Skittles-free zone for a very long time. But before you go saying this post has a liberal anti-Skittles bias and demanding a new writer, let me share an important piece of information with you, which is: Skittles Chocolate Mix share neither taste nor consistency with regular Skittles. They’re like a totally new, totally terrible candy.

The first problem with Chocolate Mix Skittles is one of consistency. Chewing on one of these things is like munching on naugahyde or stale beef jerky — they make Necco Wafers seem like marshmallows. Not cool. Oh, and here’s the worst part: All that work pays off with a flavor that can best be described as revoltingly sweet. I mean, chocolate is pretty much an afterthought as far as Chocolate Mix Skittles are concerned — it’s sugar first, ask questions later — or better yet, more sugar later. I’m pretty sure all the chocolate is contained in the hard candy shell, and the innards are pure cane sugar. I would have tried to take a cross-section shot, but I didn’t dare bite these with anything that wasn’t a molar, and I was afraid that taking a knife to one would have ended in a broken window.

The bottom line: Eat these at your own peril. You can eat mine, actually — I’ve still got most of my bag sitting right here. If nobody wants it, I’ll just pour the contents into an old sock and use it as a weapon in case anyone ever breaks into my house.

When I saw that our beloved leader, Mr. Giles, had revived this feature, my heart leapt with joy. “At last!” I thought. “A legitimate excuse for eating and drinking really weird shit!”

Of course, weird is relative…I mean, I’m a religious viewer of “Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern,” but I wouldn’t touch 95% of the stuff that guy indulges in…but let’s just say that I’m a sucker for unique flavors and strange culinary concepts within the mainstream. That’s why I regularly scour my local Big Lots, Dollar Tree, and Ollie’s locations to see what product lines have been abandoned for lack of interest (or, more likely, for lack of acting tasting even remotely good) and can be had for really cheap. And by happy coincidence, I was in Big Lots only yesterday, where curiosity forced me to purchase a 4-pack of Java Pop, a “coffee soda” produced in Woodstock, VT.

Despite my curiosity, I admit that I still had a certain amount of trepidation. I mean, I’m a coffee fiend, but when it comes to attempts to blend it with other beverages, I haven’t found much love in my heart for the results. Despite Drew Carey’s best efforts, the concept of blending coffee and beer has — based on my purchases of two different attempts at such a product — failed miserably. And by “miserably,” I mean they were fucking disgusting, as bitter as all get-out and impossible for me to even finish…and when it comes to beer, that’s really saying something.

Still, coffee soda…? Could there be something of merit here? Time to find out.

The first thing that catches my eyes is that the bottle is emblazoned with the announcement that this is both USDA Organic and Fair-Trade Certified. Neither claim will have any effect on how the product tastes, but I feel good about the political correctness of the beverage, and that’s something, anyway. Another bonus: at first sniff, it smells more like hazelnut than coffee, which seems like it could be a good thing in this case.

No point in belaboring the inevitable, might as well just take a chug.

First swig: Huh. It’s not half-bad. It’s not something I’d necessarily use to replace a steaming hot cup o’ joe, but it’s sure a heck of a lot more successful than coffee-flavored beer. I’m not sure what process was used to make it, but as someone with absolutely no scientific background, I like to imagine that it just involves brewing hazelnut coffee with carbonated water. (That’d work, right?)

Second swig: Uh-oh. It’s like the coffee taste and the hazelnut taste are splitting off into different camps, and the coffee is winning. I’m probably just imagining it, but I swear I can actually taste the grounds. This is not a good thing.

Third swig: I’m finding myself progressively less pleased with the taste. Perhaps this chocolate chip cookie, which is conveniently at arm’s length, will help the situation some. Coffee + cookies = delicious, right?

Fourth swig: Abort Project Cookie! For God’s sake, ABORT PROJECT COOKIE!

Fifth swig: There’s still a lingering blend of chocolate / hazelnut / indescribable awfulness in my mouth. Somehow, I suspect that the Java Pop is not going to rally back from this…and I’m pretty sure we can’t blame this entirely on the cookie.

Sixth swig: Actually, it’s bouncing back better than I expected. It has actually returned to being halfway decent again. I did not forsee this occurring.

Seventh / Final swig: Well, it’s over. I’m not rushing back to have another one anytime soon, but I’m not saying the remaining three bottles won’t get polished off at some juncture. After all, my stash of Steven Seagal’s Lightning Bolt energy drink isn’t going to last forever.

Those of you who weren’t loyal Jefitoblog readers may not remember this series — Lord knows I’ve let it lie dormant long enough — but it was a long-running (if totally transparently ripped from Steve at The Sneeze) tradition at the old site. I’ve meant to resume it since Popdose started, but just somehow never…got around to it.

(Apologies to Jason, who I railroaded into eating carbonated yogurt last fall, under the pretense that it would be used for Popdose’s inaugural Gross-Off post — although the pictures from our ordeal remain, my sense memories of the crap we ate do not.)

So, here’s the deal with the Great Gross-Off: Because I have a demented weakness for “limited edition” foodstuffs — particularly those that seem ridiculous or just plain wrong — and also have a wife who frowns on me wasting money and/or stomach lining on said foodstuffs, I have devised an elaborate scheme under which I am able to claim that I’m only buying all this junk food for “research,” or “work,” or whatever I can blurt out with a straight face. I purchase the junk food. I eat the junk food. I regret eating the junk food. I attempt to put my regret into words.

Gross-Off.

Now that we’ve established the ground rules for our little game, please allow me to introduce you to the magical little wonderbar that got this series up and running again. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Limited Edition Indiana Jones Snickers Adventure Bar!

Because really, honest to God, what tastes more like adventure than diabetes-triggering levels of high fructose corn syrup?

As soon as I saw the Limited Edition Indiana Jones Snickers Adventure Bar in the store, I knew I had to have it. Equal parts intriguing and stupid, it is the perfect Gross-Off food. You may have seen this in your local supermarket already — and chances are, you assumed it was a regular old Snickers, with Harrison Ford’s mug pasted on the wrapper. No way, Beavis — the folks at Snickers have gone all out for the fourth Indiana Jones blockbuster (opening tomorrow!). Dig it:

See? You get the “rich chocolate” and “crunchy nuts” you expect from a Snickers bar, but they’re not done — they throw in A CLIFFHANGER KICK OF EXOTIC SPICE AND A HINT OF SWEET COCONUT FLAVOR.

Those Snickers people, man. They just give and give and give.

Now, understandably, I was more than a little skeptical about the wrapper’s claims. For one thing, where I live, “exotic spice” can mean anything from tarragon to kosher salt; it’s just the kind of stupidly ambiguous gobbledygook that food conglomerates love to slap on packaging. And for another, coconut in Snickers? Eww, sign me up.

Anyway, I started off by chopping my Limited Edition Indiana Jones Snickers Adventure Bar in half, to see if I could observe any visual evidence of exotic spices and/or sweet coconut flavor. Behold:

Looks just like a regular Snickers bar, doesn’t it? Those sneaky bitches.

Here’s the thing, though: I’m not sure about “exotic spices,” but the damn thing actually does have an identifiably coco-nutty undertone. It’s subtle, but if you pay attention, you can just catch it wafting around underneath the waxy chocolate buildup, nut remnants, caramel, and sickly sweet off-white caulking. It tastes like adventure — maybe not of the swashbuckling Mayan temple variety, but you’d definitely want something like this on hand if you were planning a daring search for the remote control, or escaping from fat camp. And if the suits at Paramount know their heads from their asses, you’ll be munching on one of these — and washing it down with some Adventure Coke — when you inevitably attend a screening of Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull. Cue the John Williams score!

(Bet you were looking for an mp3 of the Indiana Jones theme song here, weren’t you? Psych! I don’t have it.)