A few weeks ago, the snacking Goddess herself, Caitlin, asked if I’d be interested in reviewing baked multigrain chips. Naturally I accepted. When it comes to crunchy, salty snacks, Sun Chips are at the top of my list. That’s right - when it comes to chips, I’ve always preferred the multigrain variety to the potato- and tortilla-types. Pretty healthy, right?

Well, not really - Sun chips may be a lesser evil among our beloved sinful, salty snacks. But when it comes to being good for you, they have nothing on the Baked Multigrain Chips produced by Michael Season’s. The Addison, IL.-based company’s motto is “Feel-Good Snacking.” This seems to suggest that either you should feel good about eating such wholesome foods, or that the products taste so amazing, they’ll make you “feel good” with every bite. I’m guessing the PR department at Michael Season’s was going for the former interpretation.
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I have had my eye on these for a while, but I have resisted trying them, because they come in such a large package. I mean, I could eat these ten times and review them once, or I could eat ten different snacks once and review each of them. And I hate to deprive you, faithful reader.

Recent news finally overcame my resistance. No, I didn’t try them to honor Paul Newman in death. It was more that economic troubles have finally come to that chain affectionately known as Whole Paycheck.

Some weeks ago, before the banking system had started to collapse, there was something that made me start examining my mattress with an eye to its money-holding capacities: Whole Foods started advertising the great bargains you could get there. Now, you can actually find numerous things on sale there whenever you go. I truly fear for civilization.

On the bright side, hey, these cookies were on sale! They were probably still expensive, but they had a sale label on them, and you know what that does to the mind. I finally couldn’t resist.
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Confession: I’m a die-hard Burt’s Bees fan. I know this probably makes me a yuppie-in-training, but I just can’t resist their folksy packaging and quality balm product.

So when I saw Bumble Bars in the organic aisle of my grocery store, I knew I had to try them. It’s genius, really. Imitate the look of a product that your target demographic already loves, and watch your latest vegan creation fly off the health food shelves. I swear, even the words “Gluten Free” could not dissuade me from buying this snack.

But, as the sages have taught us, thou shalt not judge a snack by its wrapper. Just because something LOOKS like it will be folksy and traditional, does not necessarily mean it will be. Had I remembered this credo, I probably wouldn’t have gasped (literally, gasped) upon freeing my Bumble Bar from its sleeve.
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When grappling with major life decisions, I want comfort food. Starch, chocolate, gravy, whole chickens – they are my saviors in times of personal crisis.

And, although anti-terrorism specialists and cancer patients might argue that entering one’s senior year in college is hardly earth-shattering, I beg to differ. Senior year is cause for MAJOR concern, people. There are 2 semesters, two measly semesters, between me and the real world (which totally exists, despite John Mayer’s insistence to the contrary).

This world expects me to change it; to make it better, faster, stronger, fairer. Or, at the very least, not to mess it up more than it already is. That’s a lot to ask, don’t you think?

Which is why I’ve retreated to the safe, chocolaty arms of Annie’s Bunny Grahams. Because if I’ve learned one thing during the past 3 years, it’s this: society can make me act like a grown-up, but it sure can’t make me eat like one.
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“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet.” So said Shakespeare through the lips of the lovely and tragic Juliet. Would this scene have worked as well if he’d replaced rose with prune? A prune by any other word would taste as sweet doesn’t have quite the same passionate impact.

Lately, I seem to be obsessed with dried fruit as literary metaphor (apricots, anyone?). What would Freud say? Or Jung? Or Carmen Miranda? Maybe I’m craving healthier snacks after all that beef jerky I ate last month.

A prune by any other word would be as ugly. Or would it? Dried plum or prune? That is the question.

Prune. Uttering the word brings to my mind brave senior citizens battling irregularity the natural way. It also sounds like prude; a wrinkled nose condemning a double entendre or bawdy joke. On the flipside, what if the snake had offered Eve a bite of his prune? “Eh, no thanks fella, I’m good.” Alas, it was the apple instead. For want of a prune, paradise was lost.
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