Junk Food Nation, I’m off on a jet plane (well, first a subway ride, to a bus ride, through the security gate check, THEN on a jet plane) to VEGAS BABY. (Well, to SFO for a layover, THEN to Vegas. Sigh. Kayak, c’mon now).

Anyways, because I’m gonzo, today’s blog post is brought to you by my friend Jen Adams, who is my partner-in-crime at the Summer Fancy Food Shows. She is by far way funnier than me. Enjoy her experience with Gypsy Trading Company Snacks! We’ll circle back after the post.

Like I said Monday, if you wanna see what’s doin’ in Vegas, as I parlay my way through the first round of March Madness straight into an empty bank account, be sure to follow me on Instagram, Twitter @junkfoodguy, or Facebook… you know the drill.

—-

In the words of ‘87 Shelley Long, hello again! I’m Jen Adams, longtime friend of the Junk Food Guy and occasional guest poster and guest appearer. You might remember me from Candy Corn Oreos, Mountain Dew Cheetos, and various Plus Oney type stuff at the Fancy Food Show, all of which have hastened my death by several years. Here is a photo of me eating a football at last year’s show to demonstrate my utter lack of vanity when ingesting things in the name of blog.

The main thing I bring to the table is my ability—nay, my desire—to eat weird shit. Bugs, genitals, eyeballs, greenery that springs from the ground, unbidden by man; I regard all creatures great and small with the same reverence for what it would feel like to chew.  When Eric wrote Rob and me asking about a guest post, I called dibs on whatever snack pack looked most likely to contain scrapple/rare earth metals, and that’s why I’ve got a box from Gypsy Trading Company on my desk. The company promises “selected assortments of delicious, fun, and kitschy snacks from countries in the far east”, and I’m on board like a mule on the Silk Road. The trade route, not the online drug market. Actually, both work. I am a master of the pen and tongue.

“Snack Treasure Chest XL”. I wonder if the Google search algorithm is surprised when people keep typing beyond “Chest XL”. I bet an alarm sounds across Mountain View, like dragons are descending on the town.

This is also really convenient because I had snacking frills for dinner last night.

This BETTER NOT BE THE ANTIDOTE INSTRUCTIONS, Gypsy Trading Company.

It’s a testament to the bounty of chip flavors available to us now that I was referring to these as “Potato flavored chips” in my head for a solid two minutes.  The world becomes a little less infinite when we start talking pea crackers, however. No matter the taste, these will be the best and worst pea crackers I’ve ever had.

I get asked “What are you eating?” by coworkers on lessay a “frequently disdainful” basis. When I offered a pea cracker to today’s passing interrogator, she reached for her blade. They’re tasty enough, though: the sturdy Fritos helix texture that makes you feel like a destroyer of worlds as you crunch, with a little wasabi kick that fades a bit too soon. They taste exactly as they look, which is a solid attribute for any junk food.

The potato chips taste like a buttery baked potato that has been sliced and fried. I write this not with the “see what I did there” metasnark that creeps over so much screen text today, but so you consider what is missing from your regular old Lay’s and Ruffles next time you pop one. Does it really, truly taste like a buttery baked potato has been sliced and fried? It does not. It’s close, but not there. These chips are there. Now every time I have a subpar potato chip, I’m going to think “Man, these sure aren’t ___” and then my mind will go blank because I have no idea what this package says and then probably the idea of my fifth grade teacher naked will pop into my head.

The LOOK and BAKE packages have me tripping a little Wonderland here. Which one makes me grow taller, which one makes me grow smaller?

Like a total badass anarchist, I instead OPENED and ATE; Bake tastes like green tea –just a pile of green tea, not a biscuit or cookie or mochi or anything—and I can’t see ever revisiting it. Look had a strawberry biscuit center and behaved exactly like any other artificial (but still pleasant) strawberry dessert product. It’s a “And here’s your check when you’re ready” leave behind candy, essentially.

This shrouded future cow had me the most perplexed of all until I realized it was upside down and is actually a living ice cream cone with a squid beak, then everything made sense. I’ve inhaled a not insignificant number of paper strips.

Turns out, it’s an elongated cone filled with a dense strawberry cream and chocolate, and a nice little sweet. Also among the offerings that tasted completely standard: some cola and assorted gummies, a green tea Pirouline/Pocky rolled cookie, and an apple pastry rectangle. Also, this unholy thing:

Which I assume has been included as the repayment of a gambling debt owed by the Gypsy Trading Company, going off the way it looks and tastes.

(JFG note: LOL)

Let’s close out this mess kit with a beverage. We’ve got Passion Fruit Green Tea and Peach Flavor Ramune, which is a carbonated soft drink that comes in a glass bottle nicer than most of my furniture. The second you crack the green tea, it emanates the overpowering passion fruit aroma that I find typical of the flavor; it tastes equally as intense with a strong chemical aftertaste. Hardcore passion fruit lovers might like this, but it’s not really for the gen pop.

Now, the Ramune was an unexpected surprise; it was so difficult to open that I began to think it might be some sort of soda Excalibur, of which I was not worthy. Upon asking my cubicle mate for help, she recognized the bottle and remembered you had to pop the bead embedded in the top into the bottle. A minute of violent pen stabbing later, and we had this:

The weird thing is, the bead doesn’t dissolve. It just sits there in the neck of the (now bubbly) bottle, content to never meet the bottom. The drink itself is a fun little palate jolt – it looks like it would be cloyingly sweet, but it’s actually more of a lightly flavored soda water with a balanced peach taste. The ball continues to sit there.

That’s the entire haul, a survey of snacking in the Far East. Not all of the smaller afterthought candies and biscuits were wins (just as I wouldn’t expect an Asian businessman to be writing home about our Andes table mints or Lifesavers), but I enjoyed the chips and larger sweet set pieces and the beverages have me giggling like a Japanese school girl and that’s THE ONLY SIMILARITY. Til next time.

Plum Dong: Never Forget.

—-

Big thank you to Jen for helping me out with this post, and you can always follow her on Twitter @anotherjenadams.  Looks like this Gypsy Trading Company excelled in chips and drinks, and was just ok for the smaller candy snacks. Thanks, GTC, for giving us a chance to try your product!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go switch planes. C’MON KAYAK.

PURCHASED AT: Gypsy Trading Company Snacks

COST: They run from $18 to $27

Thoughts? Please comment below or hit me up on Twitter @junkfoodguy or LIKE my Facebook Page and message me there. I also have Google+!! Let’s hang out.

Sincerely,

Junk Food Guy