Phoenix Blog

By Wynter Holden

I've never quite understood why some food products have longevity while other seemingly better ones don't. Jello Pudding Pops and Slice soda bite the dust, while parents are still tormenting their kids with the chalk-like "wholesome goodness" of Ovaltine. In what universe is that fair? And then there's Clamato, in a category of its own. What culinary crackpot decided that combining clam juice with tomatoes and gulping it down cold was a palatable idea? Yes, Bloody Marys combine Worcestershire and tomato -- also a gross pairing when consumed straight -- but the addition of vodka at least makes you temporarily forget what ingredients you're imbibing.

I guess that's why Mott's decided to put out Beefamato in the '60s. Not everyone loves seafood, much less seafood "juice." So why not have a heaping helping of fatty beef broth in your morning beverage instead? The popularity of the meat-and-fruit drink has waned over the decades, so it's not surprising that I hadn't spotted the cocktail on supermarket shelves in years -- until a recent trip to my neighborhood AJ's Fine Foods.

I ease my disgust by convincing myself that people just use Beefamato in recipes, or maybe in a modified high-protein Bloody Mary. But I know some die-hard 'Amato drinkers are chugging it like watery frat house beer. In fact, one obsessed fan even created an online site just for the stuff at www.beefamato.com. Like the Web site says, "It's perfect for cats." (Because nothing else is stupid enough to drink it.)

Do you have a creative Beefamato or Clamato recipe you'd like to share? Post a comment below, 'cause really, we're all dying to know who's still buying this sh...er, beverage.

By Wynter Holden

Tonight, I went head to head in a schoolyard-style challenge that pitted my sensitive girlie palette against my man's testosterone-fueled taste buds. At first sight of Candy Dymamics' Toxic Waste Hazardously Sour Candy at the Dollar Tree on Kyrene & Chandler Blvd., I literally cackled. The yellow barrel was cute, but the logo of a stoned-looking mushroom cloud with gritted teeth and bloodshot eyes nearly loosened my bladder right there in the aisle. [Note: Check out their web site for additional faves like the Landfill of Doom game, Mr. Toxie wallpaper and Nuclear Sludge Chew Bar.]

Intrigued, I cracked the barrel open and saw individually-wrapped hard candies with a familiar challenge: How long can you keep one in your mouth? The possible scores ranged from "Total Wuss" at 15 seconds to "Full Toxie Head" at a minute. Toxic Waste even comes in assorted fruit flavors like blue raspberry, black cherry and apple, so you can pick whichever you find least revolting. No label warning about the stuff being an oral irritant would stop me. Bring it on, baby!

See, in junior high, my girlfriends and I would buy 10-cent Warheads and Cry Baby candies from the local ice cream man and test who could keep the super-sour sugary lozenges in their mouth the longest. I didn't hold the Queen Sourpuss crown -- that was our token tomboy Sandra, who once shoved 10 Warheads in her mouth and sucked 'em like a two-bit hooker -- but I was pretty damn close. I mean about the candy, not the hooker part.

So, the big question: How did I fare against a six foot, 200+ pound adult male?

He spat. I swallowed. End of story.

By Wynter Holden

So, apparently clogging your arteries with greasy fast food just isn't enough for Burger King. No longer satisfied with their meager billion-dollar business, they've scored some valuable real estate on supermarket shelves with Burger King Ketchup & Fries potato chips.

I can appreciate the need for a good french fry every now and again. They're a truly decadent food: greasy, crunchy, hot and stuffed with so many preservatives that they'd likely survive a nuclear holocaust. (Well, at least the roaches would have something left to eat.) They're also addictively tasty, especially when dipped in a Burger King vanilla shake.

Why not make them into a ketchup-flavored chip? Because cold fries suck. Because while ketchup is a nice compliment to a hot dog, it doesn't go with Pringles. Because if I start seeing that creepy-ass King in my local Fry's, I'm ordering online and getting my groceries delivered.

By Wynter Holden

My husband had a field day with this one. On a recent trip to score a bottle of Stone Brewing Co.'s new 8-8-08 lager at AJ's Fine Foods in Phoenix, he spotted this in the soup aisle and felt compelled to point it out.

Ha ha. I get it. It's a creamy, comforting stew created by men seeking to calm down their girlfriends or wives during that time of the month. Or maybe it's a nasty concoction cooked up by angry women, pissed that their men were out crabbing all day instead of home with their families. While I'm sure that the Blue Crab Bay Co. meant no harm in creating this southern-style chowder, the name probably ruffles a few feminist feathers.

Yes, I know that it's just soup made with crab roe as well as crab meat. Yes, the name is quite fitting and I understand it's a long-standing Southern tradition. But that doesn't make me any less crabby about it, dear. And I'm not even PMS-ing!

By Wynter Holden

This week's supermarket find goes in my Hall of Shame for worst food product concepts. The Fear Factor candy was gross, but expected; the prawn crackers an example of differing cultural tastes; and the Irish moss drink repellent, but at least it was rumored to have aphrodisiac properties. This just makes my skin crawl.

Anyone want a tapeworm? How about 2 Tape Worms? I'm guessing the guys at Kandy Kastle (and really it must be guys, because no self-respecting woman would've signed off on this idea) have never had a tapeworm before, Not that I have, but a friend told me a disgusting story about pieces of a worm coming out of her cat (eew!) once and I've never been the same since. I even had to look away when the long, stringy parasite was removed from a patient on the television show House.

She is pure evil. Her words are biting, her stare pure ice. Her shrill voice will melt the paint off your walls. Your house is never clean enough for her. Your parenting skills and your appearance provoke her barbed tongue to lacerate every inch of your self-worth. And if you fight back, she'll rampage like Godzilla, leaving your marriage and your sanity in shambles.

She's your mother-in-law.

In all fairness, I drew the long straw on that one. My husband's mother is a charming, polite Southerner who made our gorgeous Celtic cross wedding cake and serves us tea every time we come to visit. What few odd quirks she has can easily be overlooked. But the rest of you who drew the short straw in the in-law game will likely get a chuckle out of my latest Cost Plus find.

I know there's a spiny plant called "mother-in-law's tongue", but I'd never heard of this particular pasta variety. Before I even noticed the name, the boxes of brightly-colored noodles caught my eye. They're about a third of the width of lasagna noodles, and slightly shorter in length, with colored ribbons throughout and sharp points lining the edges. I thought they'd make a great dish for company, perhaps coated in a light alfredo so the pinkish-red, yellow and green swirls remained visible.

These babies were tucked in the clearance aisle at the Mesa Cost Plus World Market, across from the Fiesta Mall, so you'd better hurry if you want to pick one up. Personally, I'd wait till the old bat makes another offhand remark about your sagging boobs or your bald spot, then have her over for a nice pasta dinner and casually leave the box out for her to "accidentally" find. Whoops! (That should shut her up.)

By Wynter Holden

There are a few horrible fads that I wish I could erase from my memory. Like those singing fish plaques. Furbies. Parachute pants. And this:

Somewhere along the line between Survivor, Fear Factor and the Travel Channel's Bizarre Foods, watching other people eat disgusting, scary food became fashionable. I mean, it's one thing to be glued to the set when some regular Joe is facing his fear of spiders or braving a 50-foot waterfall jump. That's inspiring. But seriously, does anyone really need to watch another human being down a plate of live caterpillars?

I sighed aloud when I saw this gummy 'pizza' (and I use that term very loosely) with decorative pig parts in a local grocery store. As if the look of it wasn't bad enough, this Fear Factor candy is advertised as tasting like "bacon, and other amazing flavors." Ugh. Yes, I tried it. And worse, I suckered a friend into trying the pig liver and heart area just so I wouldn't have to.

The sugar content was so high that I practically got buzzed, which was sadly a saving grace for this awful concoction. It had a gross, sweet bacon-y flavor tinged with what reminded me of new plastic. You know, like the way a new wrapped plastic toy smells the first time you take it out of the package. I'll stop now before I start to throw up in my mouth a little.

I was reminded of the good old days in my fourth grade cafeteria, when I was the kid you could pay to mix pizza, soda, jell-o and mustard in one glass and take a sip. Yeah, it's cool when you're eight, but when you're an adult you just look like a pig. Oink, oink.

Hey readers, what's the grossest thing you've ever eaten?

What's the first thing you think of when you see soy sauce? Chow Mein? Sushi? Somehow, gefilte fish and matzo don't make the list for me. That's why I was surprised to see this quirky little line of sauces and marinades at Wal-Mart.

The brand is called "Soy Vey!" and the blue and white bottle with faux Hebrew lettering indicates it's exactly what you'd think -- Jewish teriyaki and soy-based sauces. I almost broke out into rollicking laughter over the "punny" name right there in the middle of the aisle. Turns out they're kosher too!

Apparently this all started at Humboldt State University back in the '80s. One worker at the college's business center brought in a potluck dish made with a tasty sauce from her native Hong Kong. Eddie Scher, who worked in the college's arts center, loved the stuff. He hooked up with her and the pair started selling the marinade at local fairs and festivals.

Later, when the couple wanted to make the business venture official, proud Jew Eddie came up with the name "Soy Vey!" Puts a smile onto your face when you exclaim it aloud, doesn't it? Oddly enough, Soy Vey! isn't soy sauce. The original flavor contains hoi sin (Chinese barbecue) sauce plus spices including garlic, sugar, vinegar, sesame seed and chili. According to the package, you can use it on almost anything, from fish to eggs.

Nearly thirty years later -- ouch, I feel old -- Heidi Chien and Eddie Scher's company offers five different marinades, including the original (now called Garlic Asian Glaze & Marinade), teriyaki, island teriyaki, wasabi-flavored teriyaki and a Chinese chicken salad marinade. And considering several flavors are sold at Wal-Mart, the company must be raking in dough these days. Ahf Mir Gezogt (I should be so lucky)!

By Wynter Holden

I've always wondered what happens to imperfect foods. You know, like the accidental square Cheerio. I mean, we live in such a perfectionist society. Studies show that attractive people get more attention and earn more than average-looking people. So it's only natural that better-looking foods end up on store shelves, while those square pegs in the round Cheerio hole get tossed or recycled. Or incinerated.

I like to think they go to a better place; an isle (or aisle, rather) of misshapen and forlorn, but oh-so-endearing foodstuffs. Kind of like the misfit toys in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Besides, this is food we're talking about. Candy, cookies, hot dogs, cereal...not luxury automobiles or designer dresses. Who cares if a cracker looks perfect, as long as it tastes good? Judging by the lack of mutant raisins in my bran cereal and the utter perfection of every sunny yellow Peep in last year's Easter basket, I'm guessing pretty much everyone in the food industry. I mean, imagine the lawsuit I could file if a marshmallow bunny had three ears. Gasp!

Still, why throw the accidental foods out? I'm sure the starving Chinese children my mama always shamed me into eating icky asparagus for would appreciate a mutant marshmallow animal or two.

That's why I could practically French kiss the marketing geniuses at Jelly Belly who came up with the idea of repackaging and selling their manufacturing goofs...

By Wynter Holden

I've seen canned aloe vera at the Phoenix Ranch Market, but I can't imagine how that's appetizing. In college, I had an aloe plant named Fanny. If I burned myself on a candle (which I did often, since I was totally goth and had a candelabra in my dorm), I would lovingly trim one of Fanny's leaves and rub in on the burn. She was also great for sunburn relief. But I couldn't imagine hacking off a leaf and frying it up for dinner.

The slimy, gooey insides of the plant always looked like snot and smelled like the girls' locker room to me. I didn't mind slathering it on my arm, if it would help, but I wouldn't stick it in my mouth even if I burned my tongue and it swelled to the size of a baseball.

Holistic health nuts argue that aloe is great for internal as well as external use. The plant is rumored to strengthen your immune system, lubricate joints and improve digestion (personally I'll just eat the yogurt). Some doctors in the medical community agree, at least partially, with those claims. Others say that aloe should never be eaten. Thus far, I'm siding with the latter group.

When I saw these cute aloe vera dessert cups near the peanut butter bars at my local Asian market, I was willing to at least give them a shot. They were small and looked like lime Jell-O with fruit trapped inside. Not too daunting. In fact, my buddies Ms. A. and Mr. B. were also willing to participate in my at-home aloe experiment...