[Photographs: Carrie Vasios]

As a kid, a lot of things which I waited for so (im)patiently turned out to be disappointments. I offer you the case of Reebok Lights—which I waited and waited and waited for, only to learn, mere months after purchase, that they were bad for the environment because they couldn't be recycled. Or that's what someone told me, which was enough for me to refuse to wear them. Don't let your kids watch FernGully, folks, or you'll spend half your free time finding them sneakers made out of recycled bottle caps.

But you know what didn't disappoint? Chips Ahoy Soft and Chewy cookies. When they came out my sister and I were thrilled. Finally there was a soft, bendy cookie that we could buy at the store and gorge ourselves on at home. It took us a few days but then we learned the ultimate trick: put them in the microwave until the chocolate gets all warm and melty. I'd eat them in threes, piping hot, washed down by a glass of Lactaid.

I hadn't actually thought about CASC in many years when I came upon their latest iteration in the cookie aisle: New Chewy Chips Ahoy With Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Well I like Chewy Chips Ahoy and I like Reese's Peanut Butter Cups—obviously have to give these a try.

After last month's Oreo debacle, my hopes weren't particularly high. Things weren't helped when I opened the package and saw the cookies.

Huh. The cookies are kind of small. When did that happen? I swear I remember them being bigger.

I picked one up. Still pliant, still a little too "golden", still shedding the faint, fruity smell of bad chocolate. I took a bite. Oh, the memories. The outer cookie was exactly as I remembered it—unique tasting sure, but I don't need real vanilla to like a cookie. Also, the added peanut butter actually works to mask the off flavors of the dough.

There are pieces of real Reese's peanut butter cups, though they're outnumbered by both chocolate and peanut butter chips. I found my cookies were well balanced between chocolate and peanut butter flavors, though they could use a bump in add-ins overall. Most importantly, for a cookie that's packed with candy (America!), it's not too sweet. I could easily eat my old 3x portion size. And, bonus, I've since upgraded to milk.

Have you tried these new Chips Ahoy cookies? What did you think?

About the author: Carrie Vasios is the editor of Serious Eats: Sweets. She likes to peruse her large collection of cookbooks while eating jam from the jar. You can follow her on Twitter @carrievasios

[Photographs: Carrie Vasios]

Look, I don't want to make any false accusations here, but the people at Oreo may be smoking some wacky cigarettes. They've been coming out with some pretty weird flavors of late (see: Berry Burst Ice Cream Oreo, Creamsicle Oreo) that might have been an ill-advised foray into fruit/fruit themes, but were just as likely some dude's sudden decision that going meta on Oreos would be like, the coolest thing ever. Cookies that taste like other desserts, man! That sh$$ would be craazy. Or maybe it was the latter, minus the trees and plus a big ego trip. I have the power to make you eat crappy desserts in the guise of Oreos. You cannot resist. Muah ha ha.

What I'm getting at is that it seems almost impossible that a group of normal flavor developers sat in a room and came up with the newest limited edition Oreo, Ice Cream Oreo Rainbow Shure, Bert! , by thinking mmm, you know what pretty unpopular treat we should make into a cookie? Sherbet. And why choose one flavor when we all know that those white buckets of rainbow (which is really just tricolor) sherbet are everyone's favorite? And then a group of taste testers tried these new cookies and thought mmm, I never buy rainbow sherbet, but this pseudo sherbet paste sandwiched between two vanilla cookies is rocking my world. Someone pass the milk.

Nope.

The cookies.

These things are terrible. I suppose they get points for the fact that these cookies smell (and boy, when you open that package do you get a waft) exactly of white bucket, we-aint-got-no-ice-cream-sandwiches-left-sorry-kids-now-lets-sing-a-song, summer camp rainbow sherbet. If authenticity is something to be praised in an Oreo—but Candy Corn Oreo, I think we long left that one long behind.

Anyway, these taste less like sherbet, which I've enjoyed on occasion (it is just milky sorbet, kind of), and more like indiscriminate fake fruit. Somewhere between whatever tropical means in tropical bubblegum and black raspberry, though that's like assigning unicorn tears to a flavor and then using it as a reference point. The middle is so fruity, in fact, that it clashes pretty violently with the vanilla scented exterior cookies (which actually aren't bad on their own).

From this angle, actually kind of looks like the top of a pint of ice cream.

In short, why make Oreos that stray so far from the original cookie they might as well change their shape and name? The answer is probably "brand loyalty/make money", so fine, then why not choose flavors we all like, maybe toffee or coffee, and if you have to go the way of ice cream, how about chocolate chip cookie dough or rocky road?

Oreo: I love you but you've lost me. I do hope you'll find your way home.

About the author: Carrie Vasios is the editor of Serious Eats: Sweets. She likes to peruse her large collection of cookbooks while eating jam from the jar. You can follow her on Twitter @carrievasios

[Photograph: Carrie Vasios]

Socks. A miniature toothbrush in its own case. A man's plastic comb. A small toiletries bag with British Airways written across the front. I loved these and any other little pieces of travel that my father would bring home for me from his business trips to Europe.

Once he brought me back a Toblerone, not one of those oversized bars you find in duty-free, just a small yellow box you could fit in your pocket. I'm sure it was the alternative-to-peanuts snack on the plane. It was incredibly exotic to me then, the triangular pieces of nougat filled chocolate. (Toberlone wasn't acquired by Kraft Foods until 1990, so it's not unlikely that I had never seen it before.)

Like the other chocolates smuggled back for me on the plane, I thought Toberlone was fantastic; the milk chocolate creamier than what I normally had at home, the nougat faintly marshmallow in taste but nuttier, and much different than the nougat in my 3 Musketeers. I've loved this bar ever since, for both the taste and the way it transports me, for a moment, across the sea.

So I was pretty disappointed with this new Crunchy Salted Almond Bar. It's not that I'm a Toblerone purist—I like new versions of classic candy bars and I will always give salted chocolate a try—but I could barely detect the salt. I would say on a rough estimate that one in five bites contained a pop of salt, the rest tasted like normal Toberlone. Well not quite normal: instead of the creamy milk chocolate I expected, I found milk chocolate that tasted more like sugar than anything else, a closer kin to a Hershey's Kiss than original Toblerone. But my biggest concern were the pieces of carmelized almonds, which were hard, not just crunchy, and unpleasant to bite through. Given how soft the chocolate surrounding the almonds is, it makes for a weird eating experience, like when you realize that you've chipped a tooth.

What about you—have you tried this new bar? What did you think?

VIEW SLIDESHOW: Share Your Sweets: Valentine's Day

Today is Valentine's Day and you guys are celebrating with all kinds of cakes, cookies, and chocolates. Click through the slideshow to see all your romantic treats. Happy Valentine's Day!

In winter, nuts often take the place of fresh fruit as the star of dessert dishes, and one of our favorite is peanuts. So shoot us a photo of your best peanut-filled sweet (along with a link to the recipe!) and we'll include it in the next roundup. Be sure to send it in no later than Tuesday, February 19th so we can include it in the Share Your Sweets on February 21st.

If you're new to Share Your Sweets, take a peep at the rules here. A few notes: we can only take one submission per person, so pick your favorite (or the most recent shot) and send it in. Also, Share Your Sweets is just for the folks at home; no pros or companies! If you want to really impress us, crop your photo so it's 610 pixels wide and 458 pixels tall.

VIEW SLIDESHOW: We Try Häagen-Dazs's New Gelato Line

[Photographs: Tiffany Tay]

You'd think the dead of winter would be an odd time to launch a new frozen dessert line. But not for many of us here at Serious Eats. We're those oddballs bundled up in our puffer jackets and beanies but happily licking a cone of sweet, cold ice cream. Even as the wind howls menacingly outside.

And thankfully, not for the people at Häagen-Dazs. They've introduced a new gelato line of 7 flavors. Right off the bat, I am pre-disposed to love Häagen-Dazs gelato. First off, it's Häagen-Dazs, a brand that usually delivers. Second, I'm impressed that they opted for a refreshing way to go lighter in the new year (see more about the differences between ice cream and gelato with Max's excellent primer), as opposed to the craze nowadays to Greek-yogurt-ify everything. Third, I'm loving the sleek black packaging they chose for their gelatos. It looks quite sexy and pops on the ice cream aisle.

The only question is: do the gelatos deliver on flavor and texture?

So I loaded up my shopping basket and brought as many as I could find home. There are seven gelato flavors: Black Cherry Amaretto, Cappuccino, Dark Chocolate Chip, Limoncello, Sea Salt Caramel, Stracciatella and Vanilla Bean. Only the Stracciatella, a sweet cream with chocolate shavings, eluded me, at least for now.

Click through the slideshow above to see what we thought of the flavors. And tell us, have you tried the new Häagen-Dazs gelato? Especially the Stracciatella? Let us know in the comments!

[Photograph: Carrie Vasios]

I imagine that one of the more difficult parts about being a mom will be the question of food. I hope to tow the line between encouraging the eating of healthy food and prying open my child's jaws and forcing it in, mostly through home cooking and, if I'm going to be honest, something like a "we're all eating the same thing—deal with it" tactic.

It has occurred to me that my kid might have food allergies to the very things that I love, and the idea that my kid might break out in hives if they touch a perfect, ripe red strawberry makes me feel kind of itchy myself. But I feel blessed to live in the society that we do, one that is growing increasingly attuned to the needs of those with restricted diets. And that includes people with Celiac disease.

For example, there's Annie's Homegrown, a company which is great for those on gluten restricted diets, as well as vegetarians and anyone else who likes to eat organic convenience food that actually tastes good. And now they've extended their line of Teddy Graham knockoffs, the subjectively even cuter Bunny Grahams, to include two gluten-free options.

Both the bunnies. Yep, they look the same.

Of the two new flavors, the Snickerdoodle Bunnies were the clear winner. They taste just like their namesake cookie—cinnamon is mixed with sugar and a clear hint of vanilla. They're not just cinnamon grahams, but better, and I found them totally addictive. As for the texture, you couldn't tell they were gluten-free.

The Ginger Snap Bunnies also had good flavor. The ginger tastes like the plant, not artificial "ginger flavor", including a bit of sweet heat. They'd definitely make me feel better on a long car ride. The problem is that these cookies are hard, really hard. Especially as they're too small to dunk, you're stuck with a cookie that screams rice flour (that and yellow corn flour are the main ingredients) and has no give.

As I don't believe that gluten is inherently bad and don't have an allergy to it, I won't choose GF snacks unless they are delicious on their own merits. The Snickerdoodle Bunnies are worth buying, for those with gluten allergies or no. If you or your child has Celiac Disease, the Ginger Snap Bunnies will do in a pinch, but a tall glass of milk is required.

[Photographs: Carrie Vasios]

You have to hand it to Pepperidge Farm. With a regular roster of at least 34 cookies, they still manage to introduce new items for the holidays. That includes these Limited Edition Peppermint Milano Slices, which we picked up to try, having made it a personal mandate to try every kind of PF product for all of eternity.

Milano Slices are the smørrebrød of the Milano world. They only have 1 side of cookie and an exposed topping. Here, the bottom cookie is topped with a thin layer of chocolate and what the bag calls "peppermint chips" though I think "crushed candy cane pieces" is a more accurate description.

Despite their holiday specific nature, these are some of my favorite Milanos to date. They're light, with a bright mint flavor which actually gives you a cool whisper of menthol. The chocolate is dark and just a little bitter, the peppermint chips crunchy but not hard or unpleasant. The cookie is the weakest part, but that's because it's a standard Milano cookie. It's simply the vehicle for the toppings, and that makes me glad there's only one.

So I know people sometimes people say, "These are good enough to serve to guests," but the truth is that I never serve guests packaged cookies (unless they're friends who have stumbled home with me from a bar). But these Milano Slices are elegant and delicious. And they kind of make me wish I did.

[Photographs: Carrie Vasios]

I know—Chocolate Chip Cookie Chips. I saw the name and thought. No. No no no. I like cookies. I like chips. But together? These are probably going to be awesomely bad.

Still, I opened the pouch and tried one. And they were awesome—but awesomely good. The quarter dollar-sized cookies are extremely thin and crunchy. Their texture reminds me of mini versions of Tate's cookies, and, flavor-wise, also of Brent & Sams. They have the same brown-sugar forward flavor and pieces of pleasantly bitter chocolate. With a recognizable hint of vanilla and a slightly nutty flavor, they taste, if not homemade, then like excellent gourmet chocolate chip cookies.

Tastes like a cookie, eats like a...cookie

The founder of HannahMax, Joanne Adirim, began the company in 1993 with the goal of creating desserts without artificial flavors, colors, preservatives, trans fats, or GMOs. They recently expanded their dessert line to include snacks such as these "cookie chips", which also come in original, cinnamon sugar, and sea salted peanut butter.

The bag proclaims that these treats "Taste like a cookie, eat like a chip!" At 120 calories for 5 cookies, I guess you could say that you can eat them like chips. But I'm not eating them with dip or snacking on them with a beer. And as tasty as they are, I can't see myself sitting in front of the TV with an open bag, munching away, without thinking, dude, you're inhaling a bag of cookies—stop.

Chip-like or not, these mini chocolate chip cookies are way better than the other packaged varieties you'll find at the supermarket. I'd give the other flavors a try.

Click here for retail locations.

[Photographs: Carrie Vasios]

I like granola. I like waffles. Granola waffles? Sign me up.

Here's the thing, this isn't a new treat from Waffles and Dinges. They're frozen Eggo waffles. Before yesterday, I hadn't had Eggo waffles in oh, almost two decades. My memories of them are fond. They were a staple of my childhood breakfast table (it was actually a breakfast bar, but no matter.) I liked to take the bottle of Aunt Jemima syrup and carefully pour it into every square. I'd like to say that I did this to devilishly hold up my sister and sabotage her breakfast, but I think I was just showing early signs of being a control freak. In any case, I wasn't sure how I would like the waffles as an adult, so I was careful to judge the new product based on the what the box promised: waffles with "rolled oats and granola pieces."

There are two flavors: Chocolate and Mixed Berry.

The first question you might be asking yourself is, which waffle is this? Here's the other one.

Still confused? You have a right to be. Those with good eyesight will see that the little specks in the first photo are dark whereas those in the second are purplely/pink, leading you to guess that the first is the chocolate and the second is the berry. You'd be right. But you'd also probably guess what my first and most grave complaint is with these waffles—where are those "rolled oats and granola pieces"? Or the chocolate? Or all the berries?

The Chocolate Granola Waffles taste mainly of regular Eggo waffle. That taste is really salty, something I definitely didn't pick up on as a kid, with a hint of fake butter. Pretty underwhelming, in my opinion, but if you like original Eggo, you'll probably like these. There were very few chocolate chips, as you can see, and which was sad because I actually liked the bites that had them. There was definitely no oaty flavor or honeyed granola sweetness. In fact these waffles are flimsy (their puniness explains why it's only 190 calories for two) and have none of the heartiness of granola. I'd have loved to see some big chocolate chunks, maybe some pecans, even uh, a whole rolled oat.

The Mixed Berry Granola Waffles were much harder to take. I'll give ten points to whoever can tell me exactly what other berry product these taste like (my best guess is Mixed Berry Poptarts but I think there's something closer). The whole waffle is infused with berry flavor but again, no heartiness, no granola, no oats or fruits or chunks.

Of course a waffle tasting wouldn't be finished without having them as nature intended: with syrup. Doused in maple syrup, you start to understand the saltiness of the plain waffle. It turns on that salty-sweet light in your brain, the one that tells you that you're eating something akin to crack, and you should keep going to find out. The Chocolate Granola Waffles definitely won this test because they end up tasting like syrup. The Mixed Berry Waffles, on the other hand, compete with the syrup and become a cloying, berry sweet mess.

Beyond a little disappointment, I was left with a lingering question: "Why?" Why pretend that these waffles are full of "rolled oats and granola pieces", why say they're "fuel for the morning!", when you know that they're not? Why not just put granola into the waffles as promised? I guess I won't be working for big food companies anytime soon, because I don't have an answer.

So, Eggo Waffle lovers out there, tell me, have you tried these waffles? What did you think?

[Photographs: Carrie Vasios]

Let's start with what I don't know, which is practically anything about the history of this bar. I've been searching around, but it's not listed on Hershey's brand page and Google seems to only recognize the existence of Extra Creamy Milk Chocolate Nuggets with Toffee and Almonds. Wikipedia lists a Hershey's Extra Creamy Chocolate and Caramel but with no real information. The best tip I got was off a Canadian calorie counting site which referenced a Creamy Milk Chocolate bar, which does indeed show up on Hershey's Canada's list of products.

Here's what I do know: a Hershey's Extra Creamy Milk Chocolate Bar was available for purchase at my local Walgreen's in San Francisco, sitting right next to a pile of regular Hershey's Milk Chocolate bars. So here's what I did do: a comparative taste test.

Regular Hershey's Milk Chocolate bar and Extra Creamy Bar.

Texturally the bars are the same. They are a different color, with the Extra Creamy Bar being a few shades lighter brown.

I tried the regular milk chocolate bar first. The thing is that while I know what a Hershey's bar tastes like, I usually only eat it as part of a s'mores. Really focusing on the taste was a little disturbing. The funky aftertaste brought to mind that episode of Friends where Monica is supposed to make products using Mockolate. "I'm just waiting for it to stop bubbling," she says. Yeah, me too.

But funky aftertaste aside, what I was really trying to discern was its level of creaminess. And it is, in a way. It's definitely got a roundness of flavor and certain creaminess which, while maybe not real milk, brings to mind dairy. Anyone could identify the original Hershey Bar as a member of the milk, not dark chocolate, family.

So what would a creamier version of this taste like? Well, different, is one answer. Better is another. The Extra Creamy Milk Chocolate Bar does taste milkier. The biggest change is a sudden prominence of vanilla. It's sweeter than an original Hershey bar—yeah I know—but that added sweetness and the extra vanilla flavor combine to mask the off aftertaste of the original. It's like a family of white chocolate Easter bunnies fell into Willy Wonka's chocolate river. And I'm kind of OK with that. It's on a path to tasting more like British milk chocolate bars, which I've always found to have a more pronounced dairy flavor and creamy texture. It tastes similar to an American Cadbury Cream Egg shell.

The weird part is the ingredients:

Hershey's Regular Milk Chocolate Bar: Sugar; Milk; Chocolate; Cocoa Butter; Lactose; Milk Fat; Soy Lecithin; PGPR; Emulsifier, Vanillin, Artificial flavor

Hershey's Extra Creamy Milk Chocolate: Sugar; Milk; Chocolate; Cocoa Butter; Lactose; Milk Fat; Soy Lecithin; PGPR; Emulsifier, Vanillin, Artificial flavor

Yup. They're the same! I'm not sure exactly how they changed the flavor and color so drastically without changing the general proportions. It's Hershey's magic, I guess. The bottom line? I'm not sure I'll pick up either bar without a corresponding marshmallow bag in hand, but I could see eating some mini Extra Creamy bars (if they make them) come next Halloween.

What about you? Have you had the Hershey's Extra Creamy Milk Chocolate Bar? What did you think?

Red's not a fan of his costume. [Photographs: Carrie Vasios]

Amazon is where candy goes to die. Are you that one person who heard of and loved Tootsie Roll Vanilla Flavored Midgees? Do you want 5 pounds of Runts for less than $10? Is your holiday not complete without Eggnog flavored gumballs in a tin? Then this is the site for you. For the right price you can find almost any defunct, out of stock, worst-idea-ever candy that ever graced the market.

Sometimes I like to troll this black hole of bad ideas for fun. Sometimes I stop and go, "Wha the whaa? When did they make that?" and proceed to order a bag. Which is exactly what I did when I saw M&M'S Candy Corn White Chocolate Candies.

I didn't have high hopes. Other attempts at candy cornifying sweets have gone disastrously wrong. But I am one of the few who does like candy corn in its pure form, so there was always a glimmer of hope that I'd like these too.

Upon opening the bag, I was greeted by a scent not unlike Mystery Flavor Airheads. But the first taste is undeniably Skittle, not a particular color but the taste that occurs when you take a whole mouthful of the Original flavor and it blends. After a second, the flavor opens up into pink Starburst. I like pink Starburst (my favorite flavor in fact) but I couldn't help but wonder why on earth they'd think that resembled either candy corn or white chocolate.

Once the fruit flavor subsides (and it takes a good minute) you do get the recognizable taste of low-quality white chocolate. I was relieved to find the white chocolate in there somewhere, but the candy corn was nowhere to be seen. The only thing these M&Ms have in common with real candy corn is that they're sweet—Holy Moses my teeth just fell out sweet.

It's worth noting that I really enjoyed the texture. These guys are large, almost the size of a Peanut M&M, but since there is no crunchy nut inside, the texture is soft and creamy in a way that I haven't found in other M&Ms.

I guess I should have known that M&Ms foray into both white chocolate and candy corn was asking too much (and realized that pairing didn't sound so appealing in the first place.) But I won't give up. I still have hope that some candy company will do a candy corn hybrid right.

Have you found one? And have you tried these M&Ms? What did you think?

[Photographs: Carrie Vasios]

It seems like "pumpkin spice" has become its own flavor—a separate, fashionable entity that's distinct from good ole pumpkins. Maybe by 2050, we will even have gourds that come out of the ground tasting like cinnamon, nutmeg, and other ambiguous fall flavors.

In the meantime, we can watch as more products jump on the spiced pumpkin bandwagon. The most recent? Thomas' of English muffin fame. For a limited time, they're offering pumpkin spice bagels, bagel thins, and English muffins. I gave them all a try.

The English muffins have a nice flavor, managing to induce thoughts of "mmm...cinnamon...pumpkin...fall..." without tasting like seasonal potpurri. To their credit, they mean pumpkin spice and not just autumn spice, and the pumpkin flavor is recognizable as pumpkin. They're not very sweet, so I recommend a little melted butter to bring out the flavor.

When reviewing the pumpkin bagels, it's important to establish that these types of prepackaged bagels aren't really bagels as they have the wrong texture (boasting no discernible difference between crumb and crust), a complete lack of chew, and, when plain, hardly any flavor. So let's consider them large, roll-like bread products and move on.

Just like the English muffins, I wouldn't recommend eating these bagels plain because the flavor will be weaker and the texture will be all wrong. But toasted and buttered, the notes of spice (predominantly cinnamon, which is what you want in the morning anyway) and pumpkin are just assertive enough to satisfy and comfort without overwhelming your taste buds. Insiders tip: be careful when adding jam.

I wasn't a huge fan of the little bits of pureed pumpkin that are scattered throughout the bagel. Why are they there? If it's to convince me that I'm eating real pumpkin, it's a weak gesture, and if it's to add some kind of chew, forget it. Pumpkins threads, raisins ye are not.

Still, the flavor of these was good and I ate the whole package over the course of a week—which I can't say about the bagel thins. The bagel thins have a pretty appalling texture: thin and about as pliant as a rubber tile. In the toaster, they become a pretty whack cracker. Pumpkin spice doesn't feel right on a crispy surface; it belongs on a soft, maybe lightly toasted, bready surface. If you really want to cut calories, toast up a bagel and eat half.

About the author: Carrie Vasios is the editor of Serious Eats: Sweets. She likes to peruse her large collection of cookbooks while eating jam from the jar. You can follow her on Twitter @carrievasios

[Photographs: Carrie Vasios]

I love marshmallows in most all their shapes, flavors, and forms. I prefer the standard size ones to the minis (more chew, and duh, more mallow) but I appreciate that the wee ones were created to accommodate smaller cocoa cups and allow for easier drinking. This summer I did find an exception to this rule: turns out the new, giant marshmallows aren't my thing—a good effort, but it's impossible to perfectly toast the outer layer and cook the inside before the outside of the marshmallow burns. Nobody wants a half cooked marshmallow, and I don't like charred ones. Also, Chubby Bunny just gets weird.

I go nuts over homemade mallows, marshmallow in candy, and yes, marshmallow fluff. So when I saw that Jet-Puffed had flavored marshmallows in the candy aisle, I was pretty stoked. Plus they came in fall flavors. Marshmallow upgrade for the off season!

Of the three flavors available in my supermarket (Toasted Coconut, Pumpkin Spice, and Cinnamon Bun) only Cinnamon Bun is actually a new product. Still, I clearly had to try all of them because they were new to me.

From left to right: Toasted Coconut, Cinnamon Bun, and Pumpkin Spice

First try was a strike out—I didn't care for the Toasted Coconut at all. Maybe they were a little stale, candy aisle-hangers on that didn't realize the beach party was over. But stale or not, I found the toasted coconut outside to be gritty and the flavor, though not the worst fake coconut offender I've encountered, to be pretty lackluster. But the bigger question is what would you use these for? Wouldn't the coconut layer burn when you roasted them? Even if you put it on a s'more without toasting it, the gritty, fake tasting coconut combined with melted chocolate seems like a recipe for disaster. And I don't really want any shedding in my cup of hot cocoa.

Cinnamon Bun, the newest addition to the line, fared little better. These mallows taste exactly like a cinnamon Yankee Candle smells—a powerful fake spice taste that seems like it will overpower anything they are paired with. For those folks who really enjoy fake cinnamon (it's OK, I know you're out there) these could, I suppose, find their way into a cup of cocoa. The problem then becomes that, muddy brown-grey and wrinkly as they are, it will look like rhinoceros toes are floating in your drink. Aesthetics aren't nothing, after all.

Pumpkin Spice was last and, OK, these I can get behind. Yes, they still taste artificial, but they're definitely less intense than the Cinnamon Bun mallows, and really, what pumpkin flavored treat ever tastes like actual, straight from the vine pumpkin? It tastes more like its full name, "pumpkin spice", a flavor which fans of Starbucks' seasonal pumpkin drinks will appreciate.

They still left me wondering, "when" and "what for?" Their pumpkin shape is pretty adorable, but I just don't see the flavor melding with chocolate. Maybe I'll make some Halloween themed Rice Krispy treats? So that's the nagging question, friends—or maybe make that two—do you like these flavored marshmallows and what do you do with them?

[Photograph: oldtimecandy.com]

Did you happen to notice that the Astro Pop hasn't been sold for eight years? Yeah, we didn't either. But if you did, there's good news: a new company bought the rights to the candy and now they're back on shelves (currently at Dylan's Candy Bar and other specialty candy shops, and they're coming soon to Target, Walmart, and the like).

The really cool thing about Astro Pops is that these rocket-shaped lollies were actually created by rocket scientists in 1963. The scientists also made special wrappers which could withstand high heat, allowing the hot candy to be poured directly into the wrapper. The heyday of the Astro Pop was many years ago, though I did eat Astro Pops as a kid, when I loved any oversized and crazy-colored lollipop that was destined to be thrown out before its time. (It would take far too long to eat all at once, and would get linty while it waited for round two.)

So I was excited to try this reissued Astro Pop. Would I have the stamina to eat the entire thing? Would it taste like childhood? The answers are yes and yes, but I must say I do not feel very well, and childhood doesn't taste great.

The candy mold/wrapper that made Astro Pops so groundbreaking is quite difficult to remove from the candy—I actually had to use a knife. The texture of the pop is slicker and smoother than most lollipops, which is sort of nice, but this, combined with the conical shape, makes it pretty much impossible to eat hands-free. Seriously, every time I tried to type something, the Astro Pop would fly out of my mouth and onto my shirt, and once even made it as far as my computer screen (talk about a rocket!). The paper stick was also somewhat short, which made it hard to hold onto.

The pop is made up of three flavor sections: pineapple, passion fruit, and cherry. The pineapple section immediately reminded me of being a kid, thinking I was about to get a taste of can't-miss-lemon, and then being affronted with the strange, almost coconut-y taste of artificial pineapple. The passion fruit (green) level was more or less tasteless, and the cherry was a bit cough-droppy for my tastes. At the very bottom of the pop was some wax, which, to be perfectly honest, I tried to eat.

In spite of not really liking the Astro Pop at all, I did eat the whole thing, which involved several hours and also chewing (cheating). And while it was fun to hold a silly looking lollipop again, I think I'll leave these rockets in space.

[Photographs: Robyn Lee]

When we learned that Oreo was coming out with a limited edition, only-at-Target candy corn flavor, most of us reacted a little like this:

Not me though. I'm a proud member of the pro-candy corn underground, and even if I accept that the stuff is objectively terrible, I just can't stop eating it.

So candy corn haters, this is not the review for you. Seek out your disaster stories elsewhere. Candy corn fans and candy curious, here's the evaluation you've been waiting for.

First, let's establish what tastes good about candy corn for those of us who like candy corn in the first place. Part of it is the texture, right? The dense chew that's chalky and waxy all at once, that makes your teeth hurt so good. As for the flavor—yes, sweet. Really sweet. But what else is going on there? You can't just say it's corn syrup—corn syrup doesn't taste that way. Candy corn is basically pure sugar, but just like how marshmallows (which are also pure sugar + gelatin) don't only taste like sugar, neither does candy corn.

Part of that is the cocktail of industrial chemicals that sneak in right after the dextrose and before the titanium dioxide. But look up a little on that ingredient list. What do you see? Honey. That's right, candy corn is made with actual honey, and I think it's an essential part of the candy's flavor.

Enter the Candy Corneo

You smell the candy corn before you see it.

Be careful who you open this in front of—it's a chemical weapon. The room will smell of candy corn before you fish the plastic sleeve out of the package. But sniff it side by side with real candy corn and you'll notice the difference. Candy corn has a deeper, more honeyed aroma, and smells (relatively, at least) less objectionably, chemically sweet. A quick look at the ingredient list confirms my suspicion: no honey in sight.

The anatomy of the candy corn Oreo: two golden cookies and one Double Stuf-thick layer of creme that's half orange, half yellow. The golden cookies are just like what you find on plain Golden Oreos, and you probably already have feelings about those one way or the other. Frankly, they taste pretty inessential to the overall package. The creme's the thing here: bright, intensely aromatic, the soul of the Candy Corneo.

So how does it stack up? Candy corn fans, I'm sorry to let you down. But this is not the hybrid cookie you're looking for. The creme manages to taste even more sweet than candy corn, with a powerful artificial frosting vibe. There's no mellow creme depth. No honeyed accents. No real interest—just sweet. Candy corn haters denied that it tasted like candy corn at all. I won't go that far...but this just doesn't quite do it.

The real killer is the texture. Oreo creme is satisfyingly greasy and gritty at the same time. Flavoring that with candy corn stuff is a pretty brilliant idea. But this filling is stiff and gummy, a poor simulacrum of candy corn's unmistakable waxiness. The texture fails us most of all, and with it my dreams of a Candy Corneo we can love.

But is it Awful?

Here's the thing. We've tasted some bloody disgusting Oreo flavors in our time, Oreos that make me shudder just to think about. Compared to those members of the Oreo Hall of Shame, the Candy Corneo is just a wayward Oreo that doesn't quite make the mark. It's not good, but not abjectly terrible.

You have to wonder if there's any way a Candy Corneo could taste good. Frankly, I'm not sure. But I'd prefer a mass market Icarus, one that tries so hard to cookie-fy candy corn that it fails spectacularly, to this close but-not-quite attempt. Nabisco, I hope you try this again with a new formula. You've ignited a spark I didn't know I had within me. Fly farther, cookie company, fly.

About the author: Max Falkowitz is the editor of Serious Eats: New York, and doesn't want to hear about your anti-candy corn prejudice. You can follow his candy corn-free thoughts on Twitter at @maxfalkowitz.