After my earlier Defcon-ish review of Beanee Weenee, I was a little hesitant to dive back into the murky waters of Van Camp’s cheap but questionable offerings. I mean, I’ve got about 55 cans of Rosarita refried beans in the pantry already which are certainly good enough for my heart (and fart) when I need a quick bean fix.

As well, I just can’t get into sweet side dish offerings. Often, they’re “southern” inspired or traditional dishes that just leave my savory taste buds whining. I pretty much categorically hate yams, sweet potatoes, sweet bean anything, sweetened tea (come on now, give me a break), and anything sweet on pork . God, strike me down if I’m forced to eat applesauce with meat.

But anyhow, these were on sale for only 37 cents so I decided against my better judgement to pick up a can.

The first thing I noticed, that didn’t surprise me too much, was there was no “pork” to speak of in these beans. Oh sure, it’s listed there on the ingredients label. But what surprised me is that it is listed under the “less than 2% of” heading. That would explain the lack of pork in these beans. Maybe it’s just me, but this seems like false advertising taken to an extreme level. I mean, they should force VanCamp to call it “Beans and Pork”, or “Beans in Tomato Sauce With a Smidgen of Pork Flavoring”, or “Pork and Beans, PSYCHE! NO PORK, HAHA” or “Beans That You Should Eat WITH A Side of Pork Because There’s Really No Pork In Here”.

And so on.

The beans themselves are pretty average. They’re the small white bean variety and are soaked in tomato sauce or puree. I could’ve used a little more spice, anything to kill the sweet-madness. I tried dumping in a load of hot sauce into it, and the flavor improved about 300%. I still could only choke down a few spoons of the beans.

Sorry, I have a frequent repetitive-motion shoulder and back issue that has ramped up this past week. So it’s making me especially grumbly about not seeing a single shred of pork inside these beans which taste like they’ve been soaked in a gallon of sugar water. Ugh, my sweet tooth hurts. In fact, I’m going to stop talking about them because it’s not worth my typing. I’ve got a timer by the computer that’s set so I don’t spend longer than 15 minutes typing since it affects the shoulder. Ding, time’s up. Plus, if you like these crappy beans, there’s probably nothing I can say to change your mind otherwise.

These beans were pretty bad. But your hyperactive, sugar-freebasing kids may love them. However, you may want to keep the beans away from the young’uns lest they decide, in a sugar-induced fit of fantasy, to take the family van out for a cruise.

Price: $0.37 for 15 oz.
Found At: Fresh & Easy
Cheap Eats Score: 2/10

It appears I have been assimilated.

… into the Cult of the Sardine, that is. I no longer get up in the morning to eat Frosted Flakes. I start off the day with a big bowl of King Oscar Sardines. Finest Brisling Sardines, I might add. Straight outta the can. If I’m feeling frisky, I chop up some green onion to top it off with. Forget milk, it doesn’t go well with sardines.

(All around the world, cows just cried a tear.)

Around 11 in the morning I start to get the munchies. I used to snack on some Fiddle Faddle or Crunch and Munch, but now I just break open another tin of sardines. Seeya, carbs. I plan to eat half and save the remainder for a midnight snack. I go for the Mediterranean Style King Oscar Sardines this time. Ooh, it has red bell pepper and black olives. It’s like a party in my mouth and Jack (sic) Cousteau is invited. Pass the clam dip, Zissou.

I decide to hit the Long Beach Aquarium for lunch. I know what you’re thinking – no trip to the aquarium is complete without a meal of fish and chips (fish sticks = chopped and formed haddock filets from Alaska). I decide to bypass the tradition and sneak in another tin of King Oscar sardines underneath my jacket. Since I’m in a spicy mood, I bring along the Gourmet Chipotle Sauce flavor. I’m surprised that the Chipotle taste actually matches up OK with fish. It goes down really well, especially after a nice swig of bat ray feeding tank water. But I have to hightail it outta there since the guards don’t take kindly to me feeding Chipotle sardines to the jellyfish.

A little kid points at me while I’m running and asks his mom, “Why does the man smell like fish?” A word to the wise: do not run with an empty tin filled with sardine juice. You will spill it all over you.

Later at home, after watching The Blue Planet for the 54th time, I make some dinner plans. Here is the deal. I’m going to have some Balsamic Vinaigrette King Oscar Sardines for a fishy “side salad” and then go with Dijon Mustard King Oscar Sardines for the main course. This is like the most amazing fishfeast I’ve ever had. Tender fishies lovingly dunked in flavorful gravy.

The cat comes by to say hello. I ignore it. Sardines, my Precious, sardines.

Finally, to top off another excellent sardine filled day, I make a sardine omelette for dessert using the leftover tin from my morning snack. If you haven’t tried this, you should. You actually pour in the juice from the sardine into the egg mixture. I first saw it on a Japanese TV show where they said that sardine juice from a can was one of the best “brain foods” you could eat.

I wouldn’t make stuff like this up. Dude.

OK, it is back to Reality. The non-sardine filled variety of Reality. Well, ok, just a few sardines in this Reality. I’ve tried most of the flavors of the King Oscar Sardines sent in for review, and can honestly say these are some of the best I’ve had. I guess it isn’t too hard to top bulk sardines purchased at the Dollar Store. But these were pretty darn good – tender, delicate and for the most part, intact. They have a slightly salty flavor but aren’t as strongly fishy as some of the other ones I’ve had. Just don’t get the oil on your clothes!

They’re from Norway and are the Brisling variety (according to the package they’re smaller and more delicate than the conventional sardines). By the way, there’s an old commercial for them if you would like to watch. There’s also a Sardine Diet, which just goes to show you that I’m not so crazy after all. Woah. I guess I AM crazy.

They have some that are “two layer” and others in “one layer”. As far as quality goes, these pretty much kick ass – for price, I think it’s going to be a bit spendy. You might be able to get a one layer can for around two bucks or less, especially if you buy them by the case. Which is something I’m going to have to consider, seeing as my Reality has been painted sardine-colored lately.

Price: Free
Found At: Sent in for review
Cheap Eats Score: 7/10

[Editor's Note: My new year's resolution was to butcher the English language while cramming as many non sequitur phrases into reviews as possible. I like to make them almost completely unpalatable so that Grandma Jekeriah from Tennessee does not email me thinking I own Banquet Frozen Meals. Look for reviews to get crazier and krazier and querazier as the year goes by. Thank you very much.]

I’m not going to lie to you. I like the word “Kibbles.”

It just rolls off the tongue nicely, like a bottle of Albertsons vodka mixed with OJ (not Simpson). It also rhymes with Tribbles, which is handy in case I’m ever writing a Star Trek limerick. Finally, it goes along nicely with the word “Bits.” This gives you the canine culinary creation: Kibbles ‘n Bits.

What does Hartford House Beef Stew have to do with Kibbles ‘n Bits?

Come on, Eileen. You can do the math yourself…

Truth be told, this can of stew was part of my earthquake food supply kit. But seeing as how the date on the can was getting a little close to the expiration date (really, 1/13/11 is coming up way faster than you think), I thought I’d crack it open and have some stew on a cold, windy day.

Thank god I opened it now, because if I had to eat this after an earthquake, I might throw it up. Now I can go and replace it with something tame like Spam or Vienna Sausages.

Do you know the buttery, fungus paste that grows between your toes if you don’t take a shower for a few days? Oh no, it doesn’t taste anything like that. Not that I would compare it to something like that, on penalty of being banned for life from the Dollar Store by the cabal of food manufacturers that puts out this crud. I smell libel, I smell suit.

No, this was probably not as bad as I’m making it out to be. But after eating luxurious frozen food for a few weeks, it was rather disturbing.

On the surface, this is your typical canned beef stew with potatoes, carrots, and “meat”. Speaking of “on the surface”, when I first wrestled the can open (note to self: make sure to include high quality can opener in emergency earthquake supply) there was about a 1/4 cup worth of orange blobbity on the top of the can. Oh cool, I thought – some pureed carrots to thicken the stew. Not so fast, Bugs Bunny.

I dunno what it really was – probably a combination of lard, grease, oil, tomato paste and spices. I mean, I see a bit of that inside the top of nearly every can of Chili or soup I open up. But there was just gobs and gobs of that orange stuff, and it was harder than Ronald McDonald’s arteries after ingesting 55 Big Macs.

But you know what they say – if you’re going to play with fire, you might as well stick your whole hand in. Uh, any 10 year old kids, disregard that last sentence. I scooped most of the orange goo back into the can and just heated it up. Once I got it all mixed up, the orange color wasn’t as noticeable. The stew took on the consistency of glue, or maybe some of that Fix-All that we use to fill up holes in the wall. At least it wasn’t gritty like spackle.

I guess the potato pieces were pretty standard, and the carrot pieces, while small and pasty, were at least unremarkable enough that I could eat them. The sauce had a strange flavor, somewhat like buttered popcorn mixed with coagulated blood. I think it has something to do with the “tin can” effect, where you get foods picking up a metallic taste. It was VERY noticeable. I tasted it in the sauce and meat mostly.

Now, that meat – here’s where we get into the Kibbles part. It was like eating dog food. I’m not claiming that Hormel Chili or any of those other cans of stew have superb chunks of meat. But these little beef shmears were like the tiny hairball gems that my cat upchucks every so often. I just could not get past the taste and texture. Maybe if they were larger, or if they stuck some more spices in it to fake out my taste buds. Anything else, please, anything.

Would I eat this if I was starving? Sure. Last I checked, eating bad stew is an excellent alternative to starving. But I think I’m going to have to go back to the dollar store to get something else. Sorry, Hartford House (I seem to have liked your Corned Beef Hash better). It’s probably unfair to compare this to Kibbles ‘n Bits. I don’t even have a dog. But if I did, I think I would trade him his Kibbles for this stew.

Price: $1
Found At: Dollar Store
Cheap Eats Score: 1/10

Deep in a lead-shielded, missile-proof bunker 1000 feet underground in Scuttlefishville, AZ:

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve gathered you here today. We’re ramping up to Defcon 3.14159 in just a few minutes. Outgoing ICBM missile launches have been detected all over the world. We’re in for multiple strikes in all the major cities. Boom. It’s not going to be pretty. We’ll be down here safeguarding the nation’s secrets for at least the next 10 years or so.”

“Lieutenant Vonnegut, give me a status report on our basic neccesities.”

“Sir, all the necessary supplies and rations are in place for the coming siege. We should be able to survive down here for over 20 years. For consumibles, we have 1,580,000 cans of Spam, 1,650,000 cans of Corn Niblets, 130,000 boxes of Twinkies, 730,000 cans Vienna Sausages, 950,000 cans of Chef Boyardi, 740,000 cans of Progresso Soup, 55,000 packs of Lime Jello, 4,230,000 bottles of Gatorade, 1,200,000 cans of Refried Beans and 653 cans of Beanee Weenee.

“Very good, Lieutenant. Hand me one of those cans of Beanee Weenee. And a spoon. Let’s start this war off right.”

And so it goes… and so on.

OK, I originally was going to write a whole fricking post-apocolyptic Vonnegut-ish play in 3 acts for this review which would star the aforementioned Beanee Weenee falling into enemy hands and causing a collapse of the economy which was based in Beanee Weenee Bucks. It would end with a time travelling anthropomorphic Steller Sea Lion who would arrive with a cache of the beans to save the day.

But lucky for you, I’ve got writer’s block this afternoon.

Truthfully, Beanee Weenee has always been a sort of mythological canned food for me. I just knew the name and hadn’t even looked for it in the supermarket. I had a feeling it was one of those “legendary” rural foods that no one talks about but everyone has in their cupboard. Like those Bryan Tamales. I’m just way to lazy to research it more – so please tell me if indeed it is some sort of famous delicacy that’s been around for years and years.

Anyhow, I came across some cans at the Dollar Store, and I just couldn’t pass it up. The first thing I need to say about Beanee Weenee is that they have spelled it wrong. Oh yes, I do know a potatoe from a potato. Or, I often fool myself into thinking that I do. I keep wanting to write Beanie Weanie or Beanie Wienie.

The second thing I need to say is that this is one of those “eat cold or hot” deals. I’m not sure why you would eat it cold, unless you were stuck 1000 feet underground in a lead shielded bunker like the protagonist in my aborted narrative above. But hey, wouldn’t they have a microwave or stove down there?

There was no way I was going to scarf this can of pork and beans cold. I popped the top (bonus “emergency food” points for not requiring a can opener) and poured the pitiful repast into a little pot with a lid. It warmed up quickly. I then poured it into a bowl and consumed it in 5 minutes. Man, the things I do for Cheap Eats.

Continue reading “Beanee Weenee” …

No matter what dollar store I walk into, I always seem to walk out with some sort of chili. These things just happen. I’ve come to accept it rather than fight it.

It doesn’t matter which hockey team is winning, who’s running for president or what I ate last night. These cans of chili inevitably find their way into my hands.

And onto my plate for review. I’m no stranger to chili from a can. Previously, we’ve reviewed Hormel Chili w/ Beans. I’m somewhat surprised that’s the only real product review yet, not counting the posts about free Weinerschnitzel.

Anyhow, I’m going to run this review a little different. One thing that happens when you do a lot of reviewing (at least for me) is that you end up with a ton of different products that you’ve eaten but haven’t reviewed. If I was to review every single thing that came across my plate, I’d be doing 5 reviews a week non-stop. That’s too crazy.

So, what I often do is take notes. You’re going to laugh – just imagine me sitting with a bowl of chili, bread in one hand, pen in the other, and writing down my deepest darkest feelings about this lumpy, pseudo meat-bean product so they won’t be forgotten.

But the thing is – I WILL forget if I don’t write them down. For instance, I ate this Brooks Thick Chili with Beans almost a month ago. Without notes, I’d completely forget how it tasted. You can’t seriously expect me to eat several cans of this stuff in a month, right? Hm… I guess it would depend how cheap it was.

Anyhow, I’m just going to type in the exact notes as I scribbled them down furiously. You may or may not find this extremely boring, sorry if the former:

Brooks Chili

Overall: Surprisingly low salt(although 44% daily val sodium!), color nice red as chili shoudl be, a tiny bit gummy from the beans but OK.

Spice not too strong, I could have it stronger but suppose it’s better so can taylor [sic] it.

Beans: pinto soft cooked, nice, a little bland if you just eat it plain, pasty to some perhaps.

Ground beef: better than some, but nothing to write home about pretty much pureed, instead of large chunks – reminds me of J in the Balpha tacos.

Heat – barely there at the back of mouth. Could use Tabasco.

Continue reading “Brooks Chili W/ Beans” …

I have to say that I purchased this can of Chicken Noodle Soup entirely for the title that the review would produce. This product is called “Thank You Chicken Noodle Soup”. I kid you not. The brand is called “Thank You”, though I believe the megacompany behind it is actually Bird’s Eye Foods.

I also got it because I thought I could somehow work a cynical comment to the effect of: “Thank You Chicken Soup? No, thank you.” Man, that’s low hanging fruit – a Cheap Eats reviewer’s work is just too easy. Little did I know how emphatically I would be saying “No Thank You” to this soup!

Even though I knew that this would probably rank on the “lower end scale” of chicken noodle soups, I wasn’t prepared for how cloudy and glutinous the actual soup was. Well, I usually add water to these non-condensed soups anyhow, but I decided to try it without water for the review.

In my opinion, it was absolutely horrible. The broth itself had a strange, dogfood-esque and metallic (no doubt from the can), off-putting yet bland flavor – if that’s even possible. I had to take several slugs of vodka afterwards to remove the taste which lingered around like a bad second date that has no chance of even stealing first base… OK, I’m kidding about the vodka. But I did feel like I had to use some mouthwash afterwards.

The cloudy broth is remarkably similar to the corn-starch thickened soup they serve for “free” at the innumerable Hong Kong style cafes near our house. Except this tasted much, much worse. I don’t think I’ve had soup this bad in awhile.

The noodles are thin rectangles that are sort of like Campbell’s but extra soft. No bite at all to them. The chicken texture was ok, but the taste was really off. It had an extremely bad “iron” taste – I think it’s the same thing with it being from the aluminum can. I actually found myself spitting out the chicken for the first time. The carrots and celery were very soft – great for your toothless Cheap Eater uncle I guess. Not that this isn’t usually what you get in canned soup.

The whole ensemble was very, very bad. I’m not saying that Progresso or Campbell’s soup is light years better, but… wait, yes they ARE light years better if you’re going to pay a similar amount. I mean, they occasionally have these brands at Big Lots for a dollar too. If I’m going to fork over a dollar for canned soup, please let it NOT be the Thank You brand in the future. This is soup chemistry gone horribly bad. I actually couldn’t finish more than a few spoons, and that’s saying a LOT seeing what I’ve scarfed down before. Absolutely sickening – NO thank you. Experimental Jet Set, Trash and NO STAR.

Price:$1.00
Found At:Big Lots
Cheap Eats Score: 2/10

Heading into the long weekend, I’m going to feed your need for Gross Eats on Cheap Eats. I sincerely hope this doesn’t spoil your appetites for the upcoming BBQ I know you’ll be pigging out at. If you have an aversion to closeups of seafood, please turn away now.

I have to admit I was in a bit of an Andrew Zimmern mood as I waltzed down the aisles at Big Lots the other day. I’d avoided Ocean Prince Smoked Oysters even though I’ve seen them as cheap as 75 cents on occasion. These were marked up to a buck fifteen, but I figured it was high time I faced them down like a man. (Or woman, for those of you who keep thinking I’m a girl.)

Now, I’ve had oysters from cans before and they never look very pretty. In fact, they look downright nasty or even scary. But they’ve tasted pretty good and I usually fry ‘em up anyhow so they don’t look as bad. But I’ve never had smoked oysters before and I’ve always wondered how they differed in taste.

I took the liberty of cutting off the post here, so if you don’t wish to look at gross oyster pictures you can go ahead start the July 4 weekend. But for those with stomachs of steel, read on…

Continue reading “Smoked Oysters” …