Allen's Chicos

I felt particularly excited about the Chicos. My Australian supplier informed me this was one of her favorites--Chocolate gummy candies. We don't have anything like this in The States...though that may be due to the offensive packaging.

The picture on the front indisputably resembled a black baby. I couldn't help but feel a little bit racist as l tore open the bag of Chicos.

It was as if the package was a hive and the odor within was angry bees. Breaking open the seal released the bees in a swarming attack against my nostrils."GAH" I exclaimed to Hubs, who was curiously observing me on the couch.

"What, do they smell bad?" he asked. The black babies intrigued him, too.

"No, not bad. Just really strong." Oddly enough, they wreaked of vanilla extract.

I pulled a single Chico from the bag and inspected it. It looked less like the baby on the label and more like a funny looking miniature man.


Cautiously I inserted it into my mouth and began to chew. I identified the flavor immediately.

Have you ever had homemade chocolate pudding? If not, allow me to enlighten you. Homemade chocolate pudding may just be the best chocolatey treat in existence (especially accompanied by a dollop of whip cream). The only drawback to it (in my opinion, which I must specify is not universal) is the gelatinous film that forms on the top of the pudding after it's left to sit and cool before consumption. Chicos are almost identical in flavor to that film.

While the flavor was not particularly offensive, I couldn't continue eating the little black baby men. They smelled so artificial and I couldn't get past their chewy consistency.

But there was a far more distressing issue here. And it was staring back at me from the package. It was the baby on the bag. It was smiling its stupid, mocking smile. And it was really starting to piss me off. "Ha ha, you thought these were going to be good, but they aren't! Your disappointment amuses me!" it seemed to be saying.



The experience I was having was not good and it was only being made worse by the (mostly) toothless grin of the 8-toed baby. I hated it's face. Something had to be done.

So I turned the bag over.


Another big, stupid, smug grin was there. The package was covered in mockery. I couldn't win.

The food had successfully enraged me. I threw the Chicos on the coffee table in disgust. "These things suck and they're stupid." I sat against the couch and folded my arms.

Hubs retrieved the pack from the table and extracted a baby man for himself. I observed his reaction, wondering if he, too, would feel duped. "Hmm...these aren't bad. Actually, I like them!"

I couldn't believe it. How could anyone be enthusiastic about these things?

Hubs popped another in his mouth...and then I realized that by eating them all, the pack would be gone, each little smug baby man crushed and pulverized between teeth as Hubs consumed them. The baby on the front of the bag would meet its doom, too, as it inevitably would be smashed in a trash compactor somewhere.

Suddenly, I grew a smug grin of my own.

Yes, Hubs. Eat ALL the Chicos...