The first step to throwing a successful Friendsgiving where the meal is just Brach’s Turkey Dinner Candy Corn is knowing you may make some enemies along the way. My husband already committed to a lifetime of me asking, “Do you want to try something disgusting?” to which he must eventually say, “Fine.” I have cultivated all two of my friendships in a similar way. Thus, my Friendsgiving guest list was complete.
The second step does not involve elaborate invitations or any kind of predetermined date at all. This is the kind of Friendsgiving that can only be sprung upon your guests. The third and final step to throwing a Turkey Dinner Candy Corn Friendsgiving is the most challenging: successfully open the bag in a way so that it doesn’t split all the way down one side, spilling the terrible candy kernels everywhere. And then, we feast!
For our first course, we started with the candy corn we were pretty certain (1) we could identify confidently and (2) wouldn’t taste atrocious. We chose correctly. The texture of the coffee candy corn is the same as regular candy corn, which is also true for the five other flavors in the bag. This is where the similarities end.
My husband perfectly described the taste of the coffee candy corn as “gas station Frappuccino.” There’s a sickly taste of fake chocolate and a bit of caramel. Almost as if they’re trying to use the cloying sweetness to mask something…lurking beneath. It’s also very coffee forward, which I know seems obvious. However, as we quickly learned throughout this definitely-not-Michelin-starred meal, the name of the candy corn is less an indication of what flavor it will be and more like a fun, little mental visual you should conjure while you rid your mouth of the bad taste. We collectively gave this one a 4 out of 5.
As you know, it’s best to get your vegetables over with, so we decided the green bean candy corn was next. When I popped the bright, Gumby-green morsel in my mouth, by the grace of the candy gods, I didn’t taste anything aside from…candy corn. It was maybe a little more maple-y? Perhaps some of the coffee candy corn had rubbed off on it? In a blind test taste, I’m not sure I could ID it from a regular piece of candy corn. The rest of my friends, however, muttered things like “grassy” and “it’s not, like, terrible” and “oh, now the green bean is hitting” to themselves. So, I, an unreliable source, give the green bean candy corn 3 out of 5. (Honestly, I would give it a 4, but I feel like I would be judged by peers! Plus, a key part of having a fun Friendsgiving is keeping things interesting and saying stuff like, “I’m having another piece of the green bean candy corn.”)
Sometimes you need a little mid-dinner dessert. Unfortunately, based on physical appearance alone, the apple pie candy corn was indistinguishable from the roasted turkey and stuffing. So, cranberry sauce it was. Have you ever gotten a little chunk of Strawberry Chapstick on your lip and then accidentally eaten the little chunk? That’s what cranberry sauce candy corn tastes like. There was remarkably little cranberry, not even the slightest hint of tartness. I’m not sure if we were disappointed or relieved. Either way, we all agreed these taste better than the green beans but worse than the coffee. 3 out of 5
Let’s get the obvious out of the way: The turkey-flavored candy corn was worse than whatever you’re imagining. The first words out of one friend’s mouth were, “I’m offended.” Another asked me, “Did you have to buy these??” (I did.) There were notes of garlic, nondescript herb, pepper, shame, anguish, and maybe some salted butter. There was, surprisingly/thankfully, no hint of turkey or meat whatsoever. Still, we all gagged at least once and potentially damaged our taste buds permanently. 0.5 out of 5. (The half-point is for the joy I felt watching my nearest and dearest sample this cursed corn and seeing their betrayed reactions.)
A gift! A delight! Like getting to the delicious oasis that is the center of a Warhead after having to suffer through the outer layer, which is coated in some proprietary blend of dry vomit and pain. The apple pie candy corn mostly tasted like regular candy corn mixed with cinnamon. Kind of like how a craft store smells from October until January or a Yankee Candle you secretly want to lick. In any other context, the apple pie candy corn would probably be mediocre. In the context of this damned Friendsgiving, 5 out of 5.
We made the mistake of ending our meal on a bad note. Not the worst note—we all agreed this was far better than having roasted turkey be the last candy corn we sampled before inevitably giving up candy corn forever. (Something I’m sure many people would be fine with—how did Brach’s manage to make an already-controversial candy even worse?) However, the flavor of the stuffing candy corn was essentially Roasted Turkey Lite. There was more of that indistinct herb flavor and a little pepper, with a dash of anguish, shame, and a hint of humility. Otherwise, it tasted like regular candy corn you accidentally dropped into some gravy and tried to wipe off. Not inedible, but not anyone’s first choice. 1 out of 5
To end our Turkey Dinner Candy Corn Friendsgiving, we did not go around the table and say what we were thankful for as that would have been obvious. Each and every one of us were grateful to never have to put this appalling candy near our faces ever again. Unless they come out with a new batch of flavors next year.
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