Back in the 1950s, when product reviews were limited to the disgruntled rantings of family gatherings, there was no way to share your feedback with other consumers about popular convenience foods. There was no social media, and certainly no Martha Stewart to save you from risking your money and your health on culinary disasters that roamed the depths of your supermarket. In other words, you were on your own when deciding what to buy for your family.
Fast forward to today, with the power of the Internet at my fingertips, I decided to finally get even for all my pain and suffering by penning a series of helpful, constructive reviews of some of the products I was raised on. While there were hundreds to choose from, I chose five of the most notorious offenders that managed to escape the criticism they so richly deserve: Hormel SPAM Classic, Swanson’s Frozen Salisbury Steak, Gorton’s Frozen Fish Sticks, Velveeta Cheese Loaf, and Fizzies Drink Tablets. Buckle up. You’re in for a nostalgic, cringe-worthy ride.
Hormel SPAM Classic
A Culinary Journey You’ll Soon Regret
Let’s dive into the world of SPAM Classic, that infamous canned meat product that’s somehow managed to remain on the shelves for decades. Now, don’t get me wrong, there’s a place in this world for preserved meats. But after spending time with this particular tin of processed wonder, I’m questioning whether that place deserves to be in your pantry.
If you’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting real, fresh ham or even decent-quality deli meat, you’ll understand just how far SPAM falls short. Think of it as the culinary equivalent of a distant cousin—one you keep at arm’s length at family reunions. Sure, it’s technically related to food, but it doesn’t quite live up to the standards set by its more refined relatives. Compared to similar items in the processed meat category like canned corned beef or even Vienna sausages, SPAM stands out, but not for the reasons you’d hope.
SPAM Classic seems to be marketed toward those with either a desperate need for shelf-stable protein or a misguided sense of nostalgia. If you’re preparing for the apocalypse or your taste buds took a vacation back in the 1950s, this might be the product for you. Otherwise, it’s hard to imagine a scenario where SPAM would be the go-to choice for anyone with access to fresh food or a functioning palate.
I opened the can with the trepidation of someone about to unearth a time capsule best left sealed. The contents slid out with a sound that can only be described as a “thud,” leaving a greasy residue that seemed intent on sticking around. The texture? Imagine if rubber and gelatin had a baby. A couple of slices in, and I was seriously contemplating a vegetarian lifestyle. Frying it up only seemed to intensify the saltiness, turning my kitchen into a sodium crime scene. The taste was, in a word, unforgettable, but not in the way you’d want. It’s the kind of flavor that lingers, like a bad joke at a wedding reception.
SPAM Classic is the kind of product that makes you appreciate how far modern cuisine has come in the last 75 years. It’s like the culinary equivalent of an old war story. Interesting to hear about, but glad you weren’t there to live through it. Unless you’re stocking up your bomb shelter or indulging in some sardonic cooking podcast, I’d steer clear of this one. There are better ways to satisfy your protein needs that don’t involve revisiting the dietary standards of World War II. So, would I recommend buying SPAM Classic? Only if you’re looking for a conversation starter at your next potluck. Just don’t be surprised if it’s the last time you’re asked to bring a dish.
Swanson’s Frozen Salisbury Steak Dinner
A Catastrophe Better Left in the Freezer
If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to eat something that has absolutely no redeeming qualities, then allow me to introduce you to Swanson’s Frozen Salisbury Steak Dinner. This culinary abomination is the stuff of nightmares, if those nightmares involve choking down rubbery, flavorless meat-like substances drenched in a suspiciously brown, gelatinous goo that Swanson has the audacity to call gravy. This so-called “meal” is a relic of the 1950s, and quite frankly, it should have stayed there, locked away in the darkest corner of a freezer, never to be defrosted again.
Let’s start with the main offender, the Salisbury steak itself. To even refer to this as steak is an insult to cows everywhere. This patty—because calling it meat would be far too generous—has the texture of a rubber tire and the taste of something that might have once been near a cow, but never actually became beef. Each bite is a challenge, as your teeth struggle to penetrate its unnaturally dense surface, only to be rewarded with a flavor so devoid of life that it’s hard to believe it’s meant to be food. It’s as if Swanson found a way to encapsulate the essence of disappointment in an edible form.
And then there’s the gravy. This sludge, which more closely resembles old 10W-40 motor oil than anything fit for human consumption, is a mystery wrapped in an enema. It’s thick, it’s gloopy, and it has a sheen that could blind a small child if they got too close. The taste? Imagine mixing salt, sadness, and a hint of what I can only describe as “burnt despair” into a pot, heating it until it congeals into a substance that looks like something you’d scrape off the bottom of your shoe. That’s what Swanson proudly pours over their so-called steak.
And while we’re at it, let’s not forget the side dishes, though after trying them, you’ll wish you had. The vegetables that accompany this monstrosity are a sad, soggy mess. The peas and carrots have been boiled to the point where they’ve lost all will to live, reduced to lifeless blobs of green and orange mush that squish disconcertingly between your teeth. The mashed potatoes, if you can even call them that, are more akin to wallpaper paste than anything you’d want on your plate. They’re bland, they’re lumpy, and they have an aftertaste that suggests they’ve been sitting in the back of a freezer since the Eisenhower administration.
In the modern world of frozen dinners, where even budget brands have managed to produce something resembling a decent meal, Swanson’s Frozen Salisbury Steak Dinner is an outlier of the worst kind. Compared to its competitors, it’s not just a step behind, it’s in an entirely different race. One where the goal is to see just how much you can make someone regret their dinner choices. Brands like Marie Callender’s and even Stouffer’s have long since left Swanson in the dust, offering meals that at least pretend to care about flavor and quality. Meanwhile, Swanson’s offering remains a culinary fossil, a reminder of a time when people apparently had no taste buds and even less self-respect.
So who, in their right mind, would choose to eat this slop? The target audience for Swanson’s Frozen Salisbury Steak must be a peculiar breed. Perhaps those who get their kicks from eating things that should have stayed in the ‘50s, or thrive on the kind of misery only a meal like this can provide. Maybe it’s for the truly adventurous eater who wants to experience what it’s like to consume something that might as well be from another planet. One where taste and texture were outlawed long ago. Or perhaps it’s for the most desperate of souls who in a moment of sheer panic, grabbed the first thing they saw in the frozen food aisle, only to return home and realize the grave mistake they’d made.
I’ve had the unfortunate experience of trying this so-called meal, and let me tell you, it’s one I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. From the first bite to the last (which I assure you were the same), I was struck by just how awful a frozen dinner could be. It’s a meal that lingers in your memory, not because it was good, but because it was so profoundly bad. Each mouthful was a reminder of just how low the bar can be set in the frozen food industry.
Swanson’s Frozen Salisbury Steak Dinner is an unmitigated disaster. It’s a product that has no business being on the shelves in 2024. Or any other year, for that matter. Unless you’re looking for a way to punish yourself, there is absolutely no reason to subject yourself to this culinary train wreck. If you see it in the store, do yourself a favor and walk—no, run—in the opposite direction. There are plenty of other frozen meals out there that won’t make you question your life choices.
Gorton’s Frozen Fish Sticks
Glorified Gut Bombs
If you’re craving a meal that’s as enjoyable as a punch in the gut, look no further than Gorton’s Frozen Fish Sticks—a relic from the 1950s that should have stayed there. These breaded, frozen nightmares are the culinary equivalent of a bad penny—no matter how hard you try to get rid of them, they keep coming back to ruin your life.
Let’s talk about what Gorton dares to call “taste.” Imagine taking the essence of fish, stripping it of any flavor, and then dunking it in stale pond water. That’s the closest you’ll get to describing the sad, fishy hint these sticks offer. It’s as if someone at Gorton’s decided that flavor was optional, leaving you with a bland, mushy insult that’s more reminiscent of a soggy dishrag than a seafood delicacy.
The breading, which is supposed to add a crispy, golden crunch, instead gives you something closer to damp, gritty sandpaper. It starts off with the promise of crispness but quickly disintegrates into a soggy, lifeless mess the moment it touches your plate. Gorton’s breading sticks to the fish like a bad habit and even worse, to your teeth.
Now, let’s address the texture. If you enjoy chewing on something that feels like a wet catcher’s mitt left out in the rain, then these fish sticks are a dream come true. Gorton’s managed to combine the worst aspects of rubber and gruel into a single, gelatinous mass that’s as unpleasant to chew as it is to swallow. The fish and breading merge into an indistinguishable blob that promises to clog both your throat and arteries in one fell swoop.
Nutritionally speaking, Gorton’s Frozen Fish Sticks are about as sustainable as a jelly doughnut soaked in sea water. They might boast a smattering of omega-3s, but any health benefits are buried under a mountain of sodium and dubious additives. These fish sticks are more likely to raise your blood pressure than your spirits, making them a nightmare for anyone trying to maintain a healthy diet.
Compared to other frozen seafood options, Gorton’s Frozen Fish Sticks don’t just miss the mark. They don’t even come close. Even the cheapest, most generic fish fillets would be a better choice. These fish sticks are so far below par that they’re in a league of their own—a league where disappointment is the only prize.
So, would I recommend Gorton’s Frozen Fish Sticks? Not in a million years. Whether you’re a busy parent, a seafood enthusiast, or just someone who cares about what they put in their mouth, do yourself a favor and avoid these fish sticks like the plague. They’re a culinary disaster that should have been left behind in the 1950s, along with other popular trends like cigarette smoking. Save your money, your time, and your taste buds—leave Gorton’s Frozen Fish Sticks in the back of the freezer aisle where they belong.
Velveeta Cheese Loaf
The Faux Cheese Fiasco
When it comes to processed cheese products, Velveeta Cheese Loaf is the so-called “king” of convenience, but let’s not sugarcoat it. This block of orange rubber masquerading as cheese is an affront to the very concept of dairy. If you’re looking for real cheese, keep walking, because what you’ll find here is a glossy, plasticky loaf that’s about as authentic as a $3 Rolex.
Let’s break it down, starting with the taste—if you can even call it that. Velveeta has a flavor profile that’s less cheese and more chemical experiment gone wrong. Imagine a vague, salty whisper of cheese, buried under layers of artificial flavors and preservatives. It’s the kind of taste that sticks with you for all the wrong reasons, leaving you wondering if you’ve just eaten a cheese-flavored crayon. And the aftertaste? Let’s just say it lingers longer than a fart at a dinner party.
Texture-wise, Velveeta’s so-called “smooth, melty” promise delivers more like a greasy slip-n-slide. Sure, it melts, but it doesn’t so much as dissolve as it morphs into a gooey, oily blob that coats your mouth with an unnatural slickness. It’s the kind of texture that makes you want to reach for a napkin, not because your hands are sticky, but because your tongue feels like it’s just been varnished. There’s nothing “creamy” about it. Just a greasy, unappetizing mess that permanently sticks to everything it touches.
As for versatility, Velveeta is supposed to be the Swiss Army knife of the processed cheese world, but let’s face it, its uses are limited to dishes where taste and texture are merely afterthoughts. In casseroles, it turns any dish into a gelatinous swamp of orange goo, and in grilled cheese sandwiches, it becomes a sticky, cloying paste that’s more of a chore to eat than a pleasure. If you’re thinking of using it in any dish that requires actual cheese flavor, you’ll be sorely disappointed. It’s less of a cheese and more of a cheese-flavored product—about as satisfying as a burger made of boiled mutton.
In comparison to real cheese, Velveeta doesn’t even come close. Even the cheapest supermarket cheddar outshines this pretender in every possible way. There’s simply no reason to reach for Velveeta when better, more authentic options are available at every turn. It’s like choosing to drive a clunky, outdated car when there’s a sleek, modern alternative sitting right next to it.
So, who is Velveeta really for? It’s hard to say. Perhaps it’s for those who grew up with it and have a nostalgic attachment to its distinctly unnatural flavor and texture. Or maybe it’s for people who prioritize shelf life over taste, looking for a product that can survive a nuclear winter.
Velveeta Cheese Loaf is a processed cheese product in the loosest sense of the term. Its artificial flavor, unappetizing texture, and overall lack of authenticity make it a poor substitute for the real thing. Unless you have a specific, deep-rooted love for this orange block of disappointment, I cannot recommend it. Save your money, your taste buds, and your dignity—choose real cheese, and leave Velveeta on the shelf where it belongs.
Fizzies Drink Tablets
The Soda That Should’ve Stayed in the Lab
Fizzies Drink Tablets are the kind of product that makes you wonder if someone, somewhere, lost a bet and decided to bring this little fizz disaster into the world. These tablets, which claim to create a refreshing “soda-like” beverage by simply dropping them in water, are nothing more than a science experiment gone horribly wrong. If you’ve ever wondered what drinking Alka-Seltzer mixed with artificial prune flavoring tastes like, then grab a Fizzies tablet—because that’s exactly what you’re in for.
Fizzies come in a variety of flavors, each one worse than the last. You might think that with options like grape, orange, and cherry, you’d be in for a treat. Think again. Each flavor tastes like it was developed by someone who’s never tasted real fruit. The grape flavor is a dead ringer for cough syrup, the orange has the tang of a rusty nail. And the cherry? Let’s just say it would be more at home in a bottle of cheap cologne than in a drinkable beverage. And don’t even get me started on the root beer flavor, which tastes like an old shoe marinated in flat Sarsaparilla.
Sure, Fizzies might have some nostalgic value, but let’s be real. Nostalgia is the only thing keeping these sad little tablets on the market. They’re the type of product that boomerangs back into your life just long enough to remind you why they disappeared in the first place. If you’re buying Fizzies for the sake of reliving your childhood, do yourself a favor and just stick to the memories. Trust me, they taste better.
In the spirit of due diligence, I gave Fizzies a fair shot. I tried each flavor, hoping that maybe, just maybe, one would redeem itself. None did. Each sip was more disappointing than the last, leaving me with a bad taste in my mouth, both literally and figuratively. The entire experience felt like a prank. One that I willingly subjected myself to for the sake of this review. I can honestly say it’s an experience I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
Fizzies Drink Tablets are the embodiment of someone’s bad ideas that somehow made it to market. They’re poorly flavored, weakly carbonated, and utterly forgettable. If you’re looking for a refreshing drink, you’d be better off with a glass of warm hose water. Or better yet, just chew on a piece of chalk. While it might not have the same flavor profile, at least you won’t have to deal with the discomfort of flatulence and the heartburn of fizz.
