I will admit that when it comes to gum, I’m fickle. It doesn’t take much to turn my head. I buy every new pack that catches my eye in the checkout lane, sometimes even against my better judgment. As was recently the case with Orbit’s new Fabulous Fruitini, one of the latest in a recent flurry of additions to Orbit’s stick-gum lineup.  

Holding the gum in my hand, waiting to pay for it, I had second thoughts right away. The smell, you see, was nearly overwhelming, even though the pack was still snugly wrapped in its little cellophane jacket. It had an aggressive, nearly hostile fruity scent, which was tinged with bitter undertones of artificial sweetener. When you can smell the Sorbitol, folks . . . it doesn’t exactly bode well for chewing pleasure. Still, I bought it. The color of the pack was cheery and I was really hoping that the Fabulous(ness) of the Fruitini was going to be a pleasant surprise.

Unfortunately, not so much. Initially, there was a burst of flavor that was perfectly predictable, given its scent. Which is to say, it tasted like fruit punch spiked with chemicals. That fruity flavor soon dissipated (”soon,” as in “within 2 minutes”), leaving behind a bitterness that lingered with admirable tenacity. I made the mistake of conducting this taste test while driving, and found myself imperiling road-crossing squirrels as I dove frantically through my purse for a tissue to deposit the gum in, suddenly sure I had completed what I considered a dutiful amount of chew time.   

Think I’m exaggerating? Maybe. But yesterday, desiring to unload the rest of the pack but not wanting to waste it, I offered it to my son and his friend, teenagers who will normally seize the opportunity to co-opt free gum. No takers.

Now, to be fair, I have to say that I like Orbit gum, generally speaking. I buy multipacks of the standard mint flavors on a regular basis. I find that the basic mint flavors hold their flavor well and don’t have any unpleasant aftertaste. If it weren’t for my fickle, wandering gum tooth, I guess I’d just stick with the conventional Orbit flavorsfrom now on. That is, once I get through the pack I’ve got sitting on my desk, exuding the powerful aroma of laboratory-manufactured fruit and waiting for my consarned gum tooth to dig right in.

Update: Moments ago, I offered the pack to my husband, who, chewing enthusiastically, commented, “Mmm, fruity . . . tastes like coconut! I like it!” I waited for approximately two minutes to elapse, then asked, “So, how do you like it now?” “Well, it’s not as flavorful as it was . . . it’s kind of losing its flavor . . . but I still like it.”

Great . . . no backsies! 

Let me state right from the beginning that I am a big fan of ice-cream cake. To me, the only drawback to the typical ice-cream cake is that it is simply too big and too expensive to buy for an “anytime” dessert, and my birthday comes but once a year.

This being the case, when I heard that PhillySwirl was introducing an individually sized ice-cream cake, I was pretty excited to try it. I thought PhillySwirl’s new Ice Cream Cupcakes, which they describe as “half cake, half ice cream topped with swirled icing and sprinkles” were a terrific idea, my solution to “too much ice-cream cake, not enough birthday.” As it turns out, they are.

I sat down to sample these with my family, not giving them too much of a build-up, as I was interested in hearing their uninfluenced opinions. I put the tray of 6 chocolate and vanilla cupcakes on the table one night after dinner and sat back.

The cupcakes are cute — a bit smaller than a regular cupcake — but festively decorated. My 14-year-old chose a vanilla, commenting, “They’re kind of small.” I didn’t say anything, but secretly I agreed. I could see myself eating half the tray’s worth. He commenced to eat it like a regular cupcake, pulling down the wrapper and biting into it. My husband went the same route. After a few preliminary attempts at this method, my daughter and I grabbed forks.

The cupcake was really good. The icing and ice cream were exactly on par with what you’d expect from a full-sized ice-cream cake. I have to say that the cake layer exceeded my expectations. I had a chocolate cupcake, and the cake was dense and fudgy, almost like a brownie. Although this Ice Cream Cupcake doesn’t have the “chocolate crunchies” that are the hallmark of most ice cream cakes, the cake layer makes up for it.

And guess what? The serving size was perfect after all. I finished my cupcake and was satisfied (though, if pressed, I could have plucked up the stamina to eat perhaps one more; two if my life depended on it). Really, it was enough, and the kids agreed.

The best part? Each cupcake has only 160 calories. You’ll have to take my word for this: these cupcakes taste like they have WAY more calories than that. I had to double-check this figure to believe it.

Unlike the big cakes, these will fit in your freezer, you can eat one serving at time, and they retail for a buck or less apiece ($4.99 - $5.99/6-pack; /$7.99 - $9.99/12-pack). Look for them at Wal-Mart, Winn Dixie, Giant Eagle, Costco, Sam’s Club, BJ’s, and other retailers.

I think these would be perfect for classroom parties. Pick up a couple of 12-packs of these babies and those other moms who bring in cupcakes with airbrushed likenesses of Hannah Montana or miniature rocket ships sculpted out of Yodels and Gummi Savers will have nothing on you.

In line at the checkout at Target this weekend, my eye fell upon the latest offering from Orbit, which seems to churn out new flavors every other day. And that’s fine with me, since it keeps the time I spend in the checkout lane — a inordinately large chunk of my life it would seem – interesting and helps to distract my kids away from tabloid images of cellulite gone wild and rich girls with poor self-esteem and no self-control. (Bat Boy, where are you?)

Anyhow, turns out the latest offering from Orbit is actually 4 latest offerings, but I’ll get to the others later. For now, I’ll focus on the new Sangria Fresca, since that’s what immediately grabbed my attention. I love sangria! Fruity, festive, fortified punch! Naturally, I had to have it. (Yes folks, this time it was me. I had to have something from the checkout danger zone. Me, Mom.)

Now, I’ll admit, my first instinct was to hide this pack of gum in the bottom of my purse so my children — who devour my gum like locusts devour leafy field crops — couldn’t find it. But my better nature prevailed (plus, they saw me putting the pack into my purse and I couldn’t fake just trying to find my car keys), and in spite of myself, I offered some to my children. “What kind, Mom?” asked my daughter, as if it mattered at all. If it were liver-and-onions flavor with a liquid burst of castor oil, they’d probably still make short work of the pack. “Sangria,” I muttered.

“What’s that?” she asked. “Wine. It’s wine flavored,” I said, in a lame attempt to turn her off. “Wine? Really? Cool!” the children chorused happily. Great.

I opened the pack, took out two slightly bluish-maroonish pieces, and handed them over. The chewing began, and shortly afterward, my 14-year-old son broke out into a big grin. “Hey, Mom, if this is what wine tastes like, I can’t wait till I’m twenty-one. I don’t know why you keep saying, ‘You wouldn’t like it anyway,’ every time I ask for a sip. This is great!” Fabulous!

I put a piece in my own mouth. Orange. Not a hint of wine. Or anything else, really. This Orbit Sangria Fresca flavor tastes a lot like the Orbit Citrus Mint flavor. Which is to say, orangey. Other than the name and the suggestive burgundy-orange color scheme of the box, you wouldn’t know this was anything other than orange gum.

So, heading out to the parking lot, I was already trying to muster up a DARE-worthy lecture for damage-control purposes. And I was grateful that if my hopes for a sangria-flavored gum were dashed, at least my children’s breath didn’t smell like wine.

Not too long ago I was standing in the danger zone — read: checkout lane — with my family, trying to figure out the best way to arrange my groceries on the conveyor so that the checkout lad could pack them in such a way that we’d get 12 out of 12 eggs intact at home and no battered bread or mutilated mushrooms. Distracted thusly, I didn’t notice that my kids, or more likely, my husband, had slipped a package of Chocolate Skittles among the groceries, until it was hurtling into a bag, on its way to maiming a package of lightbulbs.

I like Skittles in all their fruity incarnations, but I was a little dubious of Skittles chocolate-style. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have chosen to purchase the Chocolate Mix — a selection of five flavors including S’mores, Chocolate Caramel, Chocolate Pudding, Brownie Batter, and, inexplicably, Vanilla. But I wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to sample them, so we tore open the bag and poured out the Skittles, passing them around.

First, I had the Vanilla. It had the familiar Skittles texture, but tasted like Vanilla, an odd but not unpleasant combination. Then, in succession, I tasted the chocolate flavors, ending with the Brownie Batter. Turns out that other than the Vanilla and the Brownie Batter, the others tasted pretty much alike to me. Which is to say, something like a very mild Tootsie Roll. Only the Brownie Batter seemed to have a little more chocolate character, but not by much.

All things considered, my husband and I agreed on a preference for Skittles in fruity flavors — these just weren’t chocolatey enough to satisfy. But to be fair, my kids enjoyed them as they were, even though my son typically prefers his chocolate superdark, a shade away from baker’s chocolate. Which leads me to believe that if you can suspend your expectations for a chocolate-chocolate experience, then you might find these more to your liking.

Honestly, before I put one of these little candies in my mouth, I’d forgotten how much I liked Tootsie Pops. There is something about a Tootsie Pop that makes it different from any other lollipop, and these wonderful little candy drops let you enjoy that special quality without the awkward stick and the painfully distended cheek.

Packaged in 2.25-ounce (63.8-g) foil pouches, there are 4 drops per serving, 4 servings per pouch. Each serving has a relatively conservative count of 60 calories. Enclosed in each pouch is a mixed selection of 5 different flavors: chocolate, cherry, blue raspberry, grape, and orange. The distribution seems a bit random — one pouch I opened had a pretty much even selection; another pouch had nearly all orange. Not that I’m complaining.

Interestingly enough, this is not the first time that Tootsie Pop Drops have hit the scene. Apparently, they were on the market in the seventies, and from a brief check of the nostaligia-candy message boards, they had quite a fan following. I’m guessing there’s a dormant group of Tootsie Pop Drop devotees that has been pining away for these candies for the past few decades and will be very, very happy to constitute a ready-made audience for their return.

Personally, I can see this product doing pretty well. Considering that the Tootsie Pop is the number one selling lollipop in America, and this pretty much breaks the market open to fans of hard candies who don’t relish the idea of a golf-ball-sized lollipop tucked into their cheek, these Tootsie Pop Drops are just the ticket.

(See photo below for size comparison.)

That is, until Strawberry Milkshake Whoppers came along sometime in 2006. I picked up a 4-ounce movie-size box, mainly because (a) we like to try every new candy item that comes down the pike, and (b) the idea of pink Whoppers tickled me, well, pink. I was hooked from the get-go. These pale pink beauties are nothing if not addictive. Let’s just say that the next time I purchased them, I bought the 10-ounce carton. And hid them. Not from myself.

So then when I was waiting in the checkout lane at the supermarket the other day, idly checking out the impulse buys and trying to distract my kids from the tabloid-exploited antics of the overpaid and underscrupulous, I saw the most precious little 3.5-ounce cartons of Strawberry Milkshake Whoppers on the shelf next to the racks of candy bars. As I reached for one, I spied its even cuter twin sitting next to it: Reese’s Peanut Butter Whoppers!

Because I hold the Strawberry Milkshake variety in such high regard, I couldn’t see these Peanut Butter Whoppers rocking my world. I mean, sure, they sounded intriguing, but I’d already found my number one Whopper. Or so I thought.

The Peanut Butter Whoppers are, in a word, delectable. In two words, peanut buttery. That is, they really do taste like peanut butter, and they look like peanut butter too. They’re bigger than either the Milk Chocolate or the Strawberry Milkshake varieties, so there’s more to love. And although I was forced to share this container with the rest of my family, I didn’t feel too bad about doing so, seeing as how there are actually 4 grams of protein and some calcium (6% DV) per serving.

Maybe it’s time to give those Milk Chocolate Whoppers another shot … I’m having visions of a candy dish brimful of chocolate and peanut butter spheres. A whopping good time!