Product Review: Triscuits

I sit here in my office on a long and lonesome Tuesday night consuming Pickle-flavored Triscuits because I am here and they are also here and one thing led to another and now I am eating pickle-flavored Triscuits.

Let me be clear. I do not like pickles. I hate them. Cucumbers are basically gross solid water. I’m not sure why dousing them in what I am pretty sure is liquid battery juice and calling them by another name is supposed to make them appealing to me.

Let me even clearer — Triscuits taste like eating wicker furniture. I’m not saying that Triscuits are the worst type of cracker in the world. But I’m also not NOT saying that they weren’t maybe invented by someone who wanted to know what a scarecrow tasted like.

Now let’s move on to the box that these Triscuits are packaged in. The emphasis that these Triscuits are “REAL FOOD MADE BY REAL PEOPLE” (yes in all caps) is, quite frankly, alarming. This is not a distinction that food should have to make. Nor is it a particularly appealing selling point. The fact that this statement is even on there at all leads me to believe that Triscuits are neither real food nor made by real people.

I’m not convinced that anyone out there actually likes Triscuits. Don’t get me wrong — Triscuits are great if you want to feel like you’re eating an old-timey broom. But I think we all know what’s really going on here. I think we all know that the government created Triscuits, in conjunction with their breakfast-equivalent, Wheaties, as an experiment to see if they could market fire kindling as food.

Furthermore, I find it thoroughly amusing that the Triscuit box includes a list of “recipes” to use the crackers that include such things as capers, salmon, sour cream, and fresh dill… as if I am going to do anything with these besides eat them and be sad.

And yet, here I am. Eating these horrid pickle-flavored Triscuits, smiling through the pain as they scratch up against my throat like a refreshingly tasteless piece of steel wool. My stomach has been making noises of deep distress, which I can only interpret as a cry for help.

Review: 5/10. Would probably eat again, not my first choice.