At two bucks and fifty cents, the PureFit bar is the most expensive item in the machine, with a price exceeding even that of the dreaded Tuna Salad Kit. Judging from the resounding “thud” it made after falling from its perch and slamming into the dispenser tray, it also has a density comparable to that of a dwarf star.
The package is chock full o’ data, the PureFit marketing guys clearly having graduated from the Dr. Bronner School of Design. The fact that the bar is gluten-free is mentioned no less than four times. On the back, where they had some abhorrent negative space, they shoehorned in a blurb about the virtue of pet adoption. I guess the idea here is that a marathoner will have something to read between miles 17 and 19 after pulling this out of their pocket, and Infinite Jest is notoriously hard to digest while running. Although perhaps not as hard to digest as this:
I love that the list of ingredients contains made up stuff, like “Energy Smart™”:
Like, you can do that? Just put fantastical ingrediants on your package, as long as you parenthetically list the actual ingrediants afterward? If this is true, why doesn’t every candybar include something like “Elixir of the Unicorn!™ (corn syrup, tetra sodium pyrophosphate, sawdust)”.
Rating: Bleh, this tastes awful. I mean you’d expect it to, being an energy bar and all. But why go through the charade of calling it “Chocolate Brownie”? When I’m working out I don’t want a chocolate brownie, I want and energy bar; but if my energy bar claims to be a chocolate brownie then it damned well better deliver. Instead you get the worst of both world: a food substance akin to drywall with a side of crushing disappointment. Now if you’ll pardon me, I need to go mainline some gluten. 15¢/$1