Friday, July 4, 2014

Celeste's Limited Edition White Pizza!

Plus, some stuff about Dr. Pepper's new vanilla-flavored drink, too!

Mama Celeste -- now known simply as Celeste, but not to be confused with a different brand called Celeste that sells questionable beverages at Kangaroo gas stations throughout the U.S. -- has never really been one to cash in on modern trends. You can ascertain as much by looking at the company's website, which feels like it hasn't been updated since 2003.

Celeste, "the pizza for one," knows its nothing better than a niche product for really poor people, and nobly, it has refused to hop aboard all of those highfalutin, "limited-time only" gimmicks that competitors like Totino's are always trotting out.

Which is why, on my lost stroll through the frozen pizza aisle, I was somewhat taken aback by this sight:

What the...a NEW Mama Celeste offering, in this, the year of our Lord 2014? Shit, they even stamped "LIMITED EDITION" on their box in a font that's nearly larger than the pizza's official title. Looks like one of the last stalwarts of the Old Guard has finally joined modernity; expect RC Cola to roll out a new "EXTREME PINEAPPLE" soda any day now.

Well, it's a white pizza, which means three things: it has mozzarella on it, the sauce is Alfredo, and there's a shit ton of garlic salt sprinkled all over it. And since it's a Celeste product, it also comes with a handy dandy silver baking tray, which is quite easily the most ghetto thing in the history of Planet Earth.

As a congealed product, the item didn't really have a smell when I unwrapped it. Then again, it's a frozen chunk of mass manufactured dough, with artificial dairy slathered all over it. Most corpses wouldn't smell like anything if they underwent the same kind of processing that these pizzas do.

The appeal of Celeste pizzas, of course, is that you can microwave them. Per the back of the box (pictured above, just in case Stevie Wonder is an IIIA fan), you're supposed to nuke this sumbitch for four minutes, and you're all set.

Well, four minutes in, this is what my limited edition Celeste white pizza resembled. The perimeter of the pizza was nice and semi-baked, but a good 75 percent of the synthetic cheese atop my pie was still very much unthawed. Cue another four minutes of watching this thing spin around and around inside a radioactive contraption; a good ten years from now, when its revealed that I cannot conceive, please point me back to this article.

After EIGHT combined minutes of microwaving, this is what the white pizza resembled. The outer shell was burned to a crisp and somehow, most of the cheese appeared to crawl towards the center of the pie, where radioactive technologies STILL couldn't completely de-ice the faux cheese hanging out at the nucleus of the pizza.

Needless to say, this stuff was not the best pizza I had ever eaten before. For what it was, though it really wasn't that horrible. You could actually pick up the Alfredo sauce, and shockingly, the garlic seasoning wasn't overpowering. I still had to church it up with some additional spices, but it was...against all odds...edible.

You really have to be in a certain mood to eat this stuff, though. Like, when its three in the morning , and you want to chow down on something, but you really don't feel like doing anything that requires any extra effort, like turning on an oven or having to boil something. Celeste pizza is the kind of food you eat, in  the middle of the night, while standing in the kitchen in your boxers. You don't eat it because you're hungry, and you sure as heck don't eat it because it tastes good. You just eat it, because there's a void somewhere in your soul that -- temporarily -- you can quash with make-believe cheese and irradiated crust.

Mama Celeste's limited edition white pizza is a post-post-modern food, for a world filled with post-post-modern people. You won't like it, but you'll eat it anyway. All hail the new flesh...while supplies last, of course.


So, Dr. Pepper has a new permutation out. They don't really seem to wheel out the product variations with the same regularity as Coke and Pepsi, so this here "Vanilla Float" permutation really caught my eye.

For whatever reason, Dr. Pepper just doesn't have much luck with the revamps. Remember Dr. Pepper Red Fusion and Dr. Pepper Berries and Cream? Yeah, not exactly the most memorable beverages in the world, no?

The good thing about Dr. Pepper Vanilla Float -- a product no doubt destined to go the way of Pepsi Paradise Mango by the time September gets here -- is that it does indeed taste like a pretty good vanilla soda.

The big drawback there, of course, is that it tastes like a pretty good vanilla soda. There are about fifteen billion vanilla-sodas that taste just like this one, and to be honest, the Dr. Pepper flavor here is a bit too overpowering. I mean, yeah, you can pick up the vanilla flavoring, but its nowhere near as strong as it is in Vanilla Coke. Of course, you don't get the infamous "Vanilla Coke aftertaste," with this one, but its a small consolation for being a very, very by-the-numbers product.

It's drinkable, of course, and I reckon it's good for a parched throat. But I'm still at a loss for why this product -- of all the possible permutations that could've been selected -- was the one ultimately chosen by Dr. Pepper.

Apparently, my thumb must be WAY off the pulse of mainstream America, I take it.


Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.