Yamba Lemon Garlic Hummus Review

When I think of Whole Foods I think of rich white people who won't settle for anything less than wild salmon at $30 a pound. Of dads in faded jeans and mandals picking up a specialty blend of quinoa and couscous for dinner. Of gluten-free, super food-loving, yoga pants-wearing, soy latte-drinking assholes. And today I joined them.

Just about everything in the hummus section of Whole Foods is organic, vegan, or gluten-free. So I picked up a tub of vegan and gluten-free Yamba Lemon Garlic Hummus to see what the hype was all about. To top it off, I paired the hummus with a bag of "Glutino" (sounds like a disease) gluten-free crackers to really try and understand the mentality of these extraterrestrial eaters.

Tub size: 10 oz
Price: $4.29
Dippers: Glutino Gluten-Free Bagel Chips, carrots, pinkie finger (tip)

Operation Desert Storm

Removing the top of the Yamba tub revealed a curious sight of seeds, herbs, spices, and a dirt-like powder—as if a Mediterranean child farted dust directly on top of it. But this weird assembly of ingredients proved to be the best part of the mediocre hummus. Without it, it falls flat on its face.

The lower layers are incredibly boring. Remember that kid in elementary school who quietly munched on his glue stick in the corner? The one who didn't talk much except to alert everyone he needed to pee. This is the hummus for him. It's got absolutely nothing going for it. The lemon and garlic flavors try desperately to reach the tastebuds, but they never quite make it.

My fish in the background just passed away. He wasn't
 much fun anyways. Not my fault he wouldn't eat #RIP

The consistency leaves much to be desired, too. When it's not fresh out of the fridge, it's got a creepy little jiggle to it. Sort of like when you poke a dead animal, with that little bit of resistance that makes you to think it may have some life left in the tank. Then you realize you're making excuses for the little guy and move on. Like that.

Another thing that bothered me is that the label states "Authentic Israeli Recipe." If you're gonna make a hummus that tastes like an armpit smells, don't slap an entire country's name on it. Hummbelievable disrespect.

Overall, this hummus is pretty bad. It's got the three Bs. Bland, boring, and bigoted. I don't see myself going back to Yamba anytime soon. Both the hummus and the Glutino crackers tasted like they were missing something. Now that I think of it, I'm pretty sure I know what that special something is . . .  it's called gluten. And it's one of my favorite things in the world. The Yamba goes for a lousy 2 chickpeas out of 5. Sorry Israel.

Tribe Swirl: Fiery Sriracha Review

You're getting verrrrrry sleeeeepppyyy

Tub size: 16 oz
Price: $6.99
Dippers: Corn tortilla chips, carrots, finger

Tribe's new series of "Swirl" hummi is unmistakable in the grocery aisle. Looking at the tub from above was like looking into a time warp of swirled flavor. I felt like the hummus was trying to seduce me. If someone had stood there and started spinning it, I may have fallen into that creamy beige dream world and never returned.

When I came back to reality, standing there staring at the orange swirl of "Sriracha"(sorry, but Sriracha is not orange), I grabbed it, deciding in an instant to embrace the gimmick and try it out for myself.

Immediately after cracking off the top of the tub I felt a shiver in my nipples that sent my mind racing back to the days of old. The days when Gogurt, Teddy Graham's, Gushers, and Lunchables occupied the lunch box of every kid in America. That fake, processed feeling that so many companies try to avoid was renewed while taking in the sight before me. Getting past the feeling that this was probably the dumbest hummus I'd ever laid eyes on, I went in with an aggressive chip-to-dip jab, making sure to scoop both hummus and fiery Sriracha.

It doesn't even look like the bottle of Sriracha... 

Wow, not bad. Not bad at all. While it's nothing close to "fiery," it packs enough punch to keep things interesting. As for texture, it's neither too thick nor too thin, sort of like bean dip. But not like a fancy bean dip at a restaurant. More like that really shitty (but amazing) bean dip that sits right in front of the Frito's in the chip aisle. The kind you only buy when you got a little too high and had to make a trip to Safeway because it's the only thing open on a Wednesday night at 2:00 am, that kind of bean dip...

Eating from the swirl was like a mini game. Trying to maintain a good ratio of Sriracha to hummus is an art in itself. There are actually deeper pockets of swirl the further down you go. Sometime's it can be difficult to circhumnavigate, but it adds to the fun. Overall I give the Tribe Swirl: Fiery Sriracha hummus a 3.8 out of 5 chickpeas. Once you get past its kitschy look, you really start to enjoy its deeper humplexities.