TJ's Pumpkin Spice Hummus Review: THE PUMPKINS HAVE TAKEN OVER

Every year I get shivers. I can feel it in the air, slowly but surely creeping up until one day, somewhere in a faraway land made of nutmeg and woolen scarves, a switch flips. 

PUMPKINS. EVERYWHERE.

You can't escape them. No matter where you turn they suddenly appear. Warty pumpkins, white pumpkins, red pumpkins... MINI pumpkins! Pumpkins you can fit in your frickin' pocket! You'll never be without a pumpkin again!

No longer is good ol' yellow pasta enough. You need pumpkin pasta. You want some regular soap? No you don't. You clean your dirty self with pumpkin soap now. Why give your dog a normal treat when you can give that little piece of crap a pumpkin treat?

It's insane. The list of new pumpkin items each fall seems to get longer and longer, but this year it crossed into territory very dear to my heart. No matter how obnoxious it seemed, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to give Trader Joe's newest offering a shot: Pumpkin Spice Hummus.

Tub size: 8 oz

Price: $3.99

Dippers: Graham crackers, apple slices, 

airline pretzels (all I had)

Going in I was confused what to dip into this questionable hummus. Pita chips felt weird, carrots felt too healthy, and tortilla chips were too salty. I landed on a few solid options, but the fact that I had to really think about it is an instant hummerit for the PSH (as I like to call it). 

As far as flavor goes, it wasn't bad. It definitely skews on the sweet side—sweeter than I would have liked. There's very little garbanzo taste. I liken it to pumpkin pie. In fact, if you were to substitute the PSH for the filling in a pumpkin pie, you could fool me. It's almost spot on.

Hard not to think about the poop emoji

With regard to texture, this hummus performs very well. It's smooth and silky, not too thick and not too thin, not gummy nor dry. So big ups in the viscosity department. However, to eat this hummus consistently starts to feel almost gluttonous. Once I had it in my head that it was pie filling, I started to feel like I was eating my feelings. No crust necessary, just stuffing my face until the tears went away. It brought back painful memories, but hey let's maybe save that for another blog, shall we?

15 pics later I somehow got her attention

Annnnnyways, on a different note, the PSH actually made me realize something completely unrelated to hummus: graham crackers are downright delicious. If you haven't had them since, I don't know, kindergarten, like I hadn't, I'd highly recommend you revisit them. Trust me.

Look, I never expected the PSH to wow me. And it didn't. It does its job as a fun side dish to ring in the new season, but that's about it. If you're looking for a dip you can hum back to time and time again, there are far better options. That said, I'm glad I gave it a try. This one gets 3/5 chickpeas from me, and 5/5 from my newest accomplice, Ladybug.

Ithaca Hummus Mega Review + I'm a Celeb Now

I'd like to take this moment to thank my fans, my followers, the academy. I've officially made it.

Only true celebrities carry umbrellas in the sun

A while back a friend of mine tagged me on Twitter (@atownedown for those wondering) to review one of his favorite hummus brands, Ithaca. Typically this friend's MO online is trolling me, so I was surprised @FloydMoneyMac actually had something of substance to bring to my attention. We got to talking—DMing, as celebs say—and to my delight and surprise, Ithaca Hummus actually jumped into the conversation. I told them I'd be happy to review their product if they sent some my way.

Well, boy did they deliver—literally. Just a week later I received a package filled with six tubs, and coupons to boot! It felt like Christmas in April. Soon after, I set up a mega spread—a potpourri of chickpea, if you will—to give this surprisingly social-media-savvy brand a shot. I should note that I allowed my hummistress, Jamie, to lend a hand in the review process. I've included her ratings, but please take them with a grain of salt as she's nowhere near as experienced as I am, a now nearly verified celebrity with a whopping 192 Twitter followers and literal dozens of views on this blog. Without further adieu… 

Like evaluating fine wine, tasting notes are a must-have

Ithaca Classic Hummus

Strong start, Ithaca—I see you

For me, traditional hummus is a barometer of quality for the other flavors. In Ithaca's case, that's a great thing. Ithaca's Classic Hummus is tasty and full of life. The texture is extremely smooth and pleasing on the tongue. The flavor is bold yet not overwhelming, with a serious lemon zing—perhaps even a tad too much, which is why this hummus doesn't quite get full marks. However, paired with the sharp parmesan crackers, the lemon is a perfect match.

Alex—4.5/5     Jamie—4.4/5     Average—4.45

Ithaca Kalamata Olive Hummus

Again, Jamie's ratings do
 not matter, folks… 

Olives are polarizing. I'm okay with them in small doses, but anything too olivey starts to taste like something that came out the wrong end of a seagull. Here, my aversion to olives really shined—and conversely, so did my hummistress's love for them. To me, this hummus was way too olivey, practically a tapenade. To Jamie, it was perfect. Weirdly enough, we both agreed the texture was on point (the best out of all five), and that it would make a nice sandwich spread. Either way, our grades tell a very different story.

Alex—2.2/5     Jamie—4.5/5     Average—3.35

Ithaca Lemon Dill Hummus

Perfect for dillholes, dillweeds, and more

Talk about pickle vibes… You really have to be into dill to appreciate this one. The bright and grassy dill taste is very strong throughout. There are some lemony undertones, but it's hard to taste anything but the dill. I will say, though, after the intense initial burst of flavor the hummus starts to grow on you—like a really loud shirt you only wear day drinking. Still, it's an acquired taste.

Alex—3/5     Jamie—2.3/5     Average—2.65

Ithaca Roasted Red Pepper Hummus

Did someone say "roasted"
or are you just happy to see me?

Of all the flavors, I had the highest hopes for this one. The color is gorgeous, the texture is right where it needs to be, and something about the word "roasted" really gets me going. Again, though, the flavor was a little too dominant for true hummus greatness. The red pepper is so apparent it kind of takes over everything else. The texture was also by far the creamiest—more like a dip than a hummus. And for those of you sticklers saying, "Alex, hummus IS A DIP," take a hike. YOU are a dipSH**! You understand what I mean. Overall it was decent, but it fell slightly short of expectations.

Alex—3.5/5     Jamie—3/5     Average—3.25

Ithaca Lemon Beet Hummus

I'm not British but that's bloody delicious

WOW. What a surprise. Considering how I fared in my last beet hummus review, I was honestly scared to try another. Boy was I wrong. Right off the bat, the bright pink color took me back to the porcelain throne where I delivered my beet baby so many years before. But this time was different. The first bite was so delicious I almost didn't believe my tongue. Though it looks beety as can be, it tastes far more subtle. The sweetness of the beets is there, along with the tartness of the lemons. Together, they're a match made in hummeaven. Another point in its favor was the lack of earthiness that often comes with beets. I live in Portland now, where "earthy" takes on a whole new meaning—we're talking mushroom-tea-with-organic-soil-and-a-tinge-of-armpit-hair earthy—but this hummus didn't taste like something recycled from a garden co-op. Shockingly, it scored the highest of any in the lineup!

Alex—4.4/5     Jamie—4.7/5     Average—4.55

Overall Impressions

Look, life as a celebrity isn't as easy as it may seem. It's hard to be impartial when a company like Ithaca goes so far out of its way, but I've done my best to give a fair review. At the end of the day, a couple flavors really shined, and others were a little too strong. They're all certainly worth trying in my book, and I still need to get my hands on the Lemon Garlic I've heard so much about. 

I want to give a special shoutout to Ithaca for the package and a thank-you to my fans. The view from the top is nice, but I haven't forgotten about you all, I promise.

Trader Joe's Pickle Hummus: So What's the Big Dill?

It took me a long time to like pickles. I never liked cucumbers, and I never stored vials of pee in the fridge, so putting the two together never made much sense. And growing up, wasn't it always the weirdest kids who liked pickles? They'd yell and scream, stare you dead in the eyes as they licked their desk, torture bugs like it was their job, the list goes on.

So, suffice it to say that Trader Joe's Dill Pickle Hummus was not my first choice, but with my rapidly expanding pallet (and waistband)—and COVID boredom in full force—it felt right.

Look, it's me!

Tub size: 8 oz

Price: $1.99

Dippers: Baby carrots, rice crackers, tried finger and so not worth it

On the initial whiff, it's clear this is not a hummus to take lightly. Peeling back the seal made my nose start to quiver, like opening a fresh can of tennis balls or a container of feta cheese. In terms of appearance, it really doesn't look that different from your typical tub. There are some slight aberrations, "pickles" I assume, but for the most part the hummus is pretty smooth. I will give it that.

However, that got me thinking: a big part of the whole pickle appeal is the crunch, right? This hummus has none of it whatsoever. If I go to the store and purchase a pickle hummus, I'm all in. Give me all the crunch—none of this smooth, pickle puree nonsense. That's one dip demerit on the books.

Look close enough and you can see
 the little specs of disappointment.

Another demerit? The taste is, in a word, bad. This hummus tastes more like pickle juice than it does pickles, which everyone knows is gross (and if you disagree, let's just end our relationship right here and now, via blog). On top of that, the tub started to dehumpose in a week! What a jarring experience that was to open it up and find furry bits of mold. (I would have taken a picture, but my hummistress disposed of it too quickly, and I would NEVER stick my hands in the trash to go after food.)

At the end of the day, I wasn't expecting much from this tub, and it still let me down. And let me tell you, I don't like any tub of hummus gherkin me around. This rating will come as no surprise, but I'm giving Trader Joe's Dill Pickle Hummus a 1.5 chickpeas out of 5. Until next time...

Quarantine Day 20: I Made Hummus

I can only watch so many movies, play so many board games, eat so many weed gummies, do so many half-hearted pushups, and shake so many body parts in my girlfriend’s face before I (and her, long ago) go insane. At a certain point, quarantine just flat-out sucks.

I imagine Goldmember has a jar like this, too.
"That's a keeper!"

So I decided, amid the chaos and stagnation, to do something about it. My first thought? Impulse buy an Xbox, which I did (please God don’t let me get addicted). My second thought? Pick up the yo-yo again, which I did (back to watching poorly shot tutorial videos of men in cargo shorts with neck beards and graphic tees!). My third and most productive thought? Make hummus. Prove to myself that I could, in fact, make a decent version of the dip I’ve critiqued for so long. Could I live up to my own expectations, or would I fall flat on my face and let my ~15 consistent readers down? High stakes, I know...

The first step in making hummus is peeling the chickpeas. Unless you want a chunky, inconsistent texture, it’s important not to skip this—but it takes FOREVER. I listened to the entire Sergeant Pepper’s album in the time it took to peel two fu**** cans of garbanzo beans. It’s a humdrum task, but luckily I had help from my hummistress, Jamie (not pictured since she does not want to be associated with me in any way, shape, or form).

Bet you wish you had Smell-O-Vision

After peeling, it was time for the other main ingredients. We poured tahini, lemon juice, cumin, and salt in the food processor—a truly annoying and traumatic machine (I feel like a dog around a vacuum every time it’s on)—and whipped it baby, whipped it good to a smooth and fluffy texture. Next, we added the chickpeas little by little to combine them.

Now, all this time I had a little trick up my sleeves. Nope, it’s not a rabbit in a hat (sorry!), but it’s a little something to keep things interesting. While my hummistress was busy blending (I leave the dirty work to my assistants), I roasted about 7 cloves of garlic and half a bell pepper at high heat. The smell fresh out of the oven was nothing short of heavenly. The slight char with just a hint of olive oil and sea salt sent my nose spinning with aromas. Do I sound like a pretentious asshole yet? Perfect.

Since there was no way I was going near the food processor, I cowered in the bathroom with earplugs while I waited for Jamie to add the goods. Once that was blended, we were almost hum sweet hum—a little water for texture, some paprika for spice, and a drizzle of olive oil to top things off.

One of Ted Bundy's favorite expressions

Most people would stop here and call it a day, but I’m not a quitter (only when it comes to guitar, piano, football, basketball, baseball, soccer, most books, every diet, skateboard camp in freshman year of high school, Spanish class because my teacher was a total dick, etc.). To do this glorious dip justice, I needed an equally glorious dipper.

I took to the pantry, found some yeast and flour, and set out on a mission to make my own pita bread. A couple hours of rising, kneading, and grilling later, I'd done it. The perfect one-two punch: hummus and pita bread, pita bread and hummus.

THE VERDICT:

I probably sound eerily similar to our president, but overall I'd give myself 5/5 chickpeas through this whole experience. The texture, flavor, and balance of the hummus was perfect, and the addition of the garlic and peppers took it over the top. 

If you have any questions on the process, the recipe, or you just want to chat, drop me a line! I don't have anything better to do, seriously. Until next time...

A few more pics from my historic day:

SOMEONE PLEASE TEACH ME HOW TO FORMAT!!!

Buffalo Hummus: The Only Thing More Disappointing Than Buffalo Bills

Buffalo wings are one of the few things Buffalo, New York is good for. (As of yesterday, clearly football is not one of them. Sorry Bills fans.) They're tangy, zesty, and all-around delicious. So when I saw Trader Joe's new Buffalo Style Hummus hit the shelves, I was pretty excited to give it a try... but boy was I blindsided.

Tub size: 8 oz
Price: $3.99
Dippers: Stacy's Garlic and Parmesan Pita Chips, Crazy Hot Pop Chips, baby carrots

From my very first interaction with this hummus, I was lied to. The label makes a lofty claim it's "smooth and creamy." False. More like "lumpy and runny." The texture falls somewhere between baby food and low-fat cottage cheese, which is as unappetizing as it is difficult to scoop.

Whatchu gon do with all those
 lumps inside yo hump?

The taste left just as much to be desired. Despite being made from organic ingredients, Buffalo "Style" Hummus has a notably fake taste, like cough syrup or an energy drink—which is fitting, because I could have used a burst of energy and an aspirin after just a few bites. There's also a weird cheesy quality to the dip. Maybe it's because I'm used to dipping Buffalo wings in blue cheese, or because it's bright orange. Whatever the case, it threw me off.

The worst part? I brought some serious firepower with my dippers. Stacy's garlic and parm pita chips and Crazy Hot Pop Chips are upper-tier snacks, but dipping them into such a mess was like wearing Gucci shoes with Old Navy jeans. It just doesn't work (not that I'd ever be caught dead wearing Old Navy).

Bills QB Josh Allen after his first bite

Through it all, I've realized two things.

First: Buffalo sauce is not a good enough flavor on its own. Unless you're slathering it onto a wing while watching football, it's gonna let you down.

Second: The Buffalo Bills will always let you down, especially when you're betting on them. Thanks for nothing.

Overall, this pretender of a hummus gets a dismal 1.5 chickpeas out of 5. Better luck next year, champ.

Boar's Head Dark Chocolate Dessert Hummus Review

The legend of chocolate hummus was brought to my attention from faraway lands. I'd heard tales on the cobblestone side streets of Yemen, stories from the shamans of Lebanon, and fables from fisherman across the salty waters of the Red Sea. Of course, as one would with any hummus made by a company with a giant, hairy pig for a mascot, I proceeded with caution—but even with its mystical aura, nothing could have prepared me for such a wonderful, unique treat...


Tub size: 8 oz
Price: $4.99
Dippers: Pretzels, bananas, left pinkie

Like taking off your boxers after a sweaty, uphill walk to your apartment (every. single. damn. day), or taking off your bra after a long day at work (I think?), removing the lid from any new hummus tub is incredibly satisfying. With this one in particular, I didn't know what to expect. As soon as I pulled the seal, I was reminded of my everyday school lunches: sandwich, apple, chips, and of course, like any spoiled white boy, chocolate pudding.

"Mount Chocolate Nipple" in all its glory

The scent conjured up repressed memories of my Chubby Middle School Days, when PE class was a nerve-racking affair, and chocolate goop inside really any container was fair game. Those were dark days. This is dark . . . chocolate hummus. And since that's as good a segue as any, let's move on to the taste.

Taste-wise, the hummus doesn't really taste like hummus at all. If you really think about it, you can taste garbanzo beans, but it's much closer to mousse or some kind of dessert filling—which also makes you feel a little guilty about eating a lot of it. Each successive bite I felt more and more like a baby who wasn't satisfied with anything mommy made. Like this was the only thing that wouldn't make me throw a tantrum. (Did I mention I was a terrible child?)

Thicc AF

All that said, the flavor was all there. I wouldn't recommend anybody eat it too often, but it makes a great afternoon snack or post-dinner treat. However, a word of caution to all who try it: it's sort of a weird feeling dipping anything into a pile of thick brown slop, over and over again. But once you get over it, you'll find this tasty dip one for the ages. I give the Boar's Head Dark Chocolate Dessert Hummus a 3.9/5 chickpeas.

A Spicy Start to 2018: The Flamin’ Hot Hummus Challenge

A few days ago, I realized I hadn't posted on this blog for nearly a year. I couldn't really tell you why, or how, but I can say that a lot in my life has changed since then. I moved to the countryside, I built a ranch house, I started a family. And while absolutely none of that is true, what is true is that I'm still an idiot. Here's why:

Name a more iconic duo. I'll wait. 

Last MLK Day, I celebrated by consuming an entire tub of Trader Joe's Beet Hummus in one sitting. After that horrific experience, I told myself I'd never do something like it again. Well, against my better judgement, this MLK Day I attempted another, even bolder feat to test my hummerit. I know you're thinking, "Alex, how could you possibly outdo yourself after last time?" In fact, loyal HummustSee reader, this MLK day, I celebrated by consuming an entire 10-ounce tub of Sabra Supremely Spicy Hummus, in one sitting, using only Flaming Hot Cheetos as a dipper.

Lucifer's oblong and mangled areola

When I bought the ingredients, I truly believed I could handle this with relative ease. But the closer it got, the more fear I felt. Opening the tub was like looking at what I imagine to be Satan's nipple. A monstrous blob of bright-red chilis stared me dead in the eyes—and it reeked of spice. Then I opened the chips, which, if you've ever opened a fresh bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos, the scent is overwhelming. It's kind of like if a salsa factory farted directly in your face. But, more of a funny fart. Like if your friend toots just a little, and you have a chuckle. No fanning necessary. It's not a room-clearing
blast. Get it? No? Just play along.

The first bite proved delicious. The combination of crunchiness from the Cheetos and smoothness from the dip worked harmoniously. It was spicy, sure, but I felt I could handle it. The other thing about Flaming Hot Cheetos: They grow spicier the more you eat. Unless you take a break with a beverage, you have to keep eating them to soothe your tastebuds, or else they take over.

This dawned on me about midway through the tub. My nose started running, and, even with water, the spice was getting to me. So, just like last time, I reached for a Diet Coke to help me through the second half. What hummentum I had getting through the first 5 ounces was all but gone. I'd reached the point of gagging and plugging my nose. To my senses, the tub had become a baby's diaper, and I, the helpless father, clueless as to how to avoid my son's genitals, all the while wiping away excrement like I knew what I was doing all along (this is a perfect analogy).

Once I got down to the last bit, I attempted to spoon it in large bites. Not a good idea. I almost threw up (twice), but I hummustered enough strength to terminate the tub, finishing the job in under an hour.

I enjoy funny hats

Great, it's all done, right? Wrong. The entire rest of the day—I finished at about 11 a.m.—I needed a toilet within 100 feet. It got to a point where I literally didn't think I had anything left inside. Wrong again (seems to be a theme here). The worst part is, it burns even worse on the way out than it does on the way in. Without getting into too much detail, a whopping 8 HOURS later I had to excuse myself from a fancy dinner with my mom to relieve myself. She knew what I was going through (she understood the pain, but obviously had not experienced this herself), and God bless her she cheered me on like the proud mother she is (SHE WAS NOT PHYSICALLY IN THE BATHROOM WITH ME CHEERING ME ON).

The fact is, when you eat this much of anything, it starts to get gross. I don't care how tough you think you are, but 2/3 of a pound of hummus is quite a lot—let alone that much incredibly spicy hummus. In the past few days I've heard a few people tell me, "I feel like I could do that." If you mean that, I would really love to see you try. Luckily, there's a guy out there who's just thick enough to actually go through with it. At least he's not all bark and no bite.

Happy new year, everybody! Looking forward to doing more of these in 2018!

Trader Joe's Beet Hummus Review/Bathroom Experiment

By "perishable," they mean you
may perish when eating it

On Monday, January 16th, I celebrated Martin Luther King Jr. Day the only way I knew how: by eating an entire tub of Trader Joe's Beet Hummus in one sitting. I did this both as an experiment to entertain you savages, and also to see what would happen to my urine—and of course, to my stool. Before the results I'd like to say that before eating them, I consider all hummi to be equal. I'd also state that this was one of the most grueling experiences I've been through in my incredibly white-privileged young life. Okay . . . on to the experiment.

From afar, Trader Joe's Beet Hummus has a seductive quality (yes, I'm sexually attracted to hummus). It's not in a can. It's not sliced up in a mediocre salad. It's in its purest form achievable: a deep purple blend of chickpeas in a tight round disc. But once you open the packaging and get a whiff of that violet vomit dip, you realize why people don't typically eat beets. Because they're terrible. That being said, I knew immediately that I needed to test myself to see how much of this mysterious vegetable I could take.

Why did I do this to myself?

The first few bites really weren't bad. Its got a noticeably beety taste, but it wasn't overwhelming (yet). After killing a third of the container I started to loathe the taste—to the point of gagging. The bright purple color, combined with the deer pellet-esque mini beet nuggets scattered throughout, really started to freak me out. I paused to collect myself, then grabbed a spoon to power through. Halfway through I realized I may not be able to physically consume the whole half-pound tub. My roommate suggested a chaser. After much deliberation, I grabbed a Diet Coke and started aggressively spooning the hummus to the back of my throat—not unlike Joey Chestnut or Kobayashi. This was quickly followed with a chug of soda, creating a sweet, carbonated beet taste that was honestly one of the worst of all time. I've eaten dog food before . . . Finishing the tub can only be described in one word: relief. But now commenced a dreadful waiting game.

I waited an entire day to see if my pee would turn red, and nothing. I have never yearned to pee a different color in my life, yet the thought of it not happening was devastating. I didn't even get so

Shout out to my fuzzy navel

much as a musky odor in my urine for an entire day. Tuesday morning, however, proved to be a different story. I sat down on the toilet (at work, mind you) and let go of what felt like a 6-month-old baby. Sort of oblong and misshapen. I stood up like a boy who had just defecated without a diaper for the first time and looked down to admire my creation. Without getting too detailed, let's just say it looked something like Van Gogh's "Starry Night," only bright red and purple. It was absolutely gorgeous. SWEET. BEET. VICTORY.

Now, while this experience certainly taught me a lot, I'll never repeat it, especially with a vegetable I don't enjoy. That being said, I'm impressed at my own willpower and perseverance given how terrible this was to do first thing in the morning on my day off. Trader Joe's Beet Hummus drops a number 2 and goes for a hummiserable 1 out of 5 chickpeas.

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.

The Hummus Guy: Organic Original Review

I was walking through the store last week when I saw a short, curly haired Middle Eastern man staring me dead in the eyes. He was chubby, with a round face and a smug smile that screamed "douchebag" for lack of a better term. He didn't say anything, he simply continued to stare at me until I felt compelled to say something. What came out of my mouth (in the middle of the grocery store, mind you) was this,"You've gotta be f****** kidding me."

After my sudden exclamation I realized that I had just muttered an F-bomb at an inanimate object... The Hummus Guy. Having never been faced with such an audacious challenge to my knowledge and huminion, I was unsure how to react. So, naturally, I grabbed the tub (thumb directly on the man's stubby little nose) and threw it in my cart... challenge accepted.

Before I begin this review I'd like to say that I've attempted to judge this hummus objectively,—despite the pudgy, olive skinned gentleman before me. 

Tub size: 10 oz
Price: 4.00
Dippers: Simply Naked Sea Salt Pita Chips, Carrots, Crunchmaster Multi-Grain Crackers, (middle) finger

How DARE you little man. How dare you confront me like this. To call yourself "The Hummus Guy" in spite of my dedication to the hummus game is utterly blasphummus. I don't care if you grew up in Tunisia (he did), or that your name is Mohamed (pretty authentic), you've waged a war that you most surely will lose. OK... but seriously, as much as looking at this tub annoys me, I have to say, Mohamed...you've done well.

The resemblance is uncanny...

While I'm not typically a fan of regular hummus, organic hummus, or anything vegan, this is an exception. Its texture rides the perfect balance between creaminess and chunkiness, which is difficult to pull off in an organic blend. I've found many organic hummi are thin and watery—which, as a matter of fact, ends up producing a very similar consistency on the toilet. Mohamed clearly has taken his beans into consideration, so we don't end up spilling ours.

It also has just the right amount of flavoring so as not to overpower the chickpea. Each bite leaves a split second lingering of lemon on the tongue. Sort of like a lemon party in your mouth (I think there's a website for that). I wanted to continue to talk smack but my mouth was full of this Jon-Favreau-looking man's hummus. While it took me a few bites to fully understand the complexity of this blend, I have to give it up to Mohamed. The Hummus Guy Original gets 3.9 chickpeas out of 5.

Trader Joe's Hummus Quartet Review

Tub Size: 20 oz
Price: 4.99
Dippers: Trader Joe's Everything Crackers, Pita Chips,
Carrots, banana (tried it- don't recommend), Finger

Wow, it's as if Mozart himself formed a four-piece symphony of hummi in the perfect container. I'm not even sure he would have known a garbanzo bean from a potato, but Trader Joe's surely does.

This tub has everything going for it as far as variety. It comes packed with a whopping 20 OUNCES of hummus (thats 1.25 pounds for those less mathematically gifted). The flavors, starting with the top left section and moving clockwise, are Tomato Basil, Spicy, Roasted Garlic, and Original. With 4 different hummi clocking in at 5 ounces each, this tub has something for everyone.

For the squares, you've got original. For the homies, you've got garlic. For the hipsters, you've got tomato basil. For the thugs, spicy. I rarely dipped twice consecutively in the same section, the allure of a new flavor was too intoxicating to pass up.

That's the beauty of these new age hummus collabs. It kind of like when Drake releases a new track with Nicki Minaj, Lil Wayne, and Dj Khaled. You find yourself shitfaced on the dance floor, rolling dice without a care in the world, girls are shaking muscles in their booty they didn't know they had. The dance floor looks like an African watering hole filled with a pack of hyenas... but good natured hyenas. That's how I would describe this conglomeration of hummi.

My one gripe about the quartet is that once I got to the end of the tub, I found myself struggling to get the last of it. The four separate sections make this hummus difficult to finish off. I felt like a dog struggling to suck peanut butter out of his bone. Like so many other situations in my life, I ended up resorting to the finger.

Overall I give this hummus quartet 4 out of 5 chickpeas. The variety and quality of each hummus complements the others wonderfully. Another pat on the back for Trader Joe's.

Hummus Recall- Sabra Almost Destroyed Us!

 The hummus probably has a better
performance than Adam Sandler

As some of you may have heard, last week some 30,000 Sabra Classic Hummus tubs were recalled due to Listeria Monocytogenes. This may be the biggest event in hummus history since the release of You Don't Mess With the Zohan in 2008.

The official FDA report states, "Listeria monocytogenes is an organism, which can cause serious and sometimes fatal infections in young children, frail or elderly people, and others with weakened immune systems. Although healthy individuals may suffer only short-term symptoms such as high fever, severe headache, stiffness, nausea, abdominal pain and diarrhea, Listeria infection can cause miscarriages and stillbirths among pregnant women."

He prefers Atheno's

Two words jump out here... fatal and diarhhea... 
How could a dip that has been so generous to me, be so cruel to others? What has the garbanzo bean done to deserve such horrible attention? I began to question everything I'd done the past two years as I held my head in my hands while having violent diarrhea on the toilet. 

What ails me most is that Sabra is dominating the category with the most average tasting hummi in the game. When I started experimenting with the chickpea in late 2013, I thought Sabra was a godsend. With so little experience, Sabra took me in like a young Israeli mountain goat. I felt secure in it's hooves until I became older and wiser. After trying dozens of different hummi and gaining real world experience with the dip, I came to my senses. 

While the recall came as a shock to many, I should have seen it coming. As an opponent of Sabra and its mediocrity, I allowed myself a smirk and a chuckle. Sabra is the undisputed leader in the hummus category, one that is growing rapidly in the refrigerated spreads section. Since 2010, annual hummus sales top $325 million and continue to rise throughout the United States. This means that Sabra is making tubloads of money on a dip that doesn't hold a candle to other brands.

Look, I get that some people like Sabra. I don't dislike it, it's what I was raised on. But it doesn't compare to some of the other hummi that Trader Joe's or even Safeway has to offer. It also can lead to headaches, diarrhea, and miscarriages ... So explore the wonderful world of hummus with me and and get out of your comfort zone. You'll thank yourself.


P.S. new reviews coming soon