hot pockets

So, when I was out of work and uncertain of my future, I bought a bunch of hot pockets--well, lean pockets--cos they were on sale. Is it a good idea, nutritionally, to go on a hot pocket diet? Absolutely not. And this is especially true when there are only two vegetarian varieties of lean pocket: cheddar and broccoli, and pizza. But whatever. For a week I was having a hot pocket for either lunch or dinner, and, with the sale price, they broke down to less than 75 cents per meal.

Now, a pizza hot pocket counts as pizza-esque, so I'm going to review it. The box proclaimed some nonsense about a newly improved seasoned pocket. I don't have much to compare for, so I'll take their word for it, but the seasoning seemed to be mostly salt. Newly improved salted crust? Ok.

So, for those unfamiliar with hot pocket preparation, let me fill you in. Hot pockets do not come with origamiable boxes. No no. They come with crisping sleeves that, in theory, transform into carrying cases post-microwaving, for ease of carrying, and mess and burn free eating. But, look. I ate like, half a dozen hot pockets in two weeks, and let me tell you. The crisping sleeve fulfills neither of it's purposes well. My hot pockets were neither crispy, nor easier to handle thanks to this sleeve. In fact, in all cases, whilst following the microwave instructions to a t (and then later modifying them due to failures), every single time the hot pocket ruptured inside it's crisping sleeve, oozing saucy cheesy goo out of the sides of the sleeve. The subsequent mess made folding the sleeve into it's carrying pouch shape near impossible, and also defeated any neatness potential from the sleeve. The thin cardboard also did little to protect my fingers from the hot grease and cheese oozing from the hot pocket's core. I found that the best preparation method was to place the hot pocket in the sleeve out of simple faith or a childlike yearning to believe (one believes in the crisping potential of the sleeve much in the way one believes in leprechauns or the easter bunny), then place the hot pocket and sleeve on a few paper towels. Then, post microwaving, wrap the heated hot pocket in the paper towels to consume, slowly pushing it up through the cardboard crisping tube from the bottom, much like a push pop.

Uh, so. Yeah. How do they taste? They taste ok. Like cheese, sauce, and dough. The pizza ones are significantly tastier than the broccoli and cheddar ones. The dough is a bit gummy. They taste like junk food. They taste like salt. A lot of salt. They taste like they're not gonna fill you up. They taste like when you're done eating them, you're gonna feel like you didn't eat anything at all. And actually, often, they don't taste like much at all because I always burn my tongue on the first bite, when the innards explode onto my tongue like an erupting volcano. Also, I just re-read that last sentence and I'm thinking of breaking into a new literary genre of food porn writing.

Anyhow. The point is, I'm glad that I have a job again and I can stop eating hot pockets. The other point is, I won't be entertaining Jim Gaffigan jokes, so zip it.


On an entirely different note, my grandfather's kidney is failing. I'm not handling this news well.