Standby snack foods have been reinventing themselves as “minis” in hopes of appealing to a new generation of consumers. Hostess down-sized Ding Dongs, Doritos ran all the chips through the dryer and Trix dehydrated every last cereal ball.
Naturally, you ask, “Does a smaller-size product come with a smaller price?”
Don’t be ridiculous. It is the principle of “less for more.”
I added a few of the new minis on a grocery pickup to have a taste see. The usual lineup of food tasters eagerly assisted.
Dorito minis were immediately pronounced “adorable” by young tasters. Isn’t adorable the first thing you want in food?
“How would you like your steak? Rare, medium or adorable?”
Adorable! I’ll take adorable.
Doritos minis are adorable—tiny triangles about the size of a quarter, packaged in what appears to be a Pringles can plastered with a Doritos label. Many minis were broken. It’s like eating a can of crumbs. The good news is a serving of minis is 39 chips (or 178 crumbs).
Tell you what – send me your empty Pringles cans, I’ll recover them with appropriate labels, fill them with crumbs from our full-size Doritos bags, and charge three times what they do at the store.
“Honey! I think our ship has finally come in.”
Honey is not listening; he is contemplating the mini Hostess snacks. Downsized Ding Dongs are now Bouncers.
Hearing the name Bouncers, a 4-year-old grabs one and slams it on the countertop. It tumbles, falls over the edge and rolls a remarkable distance on the kitchen floor.
“It doesn’t bounce—it rolls!” she squeals.
Note to self: Call Hostess and tell them Bouncers should be called Rollers.
Mini is not new. Mini Nilla Wafers predate flip phones. Instead of eating smaller cookies and consuming less, what did cooks do? Used them as crusts for mini cheesecakes.
Mini chocolate chips have been on shelves for years as well. They are great in cookies and desserts but slip through your fingers if you eat them out of your hand. I’m not saying I do that; I’ve just heard others complain about it.
Truthfully, I fully embrace the mini concept. In order to “mini”mize my time in the kitchen, I’ve tried pulling off mini meals as full meals ever since the kids left home.
“Dinner’s on,” I tell my better half.
“The salad looks good,” he says, glancing around the kitchen. “Is there more?”
“Salad is the dinner,” I say cheerfully.
His face does not say adorable; his face says disappointment.
I’ve even applied the mini principle to baking cookies, using a small-size cookie scoop. I get mixed reviews on this one.
“I love these, Grandma,” a little voice says. “They’re perfect for a tea party with dolls.”
Someone else, wielding a cookie in each hand, asks if the Seven Dwarfs are coming for a visit.
“No, but if they do, I’ll be prepared.”
Size the food mini or maxi, the magic is always the same – now you see it; now you don’t.”