Monoprix Tortillas Enroulées

          The first chips I bought in France were Tomato-Basil chips, but since then it’s been a long dry haul in the category of Italian-inspired seasoning, until the other day my favorite half-elf snagged a small bag of them for a picnic out on the Buttes de Chaumont.

            Those familiar with my earlier review of the Tortillas Enroulee Fromage should recognize the format; basically a Nacho corn tortilla round wrapped into a cylinder evocative of those cute little cookies you get with your coffee.  (Incidentally, in addition to being known as pirouettes, these cookies are also apparently called ‘cigarettes’, which I guess would sound sweet and delicious only to a Parisian- the air is fresh indoors here, I swear.)  The rolled tortilla chip format might sound gimmicky, but it’s actually crunches very pleasingly in the mouth, and is still usable with thicker dips like guacamole or cheese dip.  They seemed like exactly the sort of thing that would go well with tomato-basil flavoring.

Cigarette smoke from philosophy students
and fashion models makes up 20% of Paris's
atmosphere. Unfortunately, all the coffee
does not also contribute to the odor.

            Unfortunately, I must report with a heavy heart that if this is a tomato flavoring, it is a very sad and watery tomato.  Or maybe canned tomatoes, tasting more of tin and iron than juicy vegetable.  The rods are sweet, kind of like a sun-dried tomato, but it is a sickly half-hearted kind of sweet lacking in panache or self-confidence, and there’s a weird sort of celery-salt like flavor that I imagine is supposed to be like basil, but I assure you, rarely anything good can come of celery salt.  It’s a kind of generic vegetably mashup with a sweet element on top, a sort of feebler V8.

            I wouldn’t say they were inedible, because you still have the basic sweet and salty to carry you through, but the vegetable flavor tastes just a little off, like blood in your mouth (maybe it’s the iron from that canned tomato flavor!).  They certainly don’t taste like tomato, (though to be fair, ‘tomato powder’ is listed on the ingredients list right after sugar and salt), but worse is that it just doesn’t taste good.  Still, the fundamentally satisfying crunchiness of the underlying rolled-up-tortilla chips save these from being a total waste, but anyone looking for a good tomato flavored chip should look elsewhere, and anyone intrigued by tortilla cigarettes/pirouettes/whatevers should probably buy the cheese-flavored variety.

Blood flavored tomato chips?  And I
they don't even need to be stalked and
seduced?

Stars: 1½/4

Spiciness Rating: None

Pros:

- Basic rolled-over corn tortilla round format is fun to crunch in your mouth

- Flavoring at least manages to offer a semi-adequate salty-sweet balance

Cons:

- Flavoring is still awful in most respects, failing to taste like actual tomato-basil, sun dried tomatoes, or good in any respect

Monoprix Tortillas Enroulé aux Fromage

Pirouette Cookkies: The tunnel
of chocolatey love beckons to thee.

            My lovely lady lum- um, friend that happens to be my partner sought to lure me out of the dark catacombs of my office/bedroom one evening into the painfully bright sunshine of spring in Paris, and promised me a surprise I would appreciate.  And lo did my cave-addled eyes perceive a small bag of snacks, possibly salty and newly acquired, which I could only help but consume and analyze at exhaustive length.

            So, what Monoprix did here was take a round nacho/tortilla corn chip and roll it around into a scroll shape, till it looks just like a Pirouette cookie.  You’ve probably already had one served with your fancy coffee, ice cream, or desert, and they’re pretty tasty, though often hollow on the inside (long empty shafts like that scream for filling with cream or chocolate, or possibly, the tossing down of emotionally troubled Jedi.)

In a world full of blasters and laser swords,
death by falling is disturbingly frequent.

            Are the Monoprix Tortilla’s Enroulé tasty as well?  Well, yes, because they are covered with an orange cheese flavoring that tastes almost exactly like your typical Doritos!  Now, I’m willing to go on record and say that I have long enjoyed old fashion Doritos, though I normally wouldn’t go out of my way to buy them when there are more exotic options available.  Still, I hadn’t had any since coming to France, and it’s nice to see the tradition upheld.

               As they are wrapped up like little Pirouette cookies, the eating experience is somewhat different, in a good way- the little Dorito-scrolls crunch very satisfyingly, though the intensity of the flavoring may be slightly less as a result of the lower amount of surface area.  If you ever felt some bizarre need to dip your Doritos in salsa, the scroll shaped bodies would of course be less than ideal, but I’m willing to bet they work just as well when dunked into hot cheese dip. (Erin of course tried them with hummus, which she reports as being ‘effing awesome’.)  So all in all, an amusing French variant on a familiar American staple worth checking out by anybody with craving for more Doritos on distant shores.

Trivia: How many of these photos do
not actually show death by falling?

Stars: 2½/4

Spiciness Rating: None

Pros:

- Flavoring nostalgically reminiscent of Doritos

- Rolled-over tortillas are fun to crunch

Cons:

- Flavoring not quite as intense as Doritos, and otherwise undistinguished

- Not highly convenient for dipping, (though why would you dip Doritos anyway?)

Monoprix Tortillas Gout Chili

Inevitably, when crossing cultural barriers, one comes across words that don’t have the same exact meaning in one language than the other.  Sometimes there might be two, more specific, terms in one language for that which is specified with one word in another.  In this case, when the product says ‘Chili’, they don’t meant a tasty-South-Western-beef-and-peppers stew (otherwise known as ‘chili con carne’, which does not originate from Mexico), but merely hot red pepper powder.

Chips to be found underneath the
pile.

I had purchased this bag hoping that the flavoring was something bolder, but these turned out to be another store-brand rendition of Nacho chips with ‘Western’ seasoning.  The Leader Price variant of these I had earlier tried had been attacked by maniac with shaker full of Cumin powder (giving it a distinctly Indian sub-continent flair), and while the cumin element is still present, there is overall a much saner (if a little more boring) approach to balancing the spices in this iteration.

In contrast to their competitor, these chips look almost exactly like Doritos, complete with the small puffy air bubbles, but with a flavoring that serves a more supporting role.  That is a blend of ‘South Western' spices featuring onion and garlic powder, cumin, and red pepper powder, slathered on the chips to a generally acceptable consistency, leaving you with something that is both salty and mildly spicy, just like your mom.

Compared to the Leader Price version, the price-for-quantity ratio is about the same, and the chips are essentially similar in flavor, but less likely to offend with their more balanced quantities of cumin and saltiness.  So, nothing to write home about, but a reasonable solution for your salsa and guacamole dipping needs (when in Europe).

Stars: 2/4

Spiciness Rating: Very Mild

Pros:

- Interesting cumin and red pepper spices applied in a more balanced fashion than other products on the market

- the Doritos-style shape and texture is a little less dry than the Leader Price version

- good balance of flavoring for use as dipping chips

Cons:

- Doritos style texture is still light years away from that of a genuine, high quality, authentic Tortilla chip

- the more measured approach to the spices is a little less characterful for the lack of crazy

Monoprix Chips à L’Ancienne Saveur Moutarde

            So, having complained at length about the shortcomings of Leader Price’s mustard-flavored chips, and I couldn’t resist but make a head-to-head comparison with exact same flavor of chips as sold by Monoprix.  Remember, we are talking about grainy old-fashioned mustard, not the smooth and creamy Dijon variety or the glow-in-the-dark American stuff.

            So, the long and the short of it is that basically they got it right where Leader Price held too much back; the flavor is more strongly stated, though by no means overpowering, with nice notes of mustard grain, a more substantial though still restrained use of vinegar, and salt and onion aromas for a good measure.  (Are there onions in actual mustard?  I don’t think so, but it works here.)

            So all’s well that ends well, right? Well, as any auteur will assure you that the ending can’t to be too happy or it will lose credibility.  Sorry Frodo, you may have destroyed the ring and survived, but you will have be so depressed for the rest of your life that you’ll wish you hadn’t.  For starters, while the texture of the chips is still a little above average, it doesn’t rise quite to the level of thick crunchiness of the Leader Price Mustard chips, which is really too bad.  So score one for regrets and sorrowful second thoughts.  Second, while I acknowledge that the mustard they are emulating isn’t remarkably spicy, I still have to whine: the chips aren’t spicy!

Some Europeans regard a fondness for
intense spices as reflecting some vaguely
masochistic shamanic tradition based on
the principle of drawing power from pain.
If thisis true, than I predict India and
Thailand will be the rival magical
superpowers of the 21st Century.

            To be honest, a big part of the issue is that French cuisine in general is not in favor of spiciness.  Sure, maybe a little poivre on the rumsteak here and there, but the sort of nose-running sweat-on-your-brow ultra-picante seasonings typical of Mexican, Indian, or Thai cuisine are deemed barbarically unsubtle.  Real-life French mustard is genuinely spicy of course, but it doesn’t seem to be an element they really want on their domestically produced chips, and so nearly all the spicy flavored items are foreign in origin (most notably in regards to chips: Pringles.)

            How important are these shortcomings?  Not very, the mustard flavor on these is improved and unambiguous, (mustard should never be ambiguous), and though the texture is ‘adequate’ rather than ‘great’, I can whole heartedly recommend these for regular munching if grainy mustard is your cup of tea.

Stars: 2 ½

Spiciness Rating: Very Mild

Pros:

- Effectively evokes the flavor of old-fashioned mustard

- Flavoring is well distributed

Cons:

- Texture is adequate, but not at same level of quality as the LeaderPrice chips

- Not going to satisfy anybody craving the spice.

Monoprix Saveur Vinaigre Balsamique

Chips, too, have the right to be refined

Casting an eye about for another uniquely European delicacy, I dredged up another unlikely candidate from the store shelves, thereby prolonging the terrible war for our loyalties between Franprix (the one that sells ‘LeaderPrice’ goods) and Monoprix (the pricier French version of Walmart.)  Monoprix’s ‘Balsamic Vinaiger Flavor’ provided just the hook- who else’s vinegar chips are made with the veritable Balsamic!

Now, you must understand that in my Franco-Italian family upbringing, thick burgundy brown balsamic vinegar has pretty much subsumed the ordinary red wine vinegar that is the standard in American daily life.  Everything comes out denser, more flavorful, more lusty in balsamic- just try it out in a tomato and mozzarella salad, or mix it in a vinaigrette with Dijon mustard, oil, and salt.  It is certifiably superior to the thin red or white stuff you usually bathe your vegetables in to make them less healthy.  Instead of being made from wine, balsamic vinegar is formed from fresh trebbiano grapes that are boiled down to 30% of their original volume, then stored in a succession of wooden casks for 12 full years, each cask made out of a different type of wood to impart a different flavor.  That's right, this vinegar is so elite it's got more pedigree than your average dog.  (Okay, to be honest, the sort of balsamic vinegar we actually buy in the grocery store hasn't been subjected to the full 12 years.)

People in the middle ages used to
believe that balsamic vinegar had
magical powers-and apparently they
were right.  Granting long life,
unbreakable bones, fast metabolism,
numbing pain, fortifying against
disease, thereby transforming
you into the goddamned Batman.

So, I was hoping for wonderful things as promised by the suggestively dark-brown bag, and its delightfully impertinent sub-title: chips, too, have the right to be refined!  (This is not my prose run a wild, you can read them for your self!)  Came the night at the end of a stressful day where our evening plans had fallen in flames and we were left to discuss religion, sex, and politics with our flat mates and I produced my piece de resistance for a trial by fire.

Unfortunately, if you’re asking yourself, how will balsamic vinegar chips taste different from the regular sort?, I still can’t help you because sadly I could not divine any distinction.  I think it didn’t help that the chips were the standard bright-light-yellow color of vinegar chips in the states (the flavoring powder indistinguishable in color)- I honestly believe that if they had used a burgundy brown coloration- like that of actual balsamic vinegar- I would have reacted very differently to them.  Come on, I’m practically giving free tips away on how to psychologically manipulate me, I hope somebody is listening!  But as they were, they looked and tasted like standard vinegar-flavored chips.

Let's be honest, some chips do have
a somewhat 'recombined' texture to
them.

That’s not a bad thing- sometimes they delivered quite a nice acidic surge, perhaps even suggestive of the fuller-bodied flavor of Balsamic vinegar compared to the watery-thin texture of regular vinegar (no, nobody is paying me for the smack talk.)  In fact, the bag assures us that the chips were flavored with real balsamic vinaigrette, so that is awesome.  However, like too many other chips, the crisps suffered from highly inconsistent distribution of the flavoring; about a third of the chips had a generous powerful kick of vinegar flavoring, and the rest frustrated me with the intimation of an aroma that they could not, ultimately deliver.  To top it off, the crisps themselves were on the low end of average, which is to say basically serviceable, but damp enough with oil and hampered by a particle-board like texture that failed to exhibit much thickness or crunch when eaten.



Every time these conversation happen,
another Star Fleet vessel is sucked
into an improbable wormhole, forcing
it's crew to face their inner demons
and wear unlikely but sexy costumes.

I still feel a little bad knocking these in the review, because they at times delivered an excellent vinegar flavor, they were made with actual Balsamic vinegar, and the contents of the bag lasted about 15 minutes before being devoured (but maybe that’s more of a comment of the French penchant for small quantities).  But in the end, they failed to consistently deliver enough flavor or to taste significantly different from other vinegar flavored chips.  Also, the rate at which they were eaten may reflect that my wife chose that evening to discuss the finer points of Catholicism, Judaism, and Hitler with our two German roommates, prompting us all to consume heedlessly in an attempt to suborn the pain of a conversation that rearticulated Godwin’s law so thoroughly a rift in space and time was opened.

Stars: 1½/4

Spiciness: none

Pros:

-Made with authentic balsamic vinegar

-Sometimes deliver strong vinegar flavor

Cons:

-More often, fails to deliver enough flavoring

-Crisps are of less than impressive quality

-Flavor was not really distinct from regular vinegar flavoring

Monoprix Soufflés Croustillants Cacahuetes Grillees

Some of you must be expecting that I’m about to review soufflé flavored Cheetos, which would definitely be awesome (though hard to envision I must admit), but Soufflé actually just means ‘puffed-up’ in French, and in this case is referring to corn-puffs a la Cheetos.  And, as mentioned in an earlier review of a very similar product, what better flavor to coat corn puffs with then peanuts?

My review of Lorenz’s Curly Cacahuete chips ended on a dissatisfactory note, and I was left feeling that peanut-flavored corn puffs perhaps deserved to be revisited in a higher-quality rendition.  Well, as fate had it, my housemate Clemente recently left a public bowl full of Monoprix’s own version of the same product on the table, and I was pleased to find that by improving the texture and adding a subtle grilled flavor the final product was significantly improved.

My original discontent with the Lorenz chips stemmed from two factors: first of all, that fundamentally I want my peanut-flavored chips to taste sweet like peanut butter, and secondly, that the texture was crap, too hard on the outside and too airy on the inside.  The second problem was addressed by Monoprix’s chips, which featured a richer, denser, more buttery texture worthy of any Cheeto, which made them much more of a pleasure to eat.  So, texture going from crap to good = happy.

My concern over the lack of sweetness remains, though there were some improvements to the flavor that made these chips more satisfying: perhaps a dash more of sugar, and a subtle ‘grilled’ flavor which made things all together more interesting.  So, while I still want a product that is sweeter and I wouldn’t necessarily go out of my way have to more of these, they are actually pretty decent for absent minded snacking and are probably worth a try just to see where you stand on the whole peanut-flavored-cheetos issue.

Stars: 2 ½

Spiciness Rating: none

Pros:

- Strong peanut flavor emulation, now with grilled overtones and a hint more sweetness

- Buttery crunchy texture is just right for a cornpuff snack

Cons:

- Still not as as sweet as peanut butter