Barbara's Original Cheese Puffs

Barbara's wants you to believe that cheese puffs can be virtuous. They've stripped away the artificial colors, the preservatives, the very essence of what makes a cheese puff a monument to human excess. What remains is existential dread in snack form.

The first sensation upon opening the bag is confusion. These puffs are pale, anemic things that look like they need a vitamin D supplement. The cheese dust—and I use that term generously—clings to them with the enthusiasm of a teenager at a family reunion.

The crunch, if you can call it that, lasts approximately 0.3 seconds before the puff dissolves into corn-flavored nothing. It's like biting into a cloud that once drove past Wisconsin. The cheese flavor peaks at 'suggestion' and never quite makes it to 'assertion.'

Credit where it's due: the seasoning distribution is remarkably even, each puff equally disappointing. The bag-to-puff ratio is respectable, though one questions whether more of these is actually a positive.

These are the cheese puffs you buy when you want to feel superior to other snack consumers. They're the participation trophy of the chip aisle—everyone gets one, nobody's happy about it.

Barbara's has created the perfect snack for people who think enjoying food is morally suspicious. For everyone else, there's literally everything else in the chip aisle.