Snacks by Subscription: The Nibblebox by Graze

 

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I like to think of myself as selectively sheep-like. I dislike arguments too much to be truly iconoclastic, and I’ll admit there have been a number of times in my life where I’ve given in to the hype and found myself reveling in doing something “trendy.” I remember one class in high school where all the kids stood in a circle, and a good 90% of us were wearing some version of blue jeans and Converse shoes. And I’ll admit, I breathed a sigh of relief that I was amongst that majority. Maybe it’s lame, maybe it’s letting the man get me down, but I think most high schoolers are pro-conformity at times.

So what item of Maggie’s Trendwatch 2014 is on the docket today? Subscription boxes, specifically the “Nibblebox” by Graze. These boxes are all the rage right now, from snacks to drinks to pet treats (no joke, Barkbox is a thing). I’d given a few of these as gifts — most recently going in with my brother on a Julibox subscription for my mother’s birthday, wherein she receives a monthly box full of the ingredients and instructions for curated cocktails. Unfortunately, as fun as these boxes are, in general they’re not particularly wallet-friendly (bang for your buck wise), so I’d resisted the nagging Facebook ads asking if I was really sure I didn’t want to try Naturebox.

What made me finally break down and submit to the tides of trends was an article from (who else) Serious Eats, reviewing a number of popular boxes. They gave high praise to Graze, and with a coupon code that got me a free box, I figure it couldn’t hurt to see what all the hubbub was about.

 

I picked Graze over the other highlighted boxes for several reasons, starting with their emphasis on variety (and ending, in a silly but still true reason, in the fact that they’re originally British). In almost all of my food-related ventures, I’m happiest with a smorgasbord of options — Chex Mix, Frito-Lay Munchies, Ben and Jerry’s Half-Baked (unintentional pot-theme acknowledged). You only have to look at my posts about Pike Place or Mad Sq. Eats for proof of my utter joy at all the choices. Graze’s website encourages you to be wild with your choices. After signing up, you indicate any dietary restrictions or allergies, and then dive into the snack selection. Every item has a range of rating buttons — Trash, Try, Like, and Love. The automatic baseline is “try,” meaning you’ll get sent that item once in a blue moon. Like means you’ll get it semi-frequently, and Love means you’ll have it in nearly every box (which, depending on your preference, comes weekly, fortnightly, or once a month). Trash, as you might imagine, means you’ll never see that item in your Nibblebox.

And to make establishing your preferences even easier, each snack has a drop down list of ingredients, allowing you to search by individual components. In my case, that meant calling up all the snacks with orange in them, in order to Trash any that combined it with chocolate (I’m still working on warming to citrus+chocolate). Aside from this, I left most things at Try, enticed by all the potential box-fillers, from savory to sweet, barbecue to curried to wasabi-flecked to tropical in flavor.

 

My free Nibblebox by Graze, enabling my weaknesses for mini things and variety packs.

My free Nibblebox by Graze, enabling my weaknesses for mini things and variety packs.

Within a week of my signing up, my Graze Nibblebox appeared, all components aside from the food itself noted as recyclable. Opening up the slim cardboard box revealed four labeled (and decorated) snack packs, with a booklet explaining how Graze works, offering coupons for friends, and providing nutrition and allergen and a “best by” date information for each snack. My free box came with Dark Rocky Road, Pomodoro Rustichella, Summer Berry Flapjack, and Tutti Frutti.

 

So how did the snacks stack up? Overall, I was pretty pleased with the well-rounded nature of the Graze box — three out of four snacks did skew sweet over savory, but they were each distinct in their flavor profiles and textures.

 

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The Pomodoro Rustichella, inspiring a desire to try to make tomato-romesco sauce.

The Pomodoro Rustichella, inspiring a desire to try to make tomato-romesco sauce.

 

My favorite ended up being the Pomodoro Rustichella (cheese croutons, tomato baguettes & tomato & herb almonds), which may be due to having it last after the sweetness of the other three items, or the fact that I generally have oats/unsalted nuts/dried fruit as my afternoon snack, so the Pomodoro Rustichella was a big departure from my routine. The little baguettes looked like the breadsticks you’d get with your school lunch cheese dip and crackers, but they had a much stronger tomato flavor, reminding me of the borderland of a pizza right where the sauce meets the crust (hints of tomato paste, pepper, oregano). The tiny croutons were Ritz-Bitz sized, and only somewhat cheesy, as if just dusted with parmesan. But the best element of the Pomodoro Rustichella was the tomato & herb almonds. I was initially skeptical of a tomato/almond combo, but it was actually a great pairing of the inherent sweetness of the nuts with the acidity of tomato (full disclosure, almonds are my favorite nuts, so I was possibly predisposed to like these). When eaten together, the Pomodoro Rustichella is most reminiscent of a deconstructed take on “Pizzeria” flavored Combos, and I mean that in the best way possible.

The Tutti Frutti (blueberry infused cranberries, pineapple, cherry infused raisins and green raisins) and the Summer Berry Flapjack (rustic rolled oat flapjack with berry-infused cranberries), were both fairly straightforward, with the exception of the Britishism “flapjack,” which does not refer to our American pancakes, but rather to an oat bar made with golden syrup. They both featured “infused” fruit, which is used in a lot of Graze’s snacks, according to their website. I’m not sure I’m totally hooked on the concept — I happen to like the way cranberries taste naturally, and so the ones in the flapjack reminded me most of the generic “berry” flavor used in candy and cereal. In the case of the Tutti Frutti, I thought it actually undercut the simplicity of the snack — if I’m going to have a variety of dried fruit, why not just give me dried blueberries and cherries, rather than “infusing” cranberries and raisins? This was by far my least favorite snack, although I liked the dried pineapple enough to look for other Graze snacks featuring it and move them to “Like.”

 

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The Summer Berry Flapjack, unintentionally educational in terms of cultural diversity.

The Summer Berry Flapjack, unintentionally educational in terms of cultural diversity.

The Summer Berry Flapjack had more going for it, since the infused morsels were sprinkled throughout. With the highest caloric value, the Flapjack pack was filled with 3 miniature bars, just enough to feel satisfying, but still sugary enough to seem like an indulgence. Even with the generic berry flavor of the craisins, the flapjacks were soft and fresh, well-preserved in the Graze plastic pack several days after my box arrived.

 

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My favorite snack -- Dark Rocky Road, although it did make me want to go to Trader Joe's.

My favorite snack — Dark Rocky Road, although it did make me want to go to Trader Joe’s.

I’m sure it’ll come as no surprise that my favorite sweet snack was the one with chocolate. The Dark Rocky Road (Belgian dark chocolate buttons, cranberries and pecans) was made of simple components, not so different from the trail mixes you can find at Trader Joes. I really appreciated the proportions of the snack — it was heavy on the cranberries, but they didn’t skimp on the chocolate buttons and pecan halves.  Although they don’t list the cacao percentage on the website, the chocolate seemed like it was slightly better quality than a Hershey’s Special dark, and the plain cranberries and raw pecans paired wonderfully with it. The only thing that would have made this better would be to salt the pecans — the chocolate isn’t dark enough to be really bitter, so the contrast of salty and sweet would be more present with a little extra seasoning.
Let’s be honest with each other — these boxes are never going to beat the bulk bins at the supermarket for economic efficiency. But for the curious (and semi-lazy) snacker, Graze offers up a good deal. They allow you to choose your level of engagement with your food choices, from eyes closed eeny-meeny grab-bag to intensive curation through the “Love” rating. Personally, the reason I liked Graze was because it pushed me to try new things, so I can’t imagine picking “Love” for many snacks unless something blew me out of the water. I do have another Graze box coming, but I stepped it back to bimonthly, so that my Graze subscription is only a little more expensive than my Netflix. It’s an indulgence, but a fun one that doesn’t do too much damage to your wallet, and with the option of a free box to start, why not give it a shot (if you want a freebie, click here: https://www.graze.com/us/p/YJV6G1V4U)? C’mon, underneath aren’t we all just a little made of mutton?

 

https://www.graze.com/us/products 

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Snackshots Seattle, Part 1: A Fresh Food Fantasy at Pike Place Market

For someone who makes her bread and butter (or rather, is able to buy her bread and butter) from the entertainment industry, I’ve spent surprisingly little time on the West Coast. I’ve only been to California a handful of times, and never visited any of the other states west of Iowa. That is, until this past weekend, when I had the chance to visit my brother in his new digs in Seattle. As with many of my interests, my older brother Dan was a major influence on my passion for food. Up until June he lived on the UES near me (in fact, in the same apartment building, because we’re too cute like that), and one of my favorite parts of getting to know the neighborhood was exploring new restaurants and bars with him. So when I hopped on a plane on Friday to visit the Northwest for the first time, I believed my expectations of delicious overindulgence were reasonable. Little did I realize I was seriously underestimating our genetic predisposition for pie-hole stuffing. Suffice it to say that I have way more to talk about than can reasonably fit in one post. So, much like my last travel experience in Israel, I’m going to break up my trip into more manageable bites. First up, a look at Seattle’s iconic Pike Place Market.

Walking up to one of the many entrances of Pike Place Market.

Walking up to one of the many entrances of Pike Place Market. This place is just enormous.

 

Beyond the amazing food I encountered at Pike Place, what struck me most was the easy comingling of obvious tourists (like myself) and the local crowd. Sure, there are kitschy shops peddling t-shirts and trinkets, but much of Pike Place Market is made up of serious local vendors selling fresh produce and homemade items. I kept describing it to Dan as a strange mix of NY’s Chelsea Market and Philadelphia’s Reading Terminal Market, somewhere between the higher-brow artisanal wares of Chelsea’s Ronnybrook Dairy and Eleni’s Cookies and the Amish shoo-fly pies and cheesesteaks down Liberty Bell way. And did I mention it’s huge? A sprawling, multi-floor, multi-block, and multi-street, partially open air market, with arms that snake out leading you down paths of flower and jerky vendors, or spice stalls and coffee sellers. Dan and I must have spent a good 3 hours there and never really explored anything beyond the ground level.

Pike Place Fish Market, already crowded with tourists eager to see some serious fish-tossing.

Pike Place Fish Market, already crowded with tourists eager to see some serious fish-tossing.

Soon after we entered we came upon the famous Pike Place Fish Market. The Fish Market is known for its tradition of throwing whole fish that customers have purchased from the back storage area to the fishmongers working the counter. An order will be yelled out — “Alaskan Salmon!” — and lightning quick a freaking whole carcass is tossed carefree up from the floor to the raised platform, where the fish are then butchered and wrapped. Tourists crowded around the stall to watch the performance, but after the first throw I turned my attention to the table across the way, which was laden down with all different types of dried fruit and vegetables. Dan got some fabulously sticky and sweet dried pineapple, but I was feeling more adventurous, and asked the woman behind the counter for something “good, but weird.”

My bag of dried okra, which at first glance looks a bit like dead grasshoppers. Yummier than appearance, I promise.

My bag of dried okra, which at first glance looks a bit like dead grasshoppers. Yummier than appearance, I promise.

She passed me a piece of dried okra, a vegetable I’m usually pretty ambivalent about. It was crunchy and salty, with a underlying freshness and a texture that reminded me of the dried greenbeans I’ve had from Fairway. I immediately bought a bag, completely enamored with this strange vegetable creation that was unlike anything I’d ever tried before. Why can’t you buy dried okra everywhere?

An ungodly amount of life-changing Rainier Cherries.

An ungodly amount of life-changing Rainier cherries.

 

I had a similar eye-opening experience when I tried Rainier cherries for the first time. I’ve always shied away from cherries, finding their tartness too aggressive. I also tend to dislike cooked fruit in desserts, so cherry pie or even the classic Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia aren’t really in my wheelhouse. But as we made our way through the market, an eager fruit vendor handing out slices of peach cut fresh from the fruit caught my eye, and I made my way over to him (hey, I’m never one to turn down a free sample). I can say without any doubt in my mind that that was the best peach I’ve ever tasted. It was luscious, velvety in texture, juicy and tender and exploding with natural sweetness. When I told this to the vendor, he insisted I try the Rainier cherries, proclamining them to be just as fresh as the peaches. And dagnabit, this guy was on the money. I found myself comparing the Rainier cherries to fresh grapes, with a soft and creamy flesh and a mild sweetness that was simply addictive. Dan bought a bag and we finished that day (even in the face of all of the other food we managed to fit in our stomachs).

The unfortunately lukewarm Plain Jane at Cinnamon Works.

The unfortunately lukewarm Plain Jane at Cinnamon Works.

 

After strolling through most of the top floor of the market, we made our way across the street to Post Alley, where most of the Market’s restaurants and shops can be found. Our attempt to go to Pike Place Chowder was thwarted by the outrageous line, so I guess I’ll just have to leave that for my next visit. We did manage to try a Plain Jane Cinnamon Roll at Cinnamon Works, a bakery that specializes in the cinnamon pastry diaspora (aka pull-apart bread, sticky buns, honey buns, etc). The Plain Jane had excellent flavors, but it was disappointingly room temperature, and you never want to eat an under-warmed cinnamon roll — it highlights the chewy, unforgiving nature of the batter. Next time I’m going to specifiy a fresh roll, or a reheated one.

The menu at the original Beecher's Handmade Cheese.

The menu at the original Beecher’s Handmade Cheese.

 

More importantly, I also paid a visit to the original location of Beecher’s Handmade Cheese, so I could finally make a proper comparison to my lovely meal at Beecher’s NYC. The original Beecher’s location is significantly smaller than it’s NY outpost — most of the space is devoted to the actual production of cheese, which I suppose is getting your priorities straight. The retail area is dominated by the cheese counter and cafe menu prep stations — no restaurant/lounge here, just sandwiches, soups, and cheesy breadsticks. You can still peer down into the cheesemaking arena at the Original Beecher’s, but this time from milk-can stools at the cafe’s narrow ledge, the only area to eat their wares. After sampling Beecher’s signature crackers and cheeses, Dan and I decided to split the Flagship Sandwich, a caprese-style grilled cheese featuring Beecher’s Flagship cheddar, their Just Jack, the “Beecher’s spread” and tomato and basil.

Cheesemaking in action at Beecher's.

Cheesemaking in action at Beecher’s.

Our Flagship Sandwich -- look at that gooey cheese resisting separation.

Our Flagship Sandwich — look at that gooey cheese resisting separation.

 

I usually like my grilled cheese unadulterated, but the density and richness of the two cheddars was mitigated by the sharp savory basil taste and the moist tomato. The “Beecher’s spread,” mysterious and left unexplained, seemed to add a subtle bite of mustard. Thick white bread helped to hold the sandwich together, and was toasted to perfect golden-brown. Overall, the quality of cheese and food in general at the original Beecher’s was still stellar, but the creativity and diversity of choices on the menu at the NY outpost make me happy I live nearer to the East Coast option. Dammit, now I want that mushroom tart again.

The small sign announcing the entrance to the Crumpet Shop, tucked away from the noise of Post Alley.

The small sign announcing the entrance to the Crumpet Shop, tucked away from the noise of Post Alley.

 

Another shop of note is the Crumpet Shop, a small cafe hidden away upstairs in one of the buildings on Post Alley. Their menu is limited to three categories: the titular crumpets, scones, and looseleaf teas. However, there are seemingly endless variations within those sections, including both savory and sweet options. In all of my UK adventures, I’d actually never tried a crumpet before, due to my enduring love of a proper scone and my general ambivalence towards the crumpet’s North American cousin, the English Muffin. For those who have yet to encounter a crumpet, they’re traditional English griddle cakes, slightly crumbly and usually served warm with butter, jam or some other type of spread. Although I was tempted by The Crumpet Shop’s scones, I felt I should give the cafe’s namesake its due. Also, Dan was intent on having a crumpet, and at that point I had tried so many other treats that I couldn’t imagine having another pastry all to myself (well, that’s a bit of a lie … more on that in a bit).

On line for some serious crumpet action.

On line for some serious crumpet action.

The shop itself is charming, and I would recommend a stop in, especially if you don’t feel like dealing with all of the crowds of Pike Place Market proper. The entrance features the counter/kitchen where you place your order, plus bar seating along the wall. A small collection of tables are located just past the counter and down a few steps, where you can cool your heels for a bit and take a gander at the whimsical artwork and Alice in Wonderland murals that line the walls.

Our toasted crumpet, piled high with preserves.

Our toasted crumpet, piled high with preserves.

Dan and I split a crumpet with fresh raspberry preserves, very lightly toasted so that it was not quite browned, but still warm enough to gently melt the preserves into a luscious goo. Ultimately, I think I’m more of a clotted cream and scone gal — the texture of the crumpet and its straightforward yeasty flavor were fine, but far from revelatory. The most memorable part of the dish was the raspberry preserves, which were unbelievably fresh and pure in their flavor. I’m sure I’ll be repeating myself endlessly about this, but I was completely blown away by the quality of the basic ingredients of my Seattle meals. From fruits to vegetables to seafood, everything seemed like it had been hand-picked just for me.

The Donut Robot Mark II, hard at work.

The Donut Robot Mark II, hard at work.

 

I started out this post by talking about my exuberance over dried okra, so it seems only fitting to bookend the discussion by jumping to the other end of the spectrum — doughnuts. Dan was insistent that we pay a visit to the Daily Dozen Doughnut Co., a small counter not too far from the Pike Place Fish Market stall. We had actually passed by it when we first entered the market, but the line was absurdly long, so DDDC ended up being our last stop of the day. DDDC does one thing, and one thing only — make piping hot mini doughnuts to destroy your arteries and blow your mind. (They also sell espresso and coffee, because what else are you going to have with your doughnuts? Milk? What are you, a weirdo?) DDDC is a ridiculously small operation, considering the sheer quantity of mini-dos they churn out each day. With a small area in the back for prepping the batter and decorating the finished donuts, DDDC’s main attraction is the “Donut Robot, Mark II” a miracle of modern technology that squirts out two perfectly formed mini doughnut rings into a roiling river of oil. The rings of batter then travel along a conveyor belt, frying for the precisely the right amount of time before being slid out of the machine and onto the continuously growing pile of puffed perfection.

Henry Ford could never have imagined the gift he would give dessert lovers everywhere with his assembly line method.

Henry Ford could never have imagined the gift he would give dessert lovers everywhere with his assembly line method.

 

These bad boys, roughly the size of Entenmann’s mini powdered donuts, are only sold in multiples of 6, with any collection of toppings you desire. Aside from plain and powdered, you can also get chocolate frosted (with sprinkles), along with whatever special toppings they have for the day. We chose two plain, two cinnamon-dusted, and two coated in a maple glaze. I hate to veer into hyperbole, but these were actually the best donuts I’ve ever had, simply because they were the freshest, and the batter had such a pure sweet taste to it. Like the best version of funnel cake, with the right amount of crispness to the outside, while steamy, light and airy inside. The bag was still warm as I grabbed it, yet not a spot of grease transferred from the bottom to my hands. My favorite was the cinnamon sugar donut, the uniform coating achieved by the seller drops the donuts in a bag, tosses in some cinnamon sugar, and shakes. No fancy schmancy toppings or fillings, just old-fashioned, well-made, fresh from the fryer donuts. To be honest, you really can’t compare Daily Dozen Doughnut Co. to the Doughnut Plant — it’s like trying to compare a homemade brownie to a chocolate ganache cake from a high-end bakery. These establishments have two different goals. But if I grew in Seattle, I would have begged my parents to take me here on the weekends, and thoroughly thumbed my nose at the barely heatlamp-warmed measly offerings at Dunkin Donuts.

 

Pike Place Market is the closest to Jerusalem’s Mahane Yehuda Market that I’ve found in the US. The mix of high-and-low-end vendors, the obvious plays towards tourist wallets combined with neighborhood shopping, and the unabashed delight in all that the local producers have to offer struck me as hewing closer to the Israeli model than Big Box Americana. Of course, it would be silly to ignore the fact that there is a Target just around the corner from Pike Place, and that the very first Starbucks (now a bonafide  international behemoth) is just down the row from Beecher’s. But my visit to Pike Place Market seemed to underscore the overall impression of Seattle. I felt like this is a city with a lot of pride, both in the larger sense of the Seattle itself, and the microcosms of each neighborhood. Fortunately, that pride is combined with a distinctly laidback, unself-conscious attitude. For me, that meant meeting a lot of people who wanted to share what they thought makes Seattle special, or what they themselves added to the culture, from hand crafted piggy banks to badass spice blends. So next time you’re in Seattle, pay a visit to Pike Place Market. Don’t worry that you’re buying into the tourist to-do list — there are so many layers to this locally-sourced onion, you can easily make your trip truly unique. I know I’ll be back — if only to finally get my hands on a bowl of that famous Pike Place Chowder!

The loosest definition of trail mix I've ever seen. Yes, that is a pile of meat and cheese.

The loosest definition of trail mix I’ve ever seen. Yes, that is a pile of meat and cheese.

Pike Place Market

1916 Pike Pl,

Seattle, WA 98101

pikeplacemarket.org