When I was a youngin' there were chocolate bars, and if we were gettin' real fancy, there were fun-sized chocolate bars. But between the Cabbage Patch Kids and now, something took a hold of the candy-producing community. Everything's gotten all fancy and complicated, and frankly, it's a little too jarring for my old fogey mind to process. So I decided to take these candies for a test ride and see what the fuss is all about.

Usually I'm a soy milk and spinach kind of girl, so strolling up and down State College's candy aisles was quite an enlightening experience. I mean, I was expecting to come across one of those crazy M&M bars and maybe some white chocolate Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, but my findings exceeded my expectations. Except for that M&M bar. Couldn't locate one in all of the downtown area. Whatever.

After perusing a handful of drugstores, food-marts and McLanahan's locations, I ended up with seven selections, most of which were marked "new" or "limited edition" (should I save it and sell it on eBay, I wonder?). Some were scrumptious, some were foul, and all made me feel disgustingly ill. My advice is to try these candies if you want a smidgen of law-abiding excitement in your life, but don't try them all at once. Unless it's the night before your article is due. In that case: tiny bites and lots of water.

Hershey's Take 5:

This one's packaging kind of looks like a PowerBar, but instead of insta-energy, I find myself sampling a combo of pretzels, caramel, peanuts, peanut butter and milk chocolate. Take 5 poses as a bar, but really it's really two nuggety candies swathed in one wrapper -- a glorified chocolate-covered pretzel, with a layer of sticky, nutty sweetness between the crunchy base and the creamy cocoa coating. It's a fine-tasting candy, but my advice is to ditch the caramel and stick to the Chubby Hubby-minus-the-ice cream concept. But then I guess it would be a Take 4. Hmm.

Grade: B+

Hershey's S'mores

The wrapping is all dark and creepy and like, totally reminds me of a campfire, except not at all. The bar promises to be a mixture of milk chocolate, marshmallow and graham cracker bits, but I don't know... it's kind of gross. Way, way, way too cloying. My teeth ring, my dentist cringes and I head to the kitchen for a green tea. The "marshmallow" is not at all gooey, plus it's the color of sour milk. The "graham cracker" is the consistency of dollar store peanut brittle and tastes like congealed honey. Lame joke warning: Do I want s'more? Not a chance!

Grade: F

Nestle's
Butterfinger Crisp:

So the deal is this is vanilla wafers layered with Butterfinger-favored "crème" (their spelling, not mine) and doused in chocolate. It's OK (nowhere near as offensive of the S'mores debacle), but there's something surprisingly bland about the Butterfinger Crisp. Almost like those wafer cookies you got in nursery school with sippie cups of apple juice. Still, decent texture, and the sweet-salty coupling is appetizing enough.

Grade: C+

Reese's Snack Barz:

The wrapper claims the bar (I refuse to call a single bar a Barz) has zero grams of trans fat and is a "good source of calcium, iron and 7 essential vitamins." So I'm full of doubt, because this sounds more like a Lean Cuisine than a guilty pleasure. Then I do some detective work (i.e. look at the back) and realize the Snack Barz is still a contender at 200 calories and 9 grams of fat. The candy is all crisped rice and marshmallowy goodness mixed with peanut butter, then dipped in milk chocolate. Like a Rice Krispies treat, but (could it be?) better. Sweet. Salty. Creamy. Crunchy. Dear God. This is the only confection of the bunch I nibble at for more than a split second. Even so, two split seconds are enough. Not quite used to all this processed sugar and partially hydrogenated vegetable oil. Even so, dear God. Deliciousness.

Grade: A

Snickers Almond Bar:

I look forward to this one, mostly because I like to say the word "Snickers" aloud (try it; it's weird) and because nuts are good. The bar looks and feels pretty much like a normal Snickers, but the taste is astonishingly sub-par. There's still the milk chocolate, the caramel and the nougat, but the almonds are nothing but a poor man's peanut. They lack the easy eatability and definitely distract from the chewiness. I find myself gnawing on the almonds for minutes after I've swallowed the rest of the bite, and nut shards mercilessly scratch at the back of my throat for hours upon end.

Grade: C-

Nestle Toll House
Candy Bars:

"Soft, chewy cookies," caramel and mini-choco-chips covered in a creamy chocolate coating. It sounds too good to be true, and this is because it is too good to be true. Like the S'mores , the Tollhouse bar is nauseatingly saccharine tasting. Plus, the cookie quality is gritty, the chocolate has an odd chemical aftertaste, and the bite-sized lump is not at all gooey like the wrapper illustration promises. With the ubiquitous convenience of slice-and-bake, culinary insults such as this are not necessary to satisfy a cookie craving.

Grade: D

Reese's Pieces with Nuts:

All right. So this is really messing with tradition. They've added peanuts to the PB and candy shell classic. What would E.T. think? E.T. would think it's gosh darn magnificent, that's what E.T. would think. E.T would friggin' phone home over this. I'll admit, I did fear the nut plus the shiny shell would prove difficult to the bite, but it's quite yielding. And nutty and salty and sweet and yummy. That minus is only attached to the A below 'cause I'm bitter about the limited edition-ness.

Grade: A-