Review of New Food:
“Butterfinger Crisp Candy Bar”
by Will Hindmarch
The guy at the store said it was good. He said it was “like a Butterfinger humped a Kit-Kat.” Not untrue. By taste alone, we can glean a fair bit about this candy’s parentage. It’s inherited its mother’s body type—large, but with layers of light wafers cushioned by sugary creme—from which we can discern it comes from the Big-Kat line of Kat cousins. Knowing that reduces the impact of the bar’s complexion, which would normally seem to be inherited solely from the Butterfinger side. Sure, the size of the Butterfinger Crisp makes it look more like a Butterfinger, but when you get to know it you find that the Crisp acts, and even tastes, more like a Kat.
The candy’s name implies a bit about the relationship between the parent bars. Despite the candy’s texture and flavor traits, its mannerisms and voice, coming so clearly from the Kats on its mother’s side, it uses its father’s name. Hell, it’s even been titled in the surname-first tradition of the Butterfingers, eschewing the maternal name for the faddish, bland “Crisp.” Why not just call it “Butterfinger Madeline” or “Butterfinger Jack” if you wanted it to sound like every other candy bar in kindergarten? If ever it would have been appropriate for a candy bar to be given a hyphenate name, this would have been the one. Imagine: Butterfinger-Kat Crisp. It might have sounded pretentious, it might have raised an eyebrow when some glitterati read it off the platinum card, but at least it would have been honest about who it was and where it came from.
Butterfinger-Kat Mirumoto would probably be asking too much, though, I suppose.