We Ate the Swedish Fish Oreos

Gather ’round, curious readers, for the Scene's brave reporters have risked their tastebuds and stomach lining to sample what could be the most shocking and horrifying limited-edition Oreo flavor to date: SWEDISH FISH.

I truly believe these strange limited-edition offerings from companies like Oreo, M&Ms and others are not meant to be eaten — cookies that taste like cotton candy or watermelon and M&Ms covered in artificial candy corn flavoring are, at best, meant to be blogged about or photographed and posted on social media where they rack up all kinds of clicks, likes and reactions. These limited-edition flavors are purposefully short-lived because they're not good, but they are interesting — it's how candy companies get in on the social media game.

And we've taken the bait. 

But we couldn't just post a picture of these cookies and leave it at that. No. We're journalists, not a content mill! So, friends ... we ate the Swedish Fish cookies.

Amanda Haggard, who's just as enthusiastic about limited edition food as I am, was the most willing to give the new flavor a go, but after one bite, she recoiled. “I’m debating whether or not I should eat more of it,” she said, staring at the sad half of remaining cookie. After several seconds of contemplation, she gave it one last look and threw the other half in the garbage. Twenty minutes later, she complained of a strange aftertaste.

"They smell like Robitussin cough syrup!" exclaimed reporter Cari Wade Gervin, as she inspected the unnaturally bright red filling. She took a meager bite, chewed for 5 seconds, and spit it into the garbage can. She now hates me.

Laura Hutson, who has happily eaten live termites ("They bite your tongue!"), pleaded when the package was pushed her way, “Oh please don’t make me eat this. Do I have to eat this?” Laura did not eat the cookie.

Managing editor D. Patrick Rodgers, who has long been outspoken about his distaste for Swedish Fish, refused to make eye contact with me when I first walked over to his desk with the package of treats. "Oh God," he said before I even said hello. He knew what was happening.

Editor Steve Cavendish, who had just spit out a mouthful of red-and-black goo only seconds before, abused his power as boss and forced him to try it, laughing giddily. Rodgers took a bite, gave it a good 10 seconds of chewing, and threw the remainder of the cookie into the trashcan.

Stephen Trageser, though, was fearless — without flinching, he stuck the whole cookie in his mouth. "It's like ripping a Band-Aid off ... in my mouth." He did not spit out the cookie, but he did not go back for more, either. 

Music editor Adam Gold hated them the least. "It tastes like Swedish Fish and it tastes like Oreos," he said, shrugging. "You're describing the problem," Rodgers argued. Gold shrugged. "It's like the menthol cigarette of cookies," he explained. "If you want the disgusting tar of smoking a cigarette but paired with the minty feeling of having just brushed your teeth ... I like both things, but not necessarily together." Gold ate a second cookie.

With a globs of saliva-soaked half-chewed Oreo bits sitting in the bottom of several trashcans throughout the Scene's offices, it's hard to understand how such a barely edible monstrosity managed to get on the shelves and sold for mass consumption. But consider this: Both Oreo and Swedish Fish are part of the Mondelez International brand family. They're already in business together, so why not be in cookie together? But if this Swedish Fish/Oreo partnership is hinting at a Mondelez trend, the scarier thing is that fellow Mondelez International brands like Sour Patch Kids or Tang flavor may be up next.

Oh, shit. Could you imagine a Tang Oreo? STOP THIS DISEASE BEFORE IT SPREADS, NABISCO.